– “Step out of the car, you have a conscription for reserve duty.”

That sentence changed the life of the young man in his twenties, shattered his dreams and the dreams of hundreds of young men. On the border, those words were spoken, a border that was not just a winding line drawn by greed between two countries, but a divide between a past filled with dreams and work, brimming with love, faith, and the ability to turn dreams into reality, and a reality burdened with weapons and death, with all the faces of hatred and forms of killing.

My life changed and transformed; I entered the vortex of war, with a mind that fiercely struggled with conflicting thoughts. Should I bear arms and fight, in response to the call of a beloved country? Or only because war turns its prisoners into killers?

This rapid shift in voices around me, from the sound of ocean waves urging me to move forward and applaud my ability to build the future… to the sound of bullets tearing apart the beauty of my hopes, fueling my killing capacity!

A crazy transformation without any little bit of reason…

Days pass, and my losses grow, physically and mentally. Internal dialogues lengthen, and the sabotage stretches to my soul…

Which is harder, the sterile dialogue with oneself, or the dialogue with a lover who can no longer wait? This tunnel stretches forever, with no light at its end.

Amidst all this, the idea of surrender and escape, the idea of giving up and declaring defeat, was born.

The rifle reproaches me: Are you abandoning me?

The tank scolds me with love: Don’t you care about us?

The comrades, my partners in this narrow world: It is the will of God and what He has ordained.

Yes, it is the will of God and what He has ordained. I have never fled, and neither I’ll do now.

After every battle, I thank God and rejoice in my survival. Rejoice? What does joy, or survival mean amidst the curses of this war?!

After every battle I survive, I bid farewell to some of my comrades, I mourn and cry for their departure. How could I not? I shared with them hunger and thirst, sickness and cold, moments of fear and longing… and all that for what?! I tell myself.

An enemy artillery shell fell very close on that cold day, its shrapnel instilled panic in our hearts, and paralyzed my ability to hear except for the screams of my comrade: “Please, Elias, don’t leave me, get me back to my family.”

The shrapnel pierced his right thigh, blood flowed profusely that I couldn’t stem with the makeshift patches of our military uniforms. I held him close to my chest, his head resting in surrender to his pain, and he whispered: “I bear witness that there is no god but Allah, and I bear witness that Muhammad is His Messenger.”

In my hands, his soul surrendered, and with trembling fingers, I closed his eyes. This Muslim in my arms, me the Christian, surrendered his soul. Yes, national unity, brotherhood, and love are real.

I waited for a while, the voices subsided. Blood stained my hands and clothes, and was soaked by the trench that contained us.

What to do now? Is this how the soil of nations is dyed with the blood of martyrs?

My internal dialogue resumed, devouring my mind.

I gathered what was left of my strength, and marveled at how this horrific scene hadn’t consumed my mind. How my thoughts focused on my comrade’s last wish – to get him back to his family – How would I, a sick man – with a slipped disc -, be able to carry this young body to fulfill his wish?

A force penetrated me, whether it was love or loyalty, I didn’t know. I carried the body in my arms, though the frost was seeping into my body despite the warmth of the blood that began to trace its path back to his family, through the olive groves in the green Idlib.

It’s five years now, and bitterness reaps the sweetness of everything, and the burning ache of loss lashes the lifespan. What life is this? And what kind of human am I? Am I still worthy of living?

My internal dialogue consumes me, as usual…

After several failed attempts by death to claim me, I felt its proximity, as my left leg ceased to move, the hernia in my spinal canal expanded, rendering me weak and helpless. My comrades in service became my sole support for fulfilling my personal needs, as I was far from the care of my family in such a condition.

In vain, I tried to obtain a referral to the military hospital, which had become a distant dream for me, something I could only reach in death, for it would be from there that my funeral procession would emerge, wrapped in the flag of the homeland for which I would die as a sacrifice.

Who told you that I desired death? I love life, life in the homeland, not death within it…

Their argument to prevent me from visiting the hospital was that everyone claimed to be sick. But I swear that I was sincere. Faced with the rapid deterioration of my health, my principles weakened, and I sought help from an acquaintance, eventually securing my right to treatment.

The life-saving emergency surgery performed on me rescued me from permanent paralysis, in my leg and my life, and it became the reason for my return to civilian life.

A new beginning, with a weakened spirit, a broken heart, and memories as harsh as death. Even leishmaniosis did not refrain from attacking me fiercely, requiring treatment with Cryotherapy, with its harshness, a twin to the war itself. This war that stole ten years of my life, keeping me far from family, friends, and relatives. I lived among them as a stranger upon my return, as if I had come from a distant continent.

A man in his thirties, owning nothing, with nothing to compensate for his weakness and pain. A fresh start to a life that holds nothing but its name—despair, depression, and oppression.

Then what? I said to myself, thirty years, what does it mean? Is it the end of the world? Is it my end?

I will not surrender, waiting for death. I will stand in the face of the world, and in times of need, I have decided. I will gather, as I did in my childhood, the stones that obstruct my path and build them into a ladder that I will climb towards the heights of my future days. I will wipe away the sweat of worry and cool my exhausted heart with the sweat of hope.

And so, I took the first practical step to restore my capabilities and enrolled in an English language course. I followed it with several other courses: computer training, leadership development, communication skills, and peacebuilding training. I also applied to university, my old dream, and volunteered in the field of humanitarian work… and so on.

I am proud of myself. This is the real Elias. I love life, I detest death, and even if it is destined, I will embrace it and create a new resurrection from its darkness.