I Was One of You

I, too, was displaced… And if I see things differently today, it is because I have lived them, not because I say them.

I know things have been overwhelming. Our country has gone through painful events and profound changes.
But I was there too. I wasn't watching from somewhere else. I lived through the fear and the displacement, just like you.

I'm writing this to remind you—and to remind myself—that there are always other ways of looking at what happens to us.
Sometimes, when emotions pile up and become too heavy, they create a kind of fog that makes it hard to see clearly, or to look beyond the place where we're standing.

Many of us saw our villages attacked. Many of us had to leave our homes with no time to prepare... I was one of you.

I still remember people calling for us to leave immediately. Within a very short time, we were all outside our homes.
To be honest, I didn't want to leave. I couldn't accept the idea of walking away.
But when I saw everyone leaving, it felt natural that I would leave too.

I was heartbroken, holding on to the hope that somehow I would find my way back. But nothing worked.

As time passed, and through everything that followed, I slowly began to notice things I hadn't seen before.
I met new people. I experienced the generosity and kindness of the people of Al-Sahwa. I grew closer to my family in unexpected ways. Little by little, my perspective began to change.

What had first felt like nothing but loss was quietly opening another door inside me.

When I finally returned home, I found my guitar—the one I loved—broken into pieces. It hurt.

I was upset about it for a long time. But after I calmed down, a question crossed my mind — one I never expected to ask:
Maybe having it with me in its old form… no longer serves who I am today.

And from there, I understood that sometimes, we hold on to things because we love them — not because they still fit the person we've become.

That's why I wanted to share this story.
Not to say that loss is easy.
Nor to say that everything ends well.
But to say that sometimes, what we think is a complete loss… is actually opening a door to something we haven't yet discovered.

If you are someone who has lost a home, a person, a memory, or even a part of yourself…
I understand your pain.
But if you can…
Ask yourself quietly:
What new thing was born inside me because of this experience?
What door has opened, even if I can't see it yet?
And what have I discovered about myself that I would never have known without going through all of this?

I'm not saying the road is easy.
Nor that the grief should disappear.
But sometimes…
Loss is not the end of the road.
It is the beginning of a new one — one we would never have known existed without it.

And since then…
Every time I lose something,
I ask myself:
What door have I not yet noticed has opened?