อย่าละล้าละลังที่จะยิงธนู ต่อให้ลูกธนูไม่โดนเป้าเจ้าก็จะได้เรียนรู้เพื่อปรับปรุงให้ดีขึ้นในครั้งต่อไป
หากไม่ยอมเสี่ยงเลยก็จะไม่มีวันรู้ว่าต้องปรับเปลี่ยนอะไรบ้าง
หากไม่ยอมเสี่ยงเลยก็จะไม่มีวันรู้ว่าต้องปรับเปลี่ยนอะไรบ้าง
reality. 😔
Mortuary ..
A letter from a bride who lives in a quarter of a tent
I know that I do not have the same right as you have the right to be loved, engaged, or married.
It was a funny situation when my father said to my bridegroom, why delay.. I want to check on my daughter before I die..
Each of us was thinking about himself.. I wonder who will be deposited first..
Here, the usual laws of life differ.
Here we do not live as you do - if it is correct to say that he lived -
Living, which means bread, may not be available.
Bread is in a house.. and here there is no house, no oven, and no wall for the wailing..
I remembered my father’s words, “I want to check on her,” as I heard the women’s mutterings from behind the tent canvas, “Poor, she has become a widow.”
-I looked at my colored clothes..Is this coat suitable for mourning my husband and for the waiting period..red, green and purple with pink..but this is what came to me from the help and I have no other..
Shall I take it off and put on my black summer abaya..and freeze from the cold me too..
I tried to put the abaya over it.. but I couldn't because it was too big for me..
I seem to have lost a lot of weight after the death of my husband and son.
Alhamdulillah I am no longer as hungry as before..I no longer dream of a plate of grape leaves..I will not feel guilty again as I used to when my father influences me with his food while I am pregnant.
It is enough for me now to look at my father and his sadness and tears.. to lose my appetite for food..
To look at that fireplace that we rejoiced in.. It was the cause of my husband's death..
He used to tell me: I am a young man who can stand the smell, and he puts nylon, plastic and garbage bags to set the fire.
I remember how he used to keep my father away.. and fear for him.. and keep me away during my last months.. so that we do not inhale those harmful odors..
I hate this heater that has become cold..All day long I look away from it..But at night it sees me as a ghost..It wants to pounce on my neck laughing with joy..Yes, the sound of the wind is coming out of those rusty chimneys snarling like the sounds of jinn at a party..
_I don't know who will read this message of mine..but I wish him to tell everyone that they are right..I shouldn't have lived as the rest of creation lives..
Even when they brought me a smart phone.. and electricity by solar energy.. I opened the means of communication with hope.. who feels us.. I found everyone writing..
Why are these guys getting married?!
Why do they have children?! They are in tents!!
They are forbidden.
Many of them suggest that they donate "contraceptive drugs" to us.
Actually.. you are right..
You know.. laugh a little.. but laugh a lot..
When I got engaged..and my father asked him when the wedding..he said maybe after two years to be myself and prepare the house and buy furniture..
We laughed a lot that day..we joked about the value of the dowry..and the wedding feast..
_ And so in pregnancy - we live simply - and we turn it into humor..
We say we wish we knew whether he was a boy or a girl.. so that we could buy clothes on a clear basis and choose the color!!
_ Laugh.
I was naive.. when I and my father thought that we have the right to live like you.. and have children!!
Yes.. It was an extremely painful moment.. To a point that I can't describe.. When I woke up to find my son, whom I held on my chest while I was sleeping.. I put him next to my heart to be warmed by my blood.. He became blue in color, cold and silent.. I don't know. Was my blood cold and did not protect him..or did he choose to follow his father..
What words would describe my condition as they took my baby from my hand to put it in a carton and then stacked the rest of the babies next to it.. as if they were merchandise with no lives to be lost..
To become the corner of the camp.. a refrigerator for the dead.. everyone lies there.. waiting silently for the storm to subside.. so that they may burial in their graves and rest from this mortal world.
Mortuary ..
A letter from a bride who lives in a quarter of a tent
I know that I do not have the same right as you have the right to be loved, engaged, or married.
It was a funny situation when my father said to my bridegroom, why delay.. I want to check on my daughter before I die..
Each of us was thinking about himself.. I wonder who will be deposited first..
Here, the usual laws of life differ.
Here we do not live as you do - if it is correct to say that he lived -
Living, which means bread, may not be available.
Bread is in a house.. and here there is no house, no oven, and no wall for the wailing..
I remembered my father’s words, “I want to check on her,” as I heard the women’s mutterings from behind the tent canvas, “Poor, she has become a widow.”
-I looked at my colored clothes..Is this coat suitable for mourning my husband and for the waiting period..red, green and purple with pink..but this is what came to me from the help and I have no other..
Shall I take it off and put on my black summer abaya..and freeze from the cold me too..
I tried to put the abaya over it.. but I couldn't because it was too big for me..
I seem to have lost a lot of weight after the death of my husband and son.
Alhamdulillah I am no longer as hungry as before..I no longer dream of a plate of grape leaves..I will not feel guilty again as I used to when my father influences me with his food while I am pregnant.
It is enough for me now to look at my father and his sadness and tears.. to lose my appetite for food..
To look at that fireplace that we rejoiced in.. It was the cause of my husband's death..
He used to tell me: I am a young man who can stand the smell, and he puts nylon, plastic and garbage bags to set the fire.
I remember how he used to keep my father away.. and fear for him.. and keep me away during my last months.. so that we do not inhale those harmful odors..
I hate this heater that has become cold..All day long I look away from it..But at night it sees me as a ghost..It wants to pounce on my neck laughing with joy..Yes, the sound of the wind is coming out of those rusty chimneys snarling like the sounds of jinn at a party..
_I don't know who will read this message of mine..but I wish him to tell everyone that they are right..I shouldn't have lived as the rest of creation lives..
Even when they brought me a smart phone.. and electricity by solar energy.. I opened the means of communication with hope.. who feels us.. I found everyone writing..
Why are these guys getting married?!
Why do they have children?! They are in tents!!
They are forbidden.
Many of them suggest that they donate "contraceptive drugs" to us.
Actually.. you are right..
You know.. laugh a little.. but laugh a lot..
When I got engaged..and my father asked him when the wedding..he said maybe after two years to be myself and prepare the house and buy furniture..
We laughed a lot that day..we joked about the value of the dowry..and the wedding feast..
_ And so in pregnancy - we live simply - and we turn it into humor..
We say we wish we knew whether he was a boy or a girl.. so that we could buy clothes on a clear basis and choose the color!!
_ Laugh.
I was naive.. when I and my father thought that we have the right to live like you.. and have children!!
Yes.. It was an extremely painful moment.. To a point that I can't describe.. When I woke up to find my son, whom I held on my chest while I was sleeping.. I put him next to my heart to be warmed by my blood.. He became blue in color, cold and silent.. I don't know. Was my blood cold and did not protect him..or did he choose to follow his father..
What words would describe my condition as they took my baby from my hand to put it in a carton and then stacked the rest of the babies next to it.. as if they were merchandise with no lives to be lost..
To become the corner of the camp.. a refrigerator for the dead.. everyone lies there.. waiting silently for the storm to subside.. so that they may burial in their graves and rest from this mortal world.
..
after two days ...
When the storm subsides and it's time to bury
I went out touching my child.. I hugged him and smelled him even though he was frozen.. I shed hot tears over him, hoping to warm this body..
And with me are young women who are groping their livers like me.. in a last farewell..
And men are close to us.. they remove piles of ice before they reach the underground..
In this solemn situation, I heard one of them plead for his brother in his ear.
(Aren't people saying, “The living is better than the dead,” so perhaps you would give me Ahmed’s coat instead of using it as a shroud and burying him with it, because my children shiver from the cold at night)
_To whom does my message reach?
I promise I will not marry again.. and I will not have children.. but I hope not to be buried with my coat.. so please send us shovels to dig and shrouds
A letter from a refugee bride living in a tent
after two days ...
When the storm subsides and it's time to bury
I went out touching my child.. I hugged him and smelled him even though he was frozen.. I shed hot tears over him, hoping to warm this body..
And with me are young women who are groping their livers like me.. in a last farewell..
And men are close to us.. they remove piles of ice before they reach the underground..
In this solemn situation, I heard one of them plead for his brother in his ear.
(Aren't people saying, “The living is better than the dead,” so perhaps you would give me Ahmed’s coat instead of using it as a shroud and burying him with it, because my children shiver from the cold at night)
_To whom does my message reach?
I promise I will not marry again.. and I will not have children.. but I hope not to be buried with my coat.. so please send us shovels to dig and shrouds
A letter from a refugee bride living in a tent