For over a decade, friends and family have told me they await a book from me. The short story is, I used to write. I used to enjoy writing. My writing primarily helped me navigate through my own healing from broken relationships to understanding a broken world, and my placement in it as a Muslim, as a Syrian, as a woman — both separately, and merged together at once.

Not much has changed, aside that I no longer enjoy writing as much, and no longer muse incessantly on matters of the heart and personal relationships, as much as I muse on the state of the world and how it transpired 12 years since massacres and genocide took over my parents’ homeland. Both suddenly and gradually, despite having been comfortably seated within communities my own parents either started or helped build up, we found ourselves ostracised by those who didn’t care so much for what was taking place. Who decided on behalf of Syrians that our struggle and cause was not strong enough for their unequivocal solidarity. Who have decided collectively, that not responding to Syrians — or friends, if we can so much as still call them that, when we either ask for sincerity or demand accountability. And thus, reviving writing again. And thus, reviving this blog which long went out of service some almost six years ago.

For the last ten years, my writing has been bound to press releases, campaigns, policy papers and briefs about my colleagues’ deaths or injuries in Syria, on bombardment, sieges and torture in the motherland, human rights reports and research on transitional justice, at one point that writing turned to Turkish politics and speeches for senior managers, books, papers and websites for international events in the international arena before moving on to everything related to a small peninsula hosting the World Cup — where I found myself a features editor and planning manager, dabbling in all things humane, media and marketing. My emergency response press releases and communications expertise in the Syria field found great use, to my surprise, in the world of media and mega-events, in the world of proposals, partnerships and clients. But now, and with my work still ongoing, I intend to go back — or perhaps start seriously for the time first time? — to write for myself.

I write here, in personal capacity. I care little for quips on formality when our self is not, and cannot, be compartmentalised. My writing touches on all that touches me and concerns me: of religion, identity, humanity, gender among others. A personal space so to speak, which will help me — and those reading — come to terms with the harsh timeline of our existence, peppered perhaps with stories here and there.

Thank you for reading.

Razan; 11.12.2023