My Heart Hurts

My heart hurts for Syria today, for the people living each day with such an uncertainty that I will never know.

One thing I enjoy about travelling and taking Ubers is talking to the drivers. In San Diego, I had a driver from Syria. He had a certain sadness about him, yet was friendly and upbeat. This was shortly after Trump initiated the first travel ban. It almost made me ashamed to be a white woman from the US, but I know I am doing everything I can to resist giving in to fear and hate.

I asked about his family. He was so grateful that a brother and his family had arrived in the US mere days before the ban. Of course, he still had a lot of family in Syria. Talking with this man, he was maybe in his mid-60s… it was just one human talking to another. Sometimes the only thing I can do is listen, to hear their stories.

If only those in power would just take the time to talk, and more importantly, listen to people different than themselves. Everyone has a story that needs to be told.

On this day, today, when Syria is being bombed, again, from outside forces, all I can say is that my heart hurts. I pray for peace to come to that war-torn land, that the people are allowed to worship however they wish, that they may be educated as much as they wish, and that they know that they are loved.

The people in power do not always represent the people they rule over. Probably anyone who reads this will understand already. I just needed to raise my voice, to put into the universe the fact that I believe we have more in common than we have differences. When one person has a change of heart, the whole world changes.