Soul Of My Soul

“We’ll support you without mentioning your name! Land of olives and lemons, we’re with you!”

Rim held a special place in his heart, loving her more than anyone else. Their birthdays coincided; both were born on December 23rd. They used to celebrate all their birthdays together. Every morning, Rim would go to her grandfather, kissing and hugging him tightly. Often, instead of kissing, she would lick her grandpa’s face. Ziya loved his granddaughter Rim so much that he allowed her to lick his face. Rim had beautiful curly black hair, but she never liked leaving it untied; every morning, she would gather it from both sides. Rim and Tarık played games with their grandfather every day. Ziya would carry them on his back, running around. He would hold them, talk to them, engage in conversations. Every evening on his way home, Ziya would buy snacks for Rim and Tarık; they both adored sweets, just like any other children. They often went biking together, which was Rim’s favorite activity.

Rim also adored eating fruits, especially watermelon and bananas. She asked her grandfather for these, and despite how challenging it was to find them, Ziya went in search. But when he returned, he couldn’t find their home His daughter, Tarık, and Rim were nowhere to be found. He blended into the crowd. Amidst people lying on the ground, and saw Rim. He picked her up, called out to wake her, shook her, but Rim didn’t open her eyes. Her face was covered in dust, and her hair was disheveled. Ziya cleaned the dust off Rim’s face with his hands and gathered her hair from both sides. Rim, in her grandfather’s arms, was as still and silent as a baby bird. He held her tightly, bid farewell. He took the only thing left of her, her earring, and put it on his chest. He complained about those who caused this pain to the highest power, the Allah. He awaited the day he would reunite with Rim, Tarık, and his daughter.

It’s not fiction; it’s the real pain experienced by Ziya. Rim and Tarık are no longer here. Both were killed by Israel at a child age. Now, Ziya won’t celebrate their birthdays and himself. Rim won’t lick her grandfather’s face, play games, ride bicycles, or eat her favorite fruits anymore. Rim and Tarık won’t have the chance to grow up. Yet, despite all efforts to forget and suppress, their names, lives, and stories will never be forgotten, and the actions of Israel will always be remembered.

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Rim&Tarık&Ziya

This text is for those who try to shift the blame for the pain they caused, the massacre they committed with their own hands, onto innocent people. It’s for those who beautifully advertise the deaths resulting from their own evil deeds and strive to make others believe their false stories. The real pains belong to these people. The real pains are what happened in this unnamed country. What I’ve narrated in this text isn’t fiction; it’s real. The agonies experienced by these people are real. I could have told you more about their agonies, even posted videos of that pain here. I could have shown you their shattered bodies, burning flesh, the people enduring that agony, but I couldn’t because I can’t bear to see it myself. There are people living somewhere in the world dealing with things we can’t even bear to witness.

Take notice of this unnamed country, its citizens treated as anything but human, and the agonies they endure. Speak up. Don’t wait years from now to watch movies or read books about what these people went through and then feel sorrow. Raise your voice today so that you won’t have to mourn tomorrow for what these people lived through.

Under any circumstance and in every available platform where our hands can reach, even if it means not uttering their names, we will stand by the side of what is right.

-İclal Burcu Sivrikaya