I wake up to the familiar sound of the shelling coming from the regime’s Fourth Division from their mountain position. Strangely, it feels good this time to wake up to the noise of Assad raining shells on us. Maybe because it helps my townspeople in Moadamiya to remember that we cannot trust the Assad regime. One day they send negotiators. The next day they shell us. Again.
Oh, and the regime just added another pre-condition for food: Qusai Zakarya (Thats me…) has to go into regime custody. They like media people. Before the children can eat, regime also demands certain Local Council leaders and FSA commanders be delivered into their loving hands.
My bad back is killing me, and I am starting to lose control in my left leg, so I go again today to the field hospital to have the doctors check me. Not minding the heavy shelling, I start walking through Moadamiya’s streets. My hometown is covered with dirt and mud, because it has been raining all night and when the Assad bombs hit the ground they make the mud cover lots of the buildings in Moadamiya. What a strange yet beautiful scene…
At the hospital, I expect to find lots of wounded civilians. I guess since Christmas is coming, we got an early Christmas miracle–no one so far has been struck by a shell. But rest in peace, Mahmoud Hamdan Abo Obeid, a town elder who died of malnutrition today.
A lot of people are at the field hospital. They are hiding there from the heavy shelling because the field hospital is in a basement. All of them are saying “to hell with negotiating a truce; the Assad regime will never change and we can never trust them.
My townsfolk’s high spirits make me forget my pain and smile.