I’ve often asked myself, what’s the difference between migration and asylum? The path is the same, as if you are choosing between the bad and the less bad. I didn’t prepare a list of the safest countries. I didn’t choose Switzerland as the country where I would seek asylum. It chose me, along with my two bags, which weighed exactly what I weigh. Nothing inside them was important. I don’t even know what I packed. I was in a hurry.
As I took that first step to say „Yes, Noor, now you must leave,“ I found myself doubting my decision the very next day. I clearly remember the day I received the decision for a safe humanitarian visa to Switzerland. I couldn’t absorb or even read what my eyes were seeing. I wasn’t sure if it was real! I booked my first flight and canceled it the same day! I tried again a few days later, booked another ticket, and canceled it once more.
„Come on, Noor, you can do it. Today is a special day, June 6.“ I went to book the ticket and repeated the same scenario, canceling the flight. At that time, I didn’t have the chance to talk about what I had received, about my fear of leaving Lebanon, and the even greater fear of staying. I spent my last Eid al-Fitr there. It’s a significant Islamic occasion that marks the end of a month of fasting, known as Ramadan.
I always made sure my older brother had fallen asleep after a long day of work. When I was sure he was deep in sleep, I’d wake him up and whisper in his ear, „Wake up, look what I got!“ I’d place the Eid gift next to his head to let him know the celebrations had begun. I would wear my black abaya when I was in a hurry, because it was easy to choose. I’d put it on quickly and run to my father’s car. „Dad, close your eyes, I want to put something in your shirt pocket.“ He listened attentively to my request. I put the present in. „Now you can open your eyes,“ I said. He smiled as he looked into his pocket and then my younger brother came and I did the same with him. But I put the present in his trouser pocket because of the big difference in our heights.
„None of them knew that those were the longest and most etched moments in my memory.„
My dear sister and I would bring a large meal of grilled food and salads to celebrate together, and then we’d go home. We would meet my mother, who would say her usual phrase: „Everyone here has received their Eid gift before me“. My sister and I would laugh, and then we’d start preparing the food. None of them knew that those were the longest and most etched moments in my memory. At that time, I didn’t care what I packed in my bag. I collected what I had: photos I took with my family when I was little, a small pink notebook I received as a gift in 2017, filled with many wishes from my friends, and a red flower with the smell of falafel which my father had secretly picked for me one day.
The time had come. This time I had to leave. All paths had turned dark and the road to paradise awaited me. I didn’t have time to hug my family or ask my dear sister to come with me. How could I, when they didn’t know I was leaving? They didn’t know the fear I had inside me!
As I took my first steps towards the airport, I told the driver to wait and that I’d be back soon. I ran to my father’s car, hugged him for a second, we cried together, then walked quickly towards the smell of falafel. Time passed in what felt like minutes until I reached Beirut airport. I left everything behind, everything felt strange! I lost my balance and threw up. I asked myself, „Why now?“ I ran quickly to pass through the first checkpoint so I wouldn’t escape again and cancel my flight. I could never look back.
There I met a person called „Uday“. We exchanged glances. He was full of fear, just like me, my look and my steps. I greeted him first. We continued walking together, talking about the ruling regimes, about the fear Syrians have of reaching airports, about the checkpoints, about Syria, about Sweida, about Homs, about Damascus, about the collapse of the currency, about the suffering of mothers saying goodbye to their sons, about the arrest of young men at Beirut airport, and we both looked at each other, silently praying that we wouldn’t be among them, that we wouldn’t be turned from travellers into prisoners.
„I didn’t prepare a list of the safest countries. I didn’t choose Switzerland as the country where I would seek asylum. It chose me, along with my two bags, which weighed exactly what I weigh.„
A few minutes after the plane took off for our first destination, Istanbul airport, a loud voice erupted, someone was shouting at someone else and hitting him, demanding that the flight be stopped! I laughed a lot and said: „This is your chance Noor, you’re coming back and everything will be over before it even starts“.
But the beautiful flight attendants calmed him down in their feminine way! Uday was going to Russia, while I was going to the land of banks, chocolate and luxury watches. We had a stopover in Turkey. We waited there together, had our first and last meal, said goodbye, and each of us went to our own destination.
„Pegasus,“ I heard someone say. A girl was standing at the Turkish airport waiting for a customer support. It was the same airline I was travelling with. I approached the girl and asked her in my shy English if I could help her with anything. She replied: „Yes. I came with two bags, but now I only have one. I want to ask, where is my bag?“ I told her that large bags are sent as cargo and we pick them up at our destination. I asked her: „Where are you going?“ She replied: „Zurich.“ I said: „By God’s will!“
I went for my flight. While I was looking for my seat number, I found this girl sitting in the front seat. Two hours passed during the flight and we arrived together. I went with her to get our luggage. She asked me: „Where are you from?“ I replied: „Syria.“ „Ah, now there’s nothing left of Syria but Assad!“ I laughed out loud. Yes, unfortunately Syria’s name is associated with the Assad regime. I asked her the same question: „Where are you from?“ She replied: „Russia.“
This time, my laughter increased. „You’re from Russia? You’re telling me Assad is all that’s left?“ We laughed together! She said: „Everyone gets their piece of the war.“ She took out a piece of Russian chocolate and said: „This is for you. I hope it remains a beautiful memory for you. Maybe the concepts of wars and regimes between us will change. Here I am, ready to go to my destination, and you, Noor? Is there someone waiting for you at the airport?”
I was frozen! Where was I? I began to look around. Who were these people? What language did they speak? Where do I start my journey? Why wasn’t there someone waiting for me with a bunch of flowers? Why wasn’t someone writing my name on a piece of paper and waving it in my direction?
Who told us that things are better if we choose them? What about the things that choose us?
Who wrote about the difference between asylum and migration? Who told us that things are better if we choose them? What about the things that choose us? The road remains the same, difficult, ambiguous and desolate when there’s no one waiting for you at the airport!
Written on 18.12.2023
I wrote this entry in my diary on the same date last year, and today I decide to publish it to tell myself and everyone around me: „Syria is free, free of a corrupt, inhuman regime. Syria remains, and Assad has fled“.
I say this between dream and reality, as if I fear that it is all an illusion. How can I describe my feeling when I see that Syria is returning to the Syrians, but the prisoners of the regime’s prisons have disappeared? Where are the thousands of people whose names and pictures we have been shouting for years, and who we still haven’t found a trace of?
How can I explain to my heart, which has been beating with fear and hope for this day, to be happy but without those we have lost in the regime’s dungeons?
On this International Migrants‘ Day, I light a candle for freedom and celebrate Syria’s freedom. And I realise one thing: freedom has never been a gift, but a right that its people have been reclaiming over the years.
