As Syrians in exile, we carry an ache that no amount of time can ease—a loneliness that lingers even in our happiest moments. We left home not because we wanted to, but because we had to. The Syrian regime’s response to the Syrian revolution forced us to make impossible choices: to stay and risk everything or to leave and lose everything familiar. We left behind the warmth of our families, the comfort of our streets, and the laughter of childhood friends. We left to find safety, to dream of better opportunities, to survive.
Exile is a strange place. It’s a world of new beginnings but also of loss. The streets we walk now are not the ones we know. The homes we live in are not the ones that raised us. We try, year after year, to make these places feel like ours, but they never truly do. The longing for home is unrelenting, a constant whisper in the back of our minds reminding us of what we’ve lost.
And now, after so many years, something extraordinary has happened: Assad is gone. Liberation has come. The dictator who ruled with fear and violence is no longer in power. Our happiness is indescribable, yet so is our pain.
We watch from afar as our families and friends flood the streets of Damascus, celebrating in Omaween Square. We see their faces light up with joy; their voices rise in chants, and their tears fall with relief. They raise flags and feel the weight of decades lift from their shoulders. But here, where we are, everything is still. Outside our windows, the world goes on as if nothing has happened. There are no celebrations, no flags waving, no shared understanding of the profound moment we are living through.
This loneliness is a different kind of exile. To be separated not only by distance but by experience. To long for the touch of home even as it rejoices without us. To feel happiness tempered by the emptiness of not being there. It is a bittersweet liberation, one that reminds us of what we have gained and what we continue to lose.
But even in this loneliness, there is hope. This moment is a reminder of why we left and what we fought for. It is proof that dreams of freedom are not in vain. And one day, we too will return to those streets, to those friends, to those memories we’ve held onto so tightly.
For now, we celebrate in our own quiet way, carrying the voices of our families, the strength of our people, and the hope of a new Syria in our hearts. Even in exile, we remain bound to home—by love, by longing, and by the unshakable belief that liberation, no matter how lonely, is still worth it.