Rugged. Destroyed. Broken. This is the new Khalidiya. The buildings that once stood tall and proud are now mere rubble. The skeletal remains of some, remain. Dust and stones everywhere. The city I grew up in, is now no more. I walk around this graveyard of homes, looking for some inspiration for my work. Oh, silly me. I forgot the introduction part. I am Waheeda, a 54-year-old painter who had once settled in Damascus, which by the way has got no homely atmosphere now. What I'm about to write here is no story. It’s something I experienced. While scouting for the said inspiration, I heard a group of people performing prayers from inside one of these run-down buildings. The instinct of curiosity kicked in. To be frank, I was a little scared. The people have grown to be intolerant to strangers these days. As I walked in, I saw a group of 30-40 people in there performing their prayers. Even in these rough times, they didn't forget their duties. I patiently waited for them to fin...
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