It's raining in the wet
It rains on the wet. Destruction upon destruction. More uncertainty on top of the already existing uncertainty. More pain when it has not yet been possible to heal the pain that has been dragging on for no less than twelve years. Because Syria, let us remember, is still at war, even if our eyes have a different focus, a different destiny. It is not only Ukraine that is bleeding to death day by day. It is not only unreason that grips this country. Oblivion comes quickly when one does not want to remember. Everyday life creates weariness and turns into coldness, like those eyes that pierce and only transmit indifference.
There is little to fear when you have almost nothing to lose. Everything is fear and terror when you discover that even that almost disappears. How cruel life is sometimes! It never tires of hitting, again and again, and always the most vulnerable. Poverty attracts more poverty. As if despair were singing songs that cajole death.
And, in this scenario, the earth moves with appalling brutality. Syria is trembling, with its complicated situation for humanitarian aid to arrive; Turkey is trembling too. Thousands and thousands of dead - there is already talk of more than 20,000 - lie among the hundreds of fallen buildings, on the streets of large and small towns, in improvised morgues... Corpses that show that there are still many stories to be written, that drown words and dry up tears like rivers that have forgotten their courses.
No one is safe from the surprising, from the challenges of nature that breaks with rage and breaks us. It smells of death in the land of the dead. New rubble under the rubble. One cry, two, a thousand. Hope is now shouted, it has the melody of a cry, of a lament. Silence. More. Silence is the bridge to the light. To be heard, in these moments, to be able to raise one's voice from the depths of hell, means to be born again. And the images that speak of life in the midst of so much death shudder. Let them stop time... please.
The earth has trembled. There is no water, no light, there is too much cold, there is too much despair.
Syria. Turkey. Organising, mobilising, clearing rubble, searching, all with the sole aim of still getting there in time. How many realities are there in each reality? More than 50 countries have moved to the disaster area, more to Turkey than to Syria, which does not make things easy, to spread a little hope. The Spanish army is there with the UME, firefighters, police, NGOs and many anonymous aid workers and volunteers. Solidarity becomes a headline, but in a few days the headline will begin to fade, it will fade like the memory as the years go by. The thousands of specialists and citizens who have moved to these countries will return to their destinations, to their jobs. Then, the enormous sadness caused by this heartbreaking present will give way to an immediate future full of loneliness and uncertainty.