Between heart and mind:
It is a novel that tells the experience of a failed love, which was ultimately a lesson for its owner. Ahmed lived his entire life under the robes of his conservative family, and spent many years dreaming of marrying his cousin Hessa, whose love had grown in his heart since their childhood. He was a passionate lover, but his family’s financial conditions were difficult. And conservative traditions surrounded him from every side like a bracelet surrounds the wrist, and despite his sincere love for Hessa, who shyly exchanged his feelings of love for him, he was unable to unleash her feminine feelings in his lover, who fell in love with a chaotic man with a strong personality to the point of indifference, and when She leaves him and moves on, leaving him heartbroken and desperate, suffering from depression, from which he cannot recover except when he takes revenge on the man who loved her for a man from whom that shock made another human being, after she taught him the lesson of his life.
We are the generation of war, and our parents are the generation of defeat, and between them souls grew old, and the concepts of war and love became similar to them.
Things are too big to tell, but I believe that a story alone is capable of creating a small homeland that we carry in our pocket, and that we talk about to our children who were born outside the homeland, and who carried its mark on their faces, tongues, and identities without seeing a stone in it. Only a story is sufficient to create the imaginary homeland in their minds alive. .
This collection deals with stories from the lives of women who lived between two rivers. Between Syria and one of the asylum countries, it is concerned with the small details of these two lives, and the effects that the war had on the lives of these women: disappointment, loss, escape, and love.
It is an attempt to overcome the great scene of war, and the frost of the borders creeping as a river of ice between the shoulders, with small details, in which the voice rises and asks: “Yes, I lived between two rivers, but which of them lived in me?”
My Report to Goiko is not an autobiography. My personal life has some value, quite comparatively, for me and for no one else, and the only value I knew of in it was in the efforts to ascend from one rung to another to reach the highest point it could reach. Its strength and stubbornness, the peak that I arbitrarily named “the Cretan View”.
Therefore, you, reader, will find in these pages the red trace left by drops of my blood, the trace that indicates my journey between people, emotions, and ideas. Every human being, worthy of being called the Son of Man, must carry his cross and ascend Calvary. Many, in fact most of them, reach the first or second degree. Then they collapse panting in the middle of the journey, never reaching the peak of Golgotha, in other words, the peak of their duty. To be crucified, to be resurrected, and to have their souls saved. Their hearts weaken because of their fear of crucifixion, and they do not know that the cross is the only way to resurrection, and there is no other way.
