A Father and a Mother at the Same Time
Being both a father and a mother at the same time is not easy.
I grew up in an environment where both the father and the mother had clear roles. The mother took care of the children and gave them her affection, while the father worked and provided them with food and the necessities of life. But my life did not turn out that way.
Before Farouk was born, the mother of my children left our home, and I suddenly found myself facing a responsibility I had never chosen, but which became my duty.
When my youngest son was born, he was a child who knew nothing about this world. I carried him and cared for him from his very first day, as both a father and a mother. He grew up in my arms, and he never knew his mother.
Then came the years of war.
Fourteen years of war changed everything.
During those years, I lost my father and my mother, my three brothers, my son, my grandfather, and my home.
The war was not simply an unsafe place to live. It was fourteen years that took away parts of my life, my stability, and the opportunities through which I could have built a future for myself.
During some of the hardest years, we lived in a tent.
I would leave my young children alone inside it and go away for months, searching for cardboard and plastic that I could collect and sell, so that I could buy enough food to keep them from going hungry.
The bombs came from the sky.
Hunger, poverty, and death followed us.
And with every step I took away from that tent, my heart remained there with my children.
I was responsible for them, and because of that, I did not always have the freedom to choose what I wanted for myself.
There were jobs I could not take. There were paths I could have followed. There were many things I had to postpone because there were two children who needed me.
As the years passed, I realized that I had sacrificed my future more than I had ever understood.
I did not build the life I had once dreamed of.
Even professionally and financially, I never reached the place I had hoped to reach.
Perhaps someone looking at my life today sees only the things I failed to achieve.
But I also see the years when I simply did not have the luxury of living for myself.
Every time, I chose my children.
When they needed a father, I was there.
When they needed a mother, I tried to be there.
And when the world around us was unsafe, I tried to be the safe place they could return to.
I did not do everything perfectly.
Perhaps I made many mistakes.
But I did what I could with what I had.
And after everything I have lost, every day that my two children go to sleep safe and fed means that I did not lose everything.
That is my small victory.
And it is the reason I am still standing.
The most important truth is that I did not make it to this day alone.
There were people who stood beside me during the hardest years: friends, supporters, and people who may never have realized how much a kind word or a small act of help could mean to me.
But at a time when I was simply trying to keep going, those things meant more than they could ever know.
To all of them, I say:
Thank you.
Thank you to everyone who believed in me when I could no longer believe in myself.
Thank you to everyone who supported me, stood beside me, or helped me in any way, directly or indirectly.
And thank you to everyone who made the road a little less painful.
Perhaps I have not yet reached the life I once dreamed of.
But I am still here.
I am still drawing.
I am still trying.
And I am still a father to two children whom I want to give a better life than the one I knew.
This is my story.
It is not a story of complete success.
It is the story of a human being who tried to remain standing while carrying more than he could bear.