We ran through the alley, banging on doors, hearts pounding. Suddenly, someone opened theirs, and we all rushed inside, huddling silently behind the door, waiting for the sound of engines to fade away. Only later did I realize how terrifying that moment truly was—how little I understood the danger back then.
In a dark, narrow alley like that, anything could have happened. Out on the main streets, even if they fired bullets at us, their hands were somewhat tied when it came to outright killing. But hidden in that alley, far from any witness, they could have done whatever they wanted if they’d caught us…
I remember one time when they fired so much tear gas that a few young men walking with us lit cigarettes and passed them around, saying the smoke helped ease the sting. They’d take a drag and gently blow it into each other’s eyes. When they handed the cigarette to me, I—who had never smoked a day in my life—instead of inhaling, just blew on the tip like it was a candle.
The young man laughed, took it from my hand, and said, “Here, let me do it for you.” He took a deep drag and softly blew the smoke right into my watering eyes. (Just imagine! I didn’t even know how to smoke! What on earth was I doing there?!) Oh, what days those were.
And the funniest part of all—my attempts at throwing stones at the security forces. In the middle of that terrifying protest, amid the gunfire, the chants, the screams, the running and hiding, the men would carry big rocks and hurl them at the forces the moment they got a chance.
Wanting to stand with them, I picked up a few stones and threw them too. Finally, one of the men came over and said, “Could you please not throw stones? The way you’re doing it, you’re more likely to hit us!”
Ha ha…It wasn’t that I lacked the strength—no, as a young woman I could throw just fine, I had the power for it. But deep inside, as a human being, I simply hadn’t reached the point where I could hurt another person, even one of those forces.
I wasn’t there yet. Somewhere in my heart, I didn’t want to throw stones at anyone. In my deepest self, all I wanted was to live in a world filled with peace, safety, and freedom.
A world where I wouldn’t have to fight tooth and nail against heavily armed forces just to claim the rights that were rightfully mine—where I wouldn’t have to shout, throw stones, scream, or take beatings.
I wanted life not to hurt so much.
But today, if I were (hypothetically) out there protesting again, I would throw my stones. I’m no longer that naive, foolish girl from back then.
They’ve taken my red heart and painted it black with all the pain.
Black, black, black…
This time, my stones would hit their mark. I promise.
