The Journalist

Part 39: One Day, In the midst of a Fierce Battle

I've been looking at the calendar for about five minutes. I'm still worried about whether I should take my leave home or not. For some reason, it feels like something is scaring me and worrying about going home. One of them, I can't accept the fact that now my life has changed.

I'm afraid to be alone. Ah, no, I'm afraid of loneliness. For eight years, my life has only centered on Yuna. When I was in college in America, going back to Tokyo was the moment I was most looking forward to. For there is Yuna who will greet me with love. Now, I realized why I could last long enough with him. One of the reasons is of course because I am afraid of loneliness. Yes, some people are able to survive complicated relationships, because they do not want to lose the things that are accustomed to them.

Now, Yuna is no longer with me. How does it feel to go home on your own without a partner?

My phone rang suddenly with my mother's name written on the screen. I pulled over to the window while receiving a phone call.

"Moshi-moshi ...."

"Key, how are you? Are you all good in there? Okaasan keeps watching the news, saying there's been a lot of assaults these days, huh?" ask my mother softly.

"I'm doing fine. Lately the status of the city seems unsafe. But relax, I'm always on my guard. No need to worry!"

"Okaasan will continue to pray for you. Oh, yes, your friend who took a day off came to bring you some souvenirs."

"Yes, I bought it while covering the biggest refugee camp."

I remember the refugee camp that was my meeting place with Ameena. Upon returning from my escape with Ameena, I bought three handicrafts that one of the refugees offered when we entered the camp in the morning. The three crafts I gave to Ameena, Yuna and my mother.

"Ano .. said your friend, next month will be your turn to take a leave of absence ...." My mother suddenly talked about something that made me worried.

"Okaasan, I don't think I can ...."

"We're so happy to hear it!" My mother cut my words with an irresistible tone of pleasure, "go home! Stay with us while you're on leave. Okaasan will cook your favorite food every day. Okaasan has cleaned your room, too." My mother spoke with excitement showing how enthusiastic she was about my return.

"Okayan shouldn't need that serepot!"

"Okaasan knows you'll want to spend more time with Yuna when you get home. But can ... this time you stay at home?"

I'm unmoving. I don't know if my relationship with Yuna has broken down. Yes, from entering the military to studying abroad, my free time is only for Yuna. We even rented an apartment to live in together. Despite the fact that in a year we can only spend two months.

I then agreed to mother's request to stay at their house during the holidays. Talking to my mom made me realize I wasn't really alone. I was so focused on my relationship that I had run aground that I forgot there was still someone waiting for my return. They are my parents. My relationship with them cannot be said to be close or tenuous. My parents educated me from an early age to be independent and not dependent on others.

After talking to my mother, I was surprised by Aoba, So, and Eiji coming towards me in a horde. I can't believe they even wrote a list of things I had to buy while in Tokyo.

"Ayano, please buy me some practical canned food. I miss Japanese food so much." So give a long small note containing a list of food brands that are usually available in supermarkets.

"I just pull the bandage. There are no pads here that fit me" Aoba's pinta.

"If I were ..." Eiji hugged me while whispering, "please find the latest blue film. This is very useful for adding references in bed. I heard there are a lot of new stars with kawaii faces."

(kawaii: sweet/blanket)

Hearing one by one their requests, plus my mother's wishes earlier seemed to require me to immediately book a ticket home to Japan. Although my little heart actually prefers to continue working without taking time off, but it seems like I should still go back to Tokyo.

Suddenly Aoba received a report of an impromptu attack on the outskirts of Damascus. From the information provided by journalists there, this attack was an act of revenge from the Syrian government army for an attack launched by rebel groups in the center of Damascus. Yes, in recent weeks the rebel group was so persistent in seizing the area that became the capital of Syria. Evidently now they began to control several points of the Damascus area, including on the eastern outskirts of the current war.

We have to be ready to work despite being surrounded by bullets. Still have to take pictures even in the middle of the explosion that occurred. We bet our lives to show the reality of what happened in that place of conflict.

It didn't take long to arrive at that bloodthirsty location. Once there, chaos and fierce warfare are clearly visible in the eye. The sound of gunfire from the two camps was being disdainful. Locals ran in panic to save themselves. The rebel army was determined to storm the government forces' defense. The Syrian military did not remain silent and immediately responded with air strikes. Two riders from rebel forces blew themselves up in a car trying to break through Syrian military defences.

I tried to take photos from the closest distance to the explosion. The smell of burnt human flesh disturbed my smell. A soldier pulled my vest so that I would immediately step aside in this dangerous arena.

There are some journalists and journalists who are victims of stray bullets. I saw a journalist from the Libyan state being swept away by a mine explosion in the leg. There are also female journalists who were seriously injured by a stray bullet attack. Some even died with other residents.

source: barneymccoy.wordpress

source: alaraby.co.uk

source: twitter

So approached me, then said in a hasty tone, "Let's get out of here! Things are getting heated up. We can't cover live, but I've had time to pick up documentation for newscast material."

"Where are Aoba and Eiji?" my many.

"They were helping journalists who were hit by the bomb blast. Come on, let's get out of here!" take So one more time.

Not quite a minute after So spoke, an explosion again occurred not far from where we were standing. A thick plume of black ash filled our vision followed by pieces of human body thrown scattered. No doubt, So also pulled me to run. However, my gaze suddenly centered on a girl standing in the middle of a sea of battle while crying hysterically.

I then looked up. It was seen that the warplanes again began to rule the sky. I looked back at the little girl, then ran towards her with all my might.

"Where are you going? Don't go there, it's dangerous!" so shouted with a voice so shrill.

I kept running in the middle of a storm of bullets and grenade blasts. These footsteps led me to save her amid a sea of scattered corpses. I carried her, then took her running with me. We hid in a building shop whose front had collapsed, where there were many steel frames that could be used for shelter.

"You okay?" I asked while lowering the boy from my arms.

The plain boy shook his head slowly. I wiped away the trace of her tears. For a moment, we looked at each other.

"Eh? Not that you ...."

I'm aghast. The child's face seemed familiar to me. Yes, I remember! He's a funny boy I photographed in one of the refugee camps a year ago. The photo was published with an article that went viral on social media. It was also the photo that made me meet Zaheera.