The house was raided on that day too, and friends felt I needed to leave Aleppo, and again—again—I had to leave, never to return. Today I live in a room that I cannot afford to make any larger, and probably as a token of my nostalgia, I covered it in green, still dreaming, like all Syrians, of going back, to my stacked boxes, to my belongings, to a place in this universe that I safely call “home”, to live there again and return to my roots and to my history.