This land of shifting sand and worn wood holds the weight of untold stories, of lives lived in the shadow of war and loss. The sand whispers of restless years, where innocence was buried beneath the tide of conflict. It hides the scars of battles fought and dreams extinguished, soft and silent, yet heavy with memory.
The wooden planks creak under the weight of steps long gone, footsteps of those who walked with fear, with grief, with no promise of tomorrow. Each mark, each grain, each crack tells of a journey interrupted, of paths that led only to pain. This meeting place of sand and wood is more than a boundary, it is a testament to the lives torn apart, a quiet echo of sorrow that refuses to fade.
Here, where the wild and the constructed collide, we see the struggle of a people, those who endured, those who were lost, and those who carry the memories still. The land endures, battered yet silent, bearing the imprints of war, of fire, of destruction. It speaks softly of resilience, but louder of grief, a grief so deep that it seems endless, stretching far beyond the horizon.
In the face of this hardship, many of us left. We packed our dreams and fears, crossing oceans and borders to find work, to seek stability, to build lives far from the chaos that once surrounded us. We sought opportunities denied to us in the ruins of a war-torn land, longing for a place where we could breathe freely, raise families safely, and imagine a future untouched by conflict. Yet, even as we built new lives, our hearts remained tethered to the land we left behind.
But no matter how far we go, there is a yearning that never fades, a call from the soil that birthed us, from the skies that watched over our childhoods. It is a longing to return, not just to visit, but to live and die in the place that holds our roots. We dream of a time when we can come back to a country that has found peace, where the scars of the past are not erased but honored, and where life can flourish once more.
Yet, why do we continue down this path of provocation? Why do we so often choose violence instead of dialogue, destruction instead of understanding? The roots of such choices are complex but familiar, fear, pride, and ignorance. Fear of losing power, fear of the unknown, fear of vulnerability, it is fear that blinds us to the possibilities of peace. Pride and ego refuse to bend or compromise, demanding the world align with their will. Ignorance feeds the fires, nurturing the belief that war is inevitable, that peace is unattainable.
But what if we stopped? What if, instead of raising fists, we extended hands? Violence has never brought lasting resolution; it has only deepened wounds. What if we dared to challenge this cycle, to break it with words instead of weapons, with humility instead of hubris? To provoke not war, but thought; to spark not anger, but dialogue. We are not doomed to this path, we choose it, and so too can we choose another.
Yet even in this heaviness, there is a quiet plea: to live. The sands may shift and the wood may splinter, but life continues its relentless march forward. This fragile line between destruction and hope also offers a choice. We cannot undo the past, nor erase the scars that mark us, but we can honor those who came before by embracing the life they fought so hard to preserve.
To live is not to forget, but to rise above. It is to find joy in the smallest moments, to breathe deeply, to love fiercely. It is to laugh, to dream, to dance even as the shadows of yesterday linger. It is to rebuild, not just the physical, but the emotional, to find beauty in what remains and what can be created anew.
This is not a call to ignore the pain, but a call to honors it by choosing life. For every step taken on this weathered path, for every grain of sand beneath our feet, there is an opportunity to live fully, to cherish the present, and to carve a future where joy and peace might finally bloom. In this way, we carry their memory forward, not as a burden, but as a reason to embrace the gift of life they left behind. For only by choosing peace can we truly honor the past and build a future worth living. And in that future, may we finally find our way home, to live, to love, and when the time comes, to rest in the arms of the country that made us who we are.
My Country, Where the past still calls…..
BASSEM H. BOUSTANY Photography 
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