At that moment my senses returned and I realized how cold the ground was under my bare feet. I carried my mom inside, and from that day on I learned that though she may be older, taller and more experienced, deep down she needs me just as much as I need her.
Now, the one thing I looked forward to was waking up every morning and creeping into my parents' bedroom to look at my dad's thin and frail face making sure he had made it in safe the night before.
In school, only half my class was left. "At least we have each other," said one of my five best friends with a comforting smile.
However that didn't last for long.
Devastating news kept coming at us, beginning with the death of my friend's uncle. "In one second I lost my uncle; a part of me," she whispered in a heartbreaking tone.
I looked at her hopelessly, trying to comfort her, but I knew no words could bring him back. Every morning for one month, no words were spoken by anyone besides the ones of regret.
"If we knew this was coming, we would have done things so differently," we would tell each other.
We wouldn't have taken so much for granted, we would have appreciated what we had. Instead it was ripped away.
Grades dropped, smiles faded, students left, and all that remained were the memories that we would safely lock away.
As my dad protectively drove us to and from school, the only places we could go to, I noticed the row of soldiers on the streets. They reminded me of domino pieces. Their presence radiated darkness.
Each one had a solemn appearance, frightening eyes that looked right through you below their crunched frown. However, what always caught my eye were their large guns, the color of the dark pine trees they leaned on.
I went from looking at colorful flowers and singing birds every morning, to dark killer weapons.
April 5, 2012 was my last day of school. My parents decided to move us all to Lebanon. I had known it was coming all along. It wasn't a surprise. Everyone was moving.
I sank in my seat that day at school, buried my head into my hands and cried like I did every day.
I remembered how when I heard the news about Egypt and the violence in Tahrir Square and thinking to myself that I was far from harm's way. Now I was considering how hard it would be to move away from my home, my dad, my friends and family -- not knowing anyone or anything, possibly never being able to contact them because of the broken phone lines.
My mind wandered back to 10 years ago when I first stepped foot into the school, only worrying about things like my friendship bracelets, and now I was expected to leave everything I ever knew behind. The people who knew me inside and out, who had carved a place in my heart.
Memories flashed, accompanied by more tears as my friends gathered around me and I opened my swollen eyes, trying to picture the scene, hoping it would last forever.
I am angry. I am angry that people are so selfish, that they are ruining the country. I am angry at everyone who is holding a gun and shooting no matter which side they are on.
I get angry when other people my age complain about their life, about the silliest things, and I want to yell at them to be quiet and look around at those who don't have food to eat, don't have a home.
Now I feel hatred. Hatred towards everyone who ruined my country, stole my childhood and that of so many others.
I am scared a lot. I am scared that I will never go back, I am scared that more people will die, even if they are not close to me. Everyone has a family, friends, and they are suffering.
I am scared that I will lose the hope that I now have about being able to return and being left with nothing.