I often wonder how incredibly different my life — and those of thousands of others — would be if the Assyrian genocide never existed. What if we were able to live our lives without the constant fear that we would potentially lose them? Hundreds of artifacts that have been cherished for thousands of years have vanished or been destroyed. Churches, museums, and homes have all been stripped of their historical meaning. Just like the Assyrian Empire, the homes that were passed down from generation to generation are all part of the past.

On March 15, 2011, the Syrian Civil War started. Many people lost their lives, one of them being my best friend since second grade, Simon. Simon had a smile that could light up a room. At the time, I truly believed that he and I would be best friends forever. We shared secrets that we swore would never leave the two of us. We were like two peas in a pod — always together wherever we went. That was all before my family and I decided to emigrate to the United States. As heartbroken as I was, I did not realize that it would be the last time I would ever see his beautiful smile again.

No matter how far the distance seemed, Simon and I promised one another that it would not be a barrier in our friendship. Years passed, and we failed to fulfill that promise. Conflicted about why he hadn’t kept his word, I began to realize that he had not forgotten that promise, but that he no longer had a place on this earth.

The news came from my mom as she cleared the lump in her throat to speak: “Inana, your friend Simon has passed away. He was leaving his house to go on a walk when an air strike dropped a bomb in his radius.”

I stood blankly, avoiding eye contact with her as she continued to speak. “His body was found after he had not returned home for hours,” she said.

My heart sunk to the pit of my stomach. Shivers ran down my spine, and my eyes began to overflow with tears. I suddenly forgot that the world around me existed, and flashbacks of our childhood came about. How could this happen? I asked myself repeatedly as I rocked back and forth on my bathroom floor. I could not let anyone, not even my family, see me like this.

I soon had to face reality and return to school. A silent feeling of guilt haunted me, knowing that I was able to escape Syria before it became a war zone. Why was I the lucky one to leave? What if I still lived there? These questions guilted my conscience and caused a distraction to my education. I started to lack confidence, and worst of all, I could not share this with anyone else besides myself.

I became a stranger to myself at this point. I continuously failed to realize why God had done this to an innocent human being who did no harm to anyone. I started to distance myself from everyone, and crying myself to sleep became a daily routine.

It was Simon who helped me become who I am today. Simon would not want me to live in remorse and regret, but rather live a life that he could not live. It should be a life filled with happiness and nothing but that. He’s the reason I decided that I should pursue my dreams of becoming a journalist — so I can speak the unspoken and share the stories of the voiceless.

Losing Simon was one of the hardest things that I have ever had to face. Four years have passed, and I still constantly think about his innocent smile.He has become my motivation for pursuing my dreams and being a better person. I do believe that he is proudly watching over and cheering me on throughout my journey to becoming a journalist — a journalist who vows to keep his story, along with many other innocent victims, alive.