Makram's story

This is from Rania Kassem. It provides some contrast. Holding tight.

My brother Makram turned 12 last June.
For the past week his reactions to the war, have been breaking my heart.
I have tried soothing him, but nothing I have said or done has been able to restore his inner peace.
All his routines have been disturbed. He's neither sleeping well, nor eating properly, nor even watching cartoons. He prefers the news now.
Normally he has to be begged to eat anything. A few days ago he started overeating, cramming one huge meal after the other in his little mouth.
Turns out he was scared our food supply might run dry. He asked me whether we could escape once that happens and as I reassured him (and my self a little) that it won't, and that all of this will be over very very soon, his phone started beeping. He has subscribed to breaking news text alert, and he instantly jumped to read the latest to us all. His voice is tense and shaky yet full of hope. He is half expecting to get a "The war is over" message..
His voice is childlike and disappointed.

2 days ago, he suddenly announced that he was writing a book.
Al shou al, the current events made him contemplate life, and think of a meaningful subject to write about.

Innocently and unaware how big of a step he has taken, he informs me of the ideas that are running through his mind:
He wants to write about a little boy whose parents died. The boy keeps seeing his parents reflection in the mirror instead of his own.Then at the end of the book, once the boy is strong and independent, he is able to see his own reflection again.
"DADA" he still calls me, "this is the general idea, but I'm going to add many details"

I'm so proud of him and so devastated. Just last week his only concern was his football camp and his playstation.
I can still see the child in him, but I can also see a little new man. He writes on yellow pokemon papers a story of despair. (At 12 I was surprised he was still hung up on pokemons, but I guess now, he's made up for it way beyond any normal 12 year old can.)

This is what he wrote so far, as he wrote it. Spelling and all.
It is written in English eventhough he is French-educated.

Title: The mirror of hope and souvenirs.

My name is Sam. Im 12 years old my parents died in the war.
Looking at myself in the mirror, my eyes were red and puffy after spending one sleepless and tearfull night.
Suddenly, my reflection changed and I saw 2 figures threw a blerred vision.
I wiped my eyes than I realised that these 2 figures were my parents. They told me: Sam, Sam don't cry will always be in your heart but for now every time you need us stand in front of the mirror ad will always appear...