The Filmmaker Between Freedom and Death.

My friend, the filmmaker who was one year past forty, never knew defeat. 

His spirit was ablaze, his determination steely, and his dreams were bigger than this world. But on that day, before his silent departure, he whispered words to me that are etched in my heart: "I am haunted... haunted... and imprisoned by all the dreams and their shattering."

Then, he was swallowed by the flood of Cain and Abel on that cursed night, before he could fulfill his last promise to me - the promise he couldn't achieve alone, the promise that would have changed everything. He was one of those who soar high, outside the flock, defying all limitations, refusing to surrender to the bitter reality. He dreamed of changing the world through the lens of the camera, the ink of the pens, and the pages of paper.

A decade ago, the first time for the revolution, a spark that lit up the sky of despair, and ignited the flame of hope in the hearts of millions. And today... was the second time, a desperate attempt to revive a stolen dream. My friend, the filmmaker, decided to revolt again, along with hundreds of young people, for the freedom and revolution that was stolen by the new administration, that administration that promised justice and equality, but soon turned into a worse version of the previous regime. 

Those who led the new administration turned into tyrants, despots, and corrupt individuals, monopolizing all ministries for their own benefit, stealing the country's wealth, suppressing every dissenting voice, and preventing freedom of expression, media, and opinion, and did not respect human rights and citizenship. 

They turned into human beasts devouring citizens and all who demand and openly proclaim the rights of the people.

Every human rights activist and free media person with a conscience met his end with murder or imprisonment without trial and enforced disappearance, becoming just a number in the records of the missing, or a name on an unknown tombstone. 

This fascist and monolithic authority destroyed the dreams of millions of young people, and turned their future into a never-ending nightmare.

The desire of my friend's heart was surrounded by mystery and pain, but it was also ablaze with determination and resolve. He told me days ago, his eyes blazing with the fire of revolution: "There is no justice in this world, especially on this holy land that used to be called the land of peace and love, and it is nothing but a cursed geographical spot stained with blood and chaos. But we will not give up. 

We will fight to the end, until our dream of freedom and justice is realized." Whenever I remember his words, I feel strange feelings and sensations, my soul bleeds, my memory is destroyed, and I feel a strange contradiction between the simple shattered dreams and the black reality, between hope and despair, between life and death. The memories are painful, and life has become boring... boring, but it is also full of determination to resist.

In this gray world, my crying was public over my country, and over this spot of land that has become a graveyard of dreams, and over my friend who could not fulfill his promise to me to overthrow the current authority and the revolution anew. He was assassinated and killed in cold blood, by a treacherous bullet that settled in his head, to silence his voice forever, and to end his dream of change. His body was mutilated in the streets of the capital, turning him into a lesson for anyone who dares to oppose the regime. But they could not kill his spirit, and they could not extinguish the flame of hope that he ignited in our hearts. He soared high, outside the flock, even after his death, and he will continue to inspire us and lead us towards freedom.