“I do not want to leave my city, nor do I want to emigrate. I want to feel a sense of belonging in a country that seems to lose its identity more every day.

These words may sound unusual coming from a young Syrian man who has lived through thirteen years of war and now faces a different phase: survival. In post-war Syria, social anxiety has spread everywhere  among strangers, friends, and even within families. Over the past year, I have found myself staying home more often, struggling to plan even simple activities with friends. Many people around me have become afraid of meeting new people, and gradually I found myself affected by the same fears. Even family relationships have changed; conversations have become rare, and duty often replaces emotional connection.

Since moving to Damascus in 2017, I have faced the same struggles as many young Syrians searching for a better life: unaffordable housing, sectarian divisions, unstable work, and constant uncertainty. Although the war has officially ended, its psychological impact remains everywhere. Most conversations between friends revolve around fear and tension. People no longer trust easily, and everyone seems to retreat further into themselves.
At the same time, I began living at an exhausting pace, rushing through work and relationships without understanding simplicity anymore. Photography became my only way to slow down and survive emotionally.

During a workshop about analyzing family through old photographs, I started looking closely at my own family archive. My parents, now in their sixties, preserved letters and photographs from the 1980s that reveal a very different Syria images of intimacy, freedom, fashion, friendship, and emotional openness that feel almost impossible today. These photographs awakened in me a longing for the past and a desire to understand how people once lived with less fear and social tension.
Every visit to my hometown, Tartus, reinforces this feeling. The quiet coastal city where my parents once fell in love has changed dramatically because of war, displacement, economic collapse, and collective trauma.

Open the Drawer is a collaborative documentary project between me and my parents. Through old photographs and letters from the 1980s, the project explores memory, intimacy, and family relationships in Syria today. By revisiting personal archives together, the project becomes both an act of resistance and a healing space for a young photographer searching for belonging, connection, and a slower, more humane way of living.”