Dear Santa, 
I want to write and tell you about my Christmas of last year in 2006 which I regret to say was spent grovelling in a dark hole of Bashar Al-Assad's Underground Prison, which is the home to many of Syria's Political Dissidents. Instead of usually hearing your Christmas bells and cheer, I would only hear the screams of torture and crying as the whips lashed the skin of my fellow prisoner mates, it was no Xmas by all means Santa, it was more like hell spent in Assad's Chamber of Torture.
My mind turns back to my childhood when we kids used to spend cold xmas days bundled in jackets, woollen socks and thick sweaters all to the courtesy of my over concerned Mother. We never felt the harsh cold of Xmas and only the love of family and friends.
But 2006 would be a much bleaker picture, I sat sitting in solitary confinement with the cold oozing from every corner of the cell pinching and numbing what fat was left on my undernourished half naked body. That Xmas only the Prison Guards would feel the warm, as they sat bundled by gas stoves wearing what looked to be like last years xmas clothes.
Unlike the Legend of Baby Jesus in the grotto, instead of Animals huddled by Jesus blowing warm air onto his cold forehead and giving him the warmth of their bodies as we heard a million times before each Xmas. We would only feel the cold air as it resonated from the Prison Guards whips all around the prison's cold, damp hallways.
I was never a believer but in despite of that I couldn't help but wonder what was happening outside the Prisons cold stone walls during this festive time, like how my Dad used to decorate the homes Xmas tree with red lights and balls. Then I realized that the only red lights I would be seeing that year were from the Prison Guards glaring and suspicious eyes as they scorned at us from afar. And instead of Xmas Carols we would be engulfed with the Guards abusive screams.
Instead of tasting the red warmth of Homemade Xmas Wine, I would only taste the bitterly cold secondhand water which I would have to drink from a toilet hose.
A while after that bitter and disturbing Xmas, I was miraculously freed and sent into exile. I escaped from Syria to Jordan and then to Egypt escaping those watching red eyes, the bats of the darkness and the forever looming picture of the Guy that holds the biggest whip of all, 'Bashar Al-Assad', that is situated on every Syrian corner.
The year has now passed and I am here in Lebanon exiled as a new Xmas approaches, despite that here in Lebanon there are Xmas trees everywhere, Xmas lights, decorations, friends and good people I still feel that this is not real xmas for me.
Its not my neighbourhood and the lights don't shine so bright, not like back in my old Syrian neighbourhood of Damascus. I am not seeing my Father decorate the tree laughing and being merry nor my mother preparing the Xmas feast nor my beloved Girlfriend ringing me and spreading Xmas cheer. I won't be spending this Xmas with my old Syrian friends dancing and being drunk on life.
So Santa, will you bring me my Xmas wishes next year? Will you release all the Syrian Prisoners and Exiled Syrians from all over the world, so we can see our beloved Syria yet again??
Will you release my special friend Hussam Mulhim the Poet who has been charged and put in a Military Prison for 5 years just for writing poetry??
Or will the next Xmas just be the same as the last 2 spent??
I beg you Santa I just want this gift from you, I don't have anyone else to listen except for you. Please don't disappoint me and don't disappoint the Syrian people.
With all my love on this Miserable Xmas,
Ahed Al Hendi
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