There is no preservation of a photo of Ayimasha, and when the picture is accompanied, the memory in the impression is constantly compared, and these pictures are like, and they are not like, and they are particularly like.
Ayimasha is the focus of women throughout Syria.
It is the admiration of all the widows who are still in the depths of the water.
I have entered Syria dozens of times, shuttling between war and love, that is, respect for the simple Syrians, in the cruel scenes of war, the reporter is magnifying the fleeting beauty, dare not tire.
Every country can boast of its beautiful women.
However, Ayimasha said that the big windmill in her hometown of Hama was more beautiful than a woman.
In November 2013, Phoenix SATELLITE TV sent me to Syria for a temporary residence for three months, and I took Yanbian's cook, Ding Zijun.
Eastern Ghouta, south of Damascus, was the headquarters of the Islamic State forces besieging Damascus.
Heavy mortars and howitzers by militants continued to shell the damascus city area indiscriminately.
One day, Syrian government forces allowed us to go to the settlements around Eastern Ghouta to conduct interviews, mainly to publicize the seizure of important strategic towns by the Syrian Presidential Guard.
Our pickup trucks were shivering madly on the roads full of bomb craters on the roads where there were occasional explosions, guided by an old motorcycle, and the surrounding scenery was like the tragic scene of Stalingrad that I saw in the World War II museum in Moscow's Victory Square, surrounded by not a single complete building. Not a single soul, not even rats and stray dogs.
In a settlement in Ghouta, West East, I met a Syrian female military doctor.
Her name is Ayimasha.
A native of Ayimasha Hama Province, graduated from Moscow State Medical University, Deputy Director of Surgery.
Speak russian fluently.
Ayimasha joined our interview team and everyone understood what she needed to do.
A group of 6 of us, escorted by scouts from the Syrian Presidential Guard Brigade, walked through the streets and remnants of the wall after the street.
Aimasa said her husband was killed in the Battle of Eastern Ghouta, and it turned out that the couple was a unit and her husband was a medical officer.
They were classmates in Moscow.
Ayemasha said that the War in Syria, which has lasted for many years, has led to a sharp decline in Syrian men, with the vast majority of the 470,000 Syrians dying in the war being adult men; other more men have fled to Jordan, Turkey, Saudi Arabia and European countries to escape the war and avoid being soldiers. War, flights, arrests, disappearances, etc., have led to a 70 percent increase in single women in Syria, and more and more war widows have joined the ranks, with each man paired with multiple girls.
Ayimasha is the kind of young woman who exudes a feminine atmosphere, although she is the mother of twins, her body is well maintained, and the Mediterranean sun tans her skin, but it makes people healthier and more energetic.
The squad crossed a sandy passageway, and to prevent Islamic State snipers from shooting, the improvised road was dug down a meter and a half, and the pickup truck shook sharply from side to side.
There was a bullet hole under the railing on the right side of the pickup truck, and my right leg was scratched by the sharp iron, and the blood was direct.
Ayimasha quickly took out the emergency kit and divided three times and five times to help me treat the wound.
Ayimasha removed the turban from her neck and helped me bandage it tightly around the wound.
Syria is a secular Islamic state, and Syrian female names are formed based on different names based on flowers, animals, personality traits, cities, occupations, and even natural phenomena.
In addition, some names are marked with options that have nothing to do with the religious subject, and Ayimasha is the noble connotation.
I asked Ayimasha what her plans were for the end of the war, and she said she would like to return to Moscow for her master's degree, but the tuition fee would be high.
The car passed another open field, the pickup truck ran frantically, we were all lying on the pickup truck, I spread Ayimasha on my chest with a bulletproof suit, she lowered her head subtly, her cheeks flushed.
We traveled through the heavens of life and death, Ayimasha said, there was no light of victory in sight, but everyone insisted on living and then went to fight, even if sacrificed, because of hatred.
Ayimasha's melancholy gaze revealed firm conviction.
Ayimasha said her husband was almost blown up, leaving only the mutilated limbs, and for a moment she almost felt that there was no point in living.
But the countless little sisters who had suffered the same thing as her, widows to be precise, encouraged her with a determined gaze, a strength that was indestructible for a woman who suffered so much.
This is Ayimasha's twin daughter, fostered in a mother's home in rural Hama province, where only her mother and sister survived, and her father and three older brothers were killed in battle.
On the front line, we were about to break up, and I gave Ayimasha a body armor and helmet, helped her put them on, and fastened her helmet again.
On the battlefield where life is fleeting, I suddenly feel another deep gaze in my body confronting you for a long time, seeing through the soul and inner language, and there is nowhere to escape.
Suddenly I felt an invisible but powerful support for the strong, and all the pain was released.
Suddenly I felt all the Syrian women living with a bright smile while not wiping their wounds.
A thousand sighs poured out on the battlefield to help her, without hesitation.
However, Ayimasha's firm eyes looked at each other and felt dwarfed by men.
The sound of gunfire continued, and suddenly I understood the most affectionate and profound words in the emotional world.
In addition to sex between men and women, there is also a love that transcends national boundaries, nationalities, and family affection, which can melt an iceberg.
We said goodbye on the battlefield, and we didn't even have time to exchange a phone call.
Ayimasha disappeared into the dusty yellow sand with the pickup truck.
On September 25, 2015, Russia announced its entry into the Syrian war, and two days later, I entered Syria with a press corps organized by the Information Bureau of the Russian Defense Ministry.
I came to Ayimasha's hometown of Hama.
That year, on a pickup truck, I listened to Ayimasha's family's introduction to her hometown: Hama Province, located in central Syria, is one of 13 administrative provinces, with a pre-war population of more than 1.3 million and a land area of 8,883 square kilometers.
The capital city of Hama, as a city with a long history, includes the magnificent Nurdin Mosque, the Yajam Palace during the Ottoman Empire, and the twenty-two large windmills on the banks of the Orontes River.
Ayimasha said there were big windmills in her old town.
I'm looking for big windmills.
It is difficult to calm down, it is like returning to your hometown.
Always look for female soldiers who speak Russian in the Syrian government army.
The Syrian government translator who assisted the Russian army excitedly said that he had found Ayimasha.
But this Ayimasha is not, even though she is also a widow.
Later, I came to Syria with the Russian army again and again, participating in the liberation of Hama, Homs, Palmyra, Deir Ezzor, Hansehun, until the Battle of Eastern Ghouta was reported, and the Syrian lieutenant colonel translator, who had at least been an officer, helped me find countless Ayimasha, but none of them.
But they are all widows.
There is a kind of encounter, not invited, but there is a spirit of the heart; there is a kind of gaze, not far away, but has been watching; there is a kind of firmness, will not meet, but do not abandon; there is a touch of affection, like a shadow, but make the mountains and rivers borderless.
War shatters life, but life goes on!
Sometimes choosing to survive may be harder than choosing to die! But only by living can we look forward to tomorrow!
Ayimasha, are you okay!
It's a greeting from your hometown!
The windmills of my hometown have turned.