I have been with Tripoli for more than two hours, and the dangerous face under the riddled hole has slowly passed away. The life of the bright life has emerged. The previous worry is relieved. I carefully observed the city. I did not expect to encounter one. A refugee from Syria. He is a member of the street selling nuts in the old city. When we saw us passing by, we invited us to have a taste. We refused to give me a few after we refused. We dont see this posture. Ok, then refuse to stop talking. He said that he was a Syrian. He lived in Damascus and used to be a teacher. But the Syrian war destroyed his family. His family never woke up in the war. He had to flee to Tripoli as a hawker. When he talked about these experiences, his tone was dull and he could not see the sad emotions. Instead, he gave us a full smile, but only sighed at the end. In peacetime, this is the first time I have been exposed to a Syrian refugee so close. The war has deprived him of everything. He wants to go home, but he has long lost his home. The cruelty of the war is unceremoniously deprived. The ability of human beings to survive.