When I lived in Syria, I had a beautiful fur coat. It was brown. The fur was very soft and long. It was deluxe and expensive. It was lightweight, and it added a significant amount of elegance to my appearance. Whenever I wore this coat, it made me feel wonderful. My husband gave me my fur coat before we came here, when we celebrated our twentieth anniversary. When I first saw it, I was stunned. I had seen the coat before when I was shopping with my husband. I told him that I liked it, but I didn’t think that he would buy it for me. My coat brings me a lot of memories of the winter. I still remember its warmth.When I wore it I was so comfortable. The coat reminds me of my easy life in Syria. Here, my life is hard. Over there, I had so many visitors. Here I hardly have any. When we came to U.S., I left the coat there in the wood closet because we left my home so quickly. We only had two hours to pack. The government wanted to arrest us because they knew my son went down to the street to protest for freedom and to stop the dictator. We were afraid for our lives, so we went to hide in my sister’s home for two days before we came here. That’s why I left my coat behind.Here in New York, I have two coats, but they are not as special as my brown fur coat. I hope that someday, when the dictator is gone, I will be able to go back and get it.