Horrible image when you Google this city
When you Google "Kobani" the first image that comes up is of the city reduced to rubble. While it has been rebuilt since the Islamic State invasion in 2014, the historic city in northern Syria is again under threat.
The images of a destroyed city are a far cry from what Kobani actually looked like the last time I visited my ancestral home back in 2002 - and the last time I saw all of my family before they had to flee due to ISIS's invasion.
Now my home faces a new struggle.
It was quite a strange and emotional feeling for me last Saturday.
I found myself covering the news of the day - little Kobani was again in the spotlight for all the wrong reasons.
Air strikes started after President Donald Trump's call to withdraw US troops from northern Syria following Turkey's invasion, abandoning its allies (the Kurds) who had helped in the fight against ISIS.
One of the driving forces behind me becoming a journalist was because of the very little, next to no rights of the Kurds.
Being in a country where there is freedom of expression, I felt it was part my duty to take advantage and give a voice to people who didn't have one.
I also, where I could, wanted to able to write about my people in a way that influenced and shaped opinion, not only on the Kurds but as a representation of those suffering due to political upheaval.
Decades later, I would have hoped the Kurds wouldn't be in a situation of history repeating but here they are again - a nation plagued by continuous torment at the hands of political powers whose fundamental priorities override humanity.
For the Kurds who get little next to no recognition in some parts of their country and for those who don't know who we are, I hoped to one day be in such a position where I could let the world know of the positive outcomes.
But last weekend working for Australia's biggest news site, it was the same old story about the Kurds.
For me, I don't want to sit and point fingers as to who is to blame because in my opinion, everyone is - from the West to the Middle East - from the United States, Turkey, Islamic State, Russia and even my people.
As the death toll begins to rise after Turkey's invasion where thousands of Kurds have fled their homes, I ask the world one question.
When will it end? If politics can't be put to rest, if power continues to override ego, then who are the real losers?
HERE WE ARE, AGAIN
Back then, ISIS had invaded my ancestral home. Every few hours a gut-wrenching story unfolded about the fundamentalist group's barbaric behaviour.
Those whose roots were in Kobani were not only sad, they were in pain as hundreds of thousands of people, including my family were forced to abandon their homes.
The surrounding region covered an area from where the Euphrates enters Syria to about 80km to the east, encompassing about 300 villages and farms.
My parents' eyes were filled with tears as the place they once called home teetered on the brink of destruction.
Five kilometres to the west of Kobani is my great-grandfather's village, called Mazra. He spent a lifetime labouring to make sure the vines, olive and pistachio trees he planted bore enough fruit to provide for his children and future generations.
All that, including his grave, was left behind after all my family were forced to seek refuge across the Turkish border.
On the back of one of my cousins was my 85-year-old grandmother, her body too fragile to make the five kilometre trek.
On January 26, 2015, the Kurds regained full power and control of the city of Kobani.
But by then, most of my family had fled to countries including Turkey, Germany and Denmark in search of a place to call home. They had lost everything.
Only a handful of them returned to salvage what was left and rebuild the devastated town with whatever strength they embodied.
And they did.
My grandmother refused to die anywhere but her beloved Kobani and so she too returned home.
Her last words I will never forget: "I hope to see you one more time before I die."
She died in February 2018. Sadly, I could not fulfil her dying wish. The last time I saw her was when I was 16.
Because of the continued political unrest, I was unable to visit my own grandmother, my family, my ancestral home.
And today is no different.
Ever since the Turkey-Syria conflict I have listened to my parents on the phone to my uncles - and again, their eyes fill with tears.
"We are okay …" my uncles say. But we can hear the anguish in their voice.
A situation so heartbreaking because this time, there is nowhere to go, no border to cross.
They spent years rebuilding their homes only to feel uncertainty all over again.
They lay awake at night, bombs going off in the distance, but all they can do is pray, pray not to fall victim to fighter jets, pray not to lose a family member, pray not to have their homes reduced to ashes … all over again.
And only the other day I was told other families members residing in the targeted Kurdish town of Ras-al-Ain, 186km east of Kobani and on the border with Turkey, have had to seek refuge in the city of Qamishli, 680 kilometres northeast of Damascus.
Our world needs to become more humane, the nations of the Middle East need to put an end to waves of hatred and destruction and the Kurdish organisations need to find better strategies to prevent more catastrophes befalling on the Kurdish people in all parts of their homeland.
Everyone is responsible.
I'm Shireen Khalil, an Australian-born Kurd who still dreams of one day reporting on a world, free of suffering and oppression.