Today I went through one of the countless "security checks" I've had since I started living in Syria in 2000.

This morning, two intelligence officers came to my home to question me for two hours.

Some of the questions were routine, like, "When did you enter the country?" and "How long are you planning on staying?"

Others were more personal, such as, "Who are your friends?" and "Who do you visit?"

Of course, I didn't give them the names of any of my friends (except for my former landlord, whom they already know I know anyways -- and I had to provide some sort of an answer).

They asked if I would help them. I told them I didn't really know what was going on in Syria, except for what I read in the newsapers or saw on TV. Of course, I could never be an informant.

After they left, I washed my face and had breakfast in the middle of the day.

I don't know how to describe the feeling of being interrogated, except to tell you what it doesn't feel like.

You know what it feels like when the person you're interested in finally kisses you, and you walk down the street and you feel a glow on your face and you can't stop smiling?

This is just the opposite. I went to the local bakery, walking almost in slow motion, my eyes and face feeling dead, unable to smile, completely oblivious to my surroundings.

At the end of the day I guess I should consider myself lucky. I'm still here, and I'm not afraid.