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Cordelia: a Story of Survival
When war came to my doorstep, I packed my sewing machine and serger, leaving behind my studio, my village, and the life I had built. What I carried with me wasn’t just tools, it was a promise to myself: I would create again.
My name is Sara Rammal, and I am a twenty-two year old content creator and artist. I grew up in Odaisseh, a small village in South Lebanon, on the border of occupied Palestine. Everything I created was inspired by the environment around me, my village, my culture, and my history.


THE PAST
Growing up, I spent my days capturing the beauty of life in the South through photographs. I liked taking photos of myself between flowers, experimenting with props and scenery, but fashion was far from my mind. I didn’t care much about clothes until I turned seventeen.
At the time, I worked at a small phone shop. It wasn’t much, but for my teenage self, it was a good way to save money. One day, I decided to transform my wardrobe to something that matched my personality. I didn’t like the fast fashion pieces that were around; I craved timeless pieces, earthy tones, and things that felt like me.
While searching the Beiruti shops, I stumbled upon a fabric store. Without hesitation, I spent my entire savings on five large bags of fabric. I had no sewing machine, no skills, and no plan— just the determination to create something of my own. I borrowed my grandmother’s sewing machine and began teaching myself how to sew through YouTube tutorials. Piece by piece, I built my wardrobe, experimenting with patterns and learning the art of design. It took me two years to master my craft. During that time, I discovered a love for fashion design that I never knew existed.
I started sharing my creations on Instagram and to my surprise, people loved my designs and some even asked to buy them. I didn’t have the resources to take that step yet— I didn’t feel ready and I lacked the budget for better machines and fabrics.
CORDELIA
At ninteen, I attended an arts and crafts class offered by an NGO in Nabatiyeh, Lebanon. At first, I thought it was just another class, but as I listened to the stories of others turning their passions into businesses, something clicked. I realized I already had the skills, the creativity, and even the clients. All I needed was the confidence and resources to start.
When I told the class that I had made the outfit I was wearing—a sage green corset over an angelic white shirt— they were stunned. I began developing a brand inspired by my love for the “cottage core” aesthetic.
I named my brand Cordelia, after a fictional character from my favorite series, Anne with an E. Anne used to dress up and pretend to be Princess Cordelia to escape her struggles, finding solace in the power of imagination. For me, fashion served the same purpose; it allowed me to escape, to dream, to feel free.
I won that class’ competition in first place. And after getting the funding I needed, Cordelia was born. I created made-to-order dresses and shirts—each piece carrying a part of my soul. People were willing to wait months for my creations, and I poured my heart into every stitch.
THE WAR ON SOUTH
Just as I began to see my dreams take flight, life in Lebanon reminded me of how quickly it can unravel. In October 2023, things changed.
War started, and I was watching and hearing missiles pass by above my home. The life I had carefully built started tearing apart. For my safety and education, I moved to Beirut, leaving behind my home, my studio, and most of my supplies. I could bring only one sewing machine, a serger, and some fabrics. I was preparing for a tote bag collection but I had to leave everything behind.
Instead of sharing aesthetic posts on Instagram, my page became a platform to document the war. I posted in English, hoping to raise awareness about what was happening in both my country and in Gaza as well.
In December, bombs struck near the place my parents were seeking shelter. For the first time since the beginning of the war, they left our village and joined me in Beirut.
I stopped sewing entirely. I couldn’t bring myself to create when everything felt so uncertain. I didn’t have the space nor my equipment. I shifted my focus to media work, learning new skills and surviving day by day. My wardrobe of skirts and dresses was replaced with survival mode clothing: anything that I could evacuate in should something happen. It was a bonus if it was something I could both sleep and go out in.
THE WAR ON LEBANON
For 66 days, Israel bombed every part of this country. During the full scale war on Lebanon, I was living in survival mode. We escaped the southern suburbs of Beirut and went to a house in Mount Lebanon with all my extended family. During that time, I filmed, volunteered, and interviewed people, documenting the human impact of war. I even reached out to people for jobs to keep myself busy and avoid the reality of things. When a ceasefire was announced, we went back to Beirut. We couldn’t go back to my village, 80% of the houses in Odaisseh were bombed, trees were burned, and Israeli forces are still on my land.
THE PRESENT
If war taught me anything it’s that I don’t have to wait for things to be perfect. Life doesn’t pause for anyone, and it’s important to choose your dreams despite the uncertainty.
I found a small apartment in Beirut, a space that I’m renovating to become both my own home and a studio for Cordelia. It will be a place to sew, to dream, and to create. I don’t have all the funds or resources I need yet, but I’m determined to make it work.
Like Anne, I created Cordelia as a way to dream beyond my struggles. Today, it’s not just an escape— it’s my resistance— a stitch of hope in a fractured world. Through my brand, I want to bring beauty into the world, not just for myself, but for others who need it too. I’m designing again, planning collections, and imagining a future where Cordelia reaches people across the globe.
THE FUTURE
The scars of war will always remain, but so will my passion. I’ve lost loved ones, friends, and places that meant the world to me. My village may never be the same, but I carry its strength within me.
Cordelia is more than a brand, it has become a symbol of survival, of creativity in the face of destruction, and the belief that beauty can bloom even in the harshest conditions.
This is not just my story. It’s the story of countless artists who refuse to let war define them. And as I sew the first stitch in my new studio, I know this is only the beginning.


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"title" : "Cordelia: a Story of Survival",
"author" : "Sara Rammal",
"category" : "essays",
"url" : "https://everythingispolitical.com/readings/cordelia-story-of-survival",
"date" : "2025-02-04 15:32:00 -0500",
"img" : "https://everythingispolitical.com/uploads/cordelia-3.jpg",
"excerpt" : " When war came to my doorstep, I packed my sewing machine and serger, leaving behind my studio, my village, and the life I had built. What I carried with me wasn’t just tools, it was a promise to myself: I would create again.",
"content" : " When war came to my doorstep, I packed my sewing machine and serger, leaving behind my studio, my village, and the life I had built. What I carried with me wasn’t just tools, it was a promise to myself: I would create again. My name is Sara Rammal, and I am a twenty-two year old content creator and artist. I grew up in Odaisseh, a small village in South Lebanon, on the border of occupied Palestine. Everything I created was inspired by the environment around me, my village, my culture, and my history.THE PASTGrowing up, I spent my days capturing the beauty of life in the South through photographs. I liked taking photos of myself between flowers, experimenting with props and scenery, but fashion was far from my mind. I didn’t care much about clothes until I turned seventeen.At the time, I worked at a small phone shop. It wasn’t much, but for my teenage self, it was a good way to save money. One day, I decided to transform my wardrobe to something that matched my personality. I didn’t like the fast fashion pieces that were around; I craved timeless pieces, earthy tones, and things that felt like me.While searching the Beiruti shops, I stumbled upon a fabric store. Without hesitation, I spent my entire savings on five large bags of fabric. I had no sewing machine, no skills, and no plan— just the determination to create something of my own. I borrowed my grandmother’s sewing machine and began teaching myself how to sew through YouTube tutorials. Piece by piece, I built my wardrobe, experimenting with patterns and learning the art of design. It took me two years to master my craft. During that time, I discovered a love for fashion design that I never knew existed.I started sharing my creations on Instagram and to my surprise, people loved my designs and some even asked to buy them. I didn’t have the resources to take that step yet— I didn’t feel ready and I lacked the budget for better machines and fabrics.CORDELIAAt ninteen, I attended an arts and crafts class offered by an NGO in Nabatiyeh, Lebanon. At first, I thought it was just another class, but as I listened to the stories of others turning their passions into businesses, something clicked. I realized I already had the skills, the creativity, and even the clients. All I needed was the confidence and resources to start.When I told the class that I had made the outfit I was wearing—a sage green corset over an angelic white shirt— they were stunned. I began developing a brand inspired by my love for the “cottage core” aesthetic.I named my brand Cordelia, after a fictional character from my favorite series, Anne with an E. Anne used to dress up and pretend to be Princess Cordelia to escape her struggles, finding solace in the power of imagination. For me, fashion served the same purpose; it allowed me to escape, to dream, to feel free.I won that class’ competition in first place. And after getting the funding I needed, Cordelia was born. I created made-to-order dresses and shirts—each piece carrying a part of my soul. People were willing to wait months for my creations, and I poured my heart into every stitch.THE WAR ON SOUTHJust as I began to see my dreams take flight, life in Lebanon reminded me of how quickly it can unravel. In October 2023, things changed.War started, and I was watching and hearing missiles pass by above my home. The life I had carefully built started tearing apart. For my safety and education, I moved to Beirut, leaving behind my home, my studio, and most of my supplies. I could bring only one sewing machine, a serger, and some fabrics. I was preparing for a tote bag collection but I had to leave everything behind.Instead of sharing aesthetic posts on Instagram, my page became a platform to document the war. I posted in English, hoping to raise awareness about what was happening in both my country and in Gaza as well.In December, bombs struck near the place my parents were seeking shelter. For the first time since the beginning of the war, they left our village and joined me in Beirut.I stopped sewing entirely. I couldn’t bring myself to create when everything felt so uncertain. I didn’t have the space nor my equipment. I shifted my focus to media work, learning new skills and surviving day by day. My wardrobe of skirts and dresses was replaced with survival mode clothing: anything that I could evacuate in should something happen. It was a bonus if it was something I could both sleep and go out in.THE WAR ON LEBANONFor 66 days, Israel bombed every part of this country. During the full scale war on Lebanon, I was living in survival mode. We escaped the southern suburbs of Beirut and went to a house in Mount Lebanon with all my extended family. During that time, I filmed, volunteered, and interviewed people, documenting the human impact of war. I even reached out to people for jobs to keep myself busy and avoid the reality of things. When a ceasefire was announced, we went back to Beirut. We couldn’t go back to my village, 80% of the houses in Odaisseh were bombed, trees were burned, and Israeli forces are still on my land.THE PRESENTIf war taught me anything it’s that I don’t have to wait for things to be perfect. Life doesn’t pause for anyone, and it’s important to choose your dreams despite the uncertainty.I found a small apartment in Beirut, a space that I’m renovating to become both my own home and a studio for Cordelia. It will be a place to sew, to dream, and to create. I don’t have all the funds or resources I need yet, but I’m determined to make it work.Like Anne, I created Cordelia as a way to dream beyond my struggles. Today, it’s not just an escape— it’s my resistance— a stitch of hope in a fractured world. Through my brand, I want to bring beauty into the world, not just for myself, but for others who need it too. I’m designing again, planning collections, and imagining a future where Cordelia reaches people across the globe.THE FUTUREThe scars of war will always remain, but so will my passion. I’ve lost loved ones, friends, and places that meant the world to me. My village may never be the same, but I carry its strength within me.Cordelia is more than a brand, it has become a symbol of survival, of creativity in the face of destruction, and the belief that beauty can bloom even in the harshest conditions.This is not just my story. It’s the story of countless artists who refuse to let war define them. And as I sew the first stitch in my new studio, I know this is only the beginning."
}
,
"relatedposts": [
{
"title" : "Honoring Indigenous Resilience",
"author" : "Water Protector Legal Collective",
"category" : "essays",
"url" : "https://everythingispolitical.com/readings/honoring-indigenous-resilience",
"date" : "2025-10-13 08:50:00 -0400",
"img" : "https://everythingispolitical.com/uploads/mni-indigenous-peoples-day.jpg",
"excerpt" : "Indigenous Peoples are not relics of the past – despite centuries of colonialism and systematic attempts at genocide and erasure, Indigenous Peoples are still here, stewarding world biodiversity, protecting land, water, and life for future generations. On this Indigenous Peoples’ Day, we uplift ongoing resistance struggles and honor the continued resilience of our relatives.",
"content" : "Indigenous Peoples are not relics of the past – despite centuries of colonialism and systematic attempts at genocide and erasure, Indigenous Peoples are still here, stewarding world biodiversity, protecting land, water, and life for future generations. On this Indigenous Peoples’ Day, we uplift ongoing resistance struggles and honor the continued resilience of our relatives.As climate disruption intensifies, Indigenous knowledge guides climate and justice movements, offering visions of futures rooted in kinship, stewardship, and collective survival.Honoring and supporting Indigenous resilience is not just a moral imperative - it’s a blueprint for a more sustainable, just future. We uplift the courage and commitment of Indigenous Peoples who safeguard the land, water, and life that sustain us all.From Standing Rock to Palestine, from Mauna Kea to the Amazon, Indigenous Peoples resist settler colonialism, land theft, and water apartheid.This #IndigenousPeoplesDay, we invite you to honor the resilience of Indigenous Peoples who, for millennia, have stewarded the land and waters, ensuring the preservation of 80% of the world’s remaining biodiversity.In a world that often sacrifices frontline communities for profit, we believe in a future where people and planet thrive together. A future built on Indigenous knowledge, sustainable practices, and the dismantling of oppressive systems that harm both human and ecological wellbeing.Together, we can build a world that is grounded in care for our communities, for the Earth, and for the generations to come.Standing Rock #MniWiconiNine years ago, the historic, Indigenous-led resistance against the Dakota Access Pipeline (DAPL) ignited a global movement to protect sacred lands, water, and treaty rights. Over 100,000 Water Protectors gathered at Standing Rock to defend the Missouri River, a vital water source, from the threat of oil contamination.Today, DAPL still pumps 574,000 barrels of oil less than half a mile from the Standing Rock Sioux Reservation despite evidence of environmental harm. A 2024 report revealed 700 unreported frac-outs, spilling 1.4 million gallons of potentially toxic drilling fluid into Lake Oahe, the Tribe’s main water source. 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Sign the petition—1,349 signatures short of 500,000!@ProtectMaunaKea@MKea.info@PuaCaseProtect Chi’chil Biłdagoteel #SaveOakFlatChi’chil Biłdagoteel (Oak Flat) is a sacred site for the Western Apache facing destruction from a copper mine project by Resolution Copper, a joint venture between BHP Billiton and Rio Tinto, the company that destroyed Juukan Gorge, a 46,000 year-old Aboriginal sacred site in Western Australia.Oak Flat, listed on the National Register of Historic Places, is vital for spiritual and cultural practices. The mine would destroy the site into a 1,100 foot deep and 2 mile wide crater. Despite court setbacks, Apache Stronghold continues to fight for the land’s protection through legal and spiritual resistance. 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}
,
{
"title" : "100+ Years of Genocidal Intent in Palestine",
"author" : "Collis Browne",
"category" : "essays",
"url" : "https://everythingispolitical.com/readings/100-years-of-genocidal-intent",
"date" : "2025-10-07 18:01:00 -0400",
"img" : "https://everythingispolitical.com/uploads/1920-jerusalem.jpg",
"excerpt" : "Every single Israeli prime minister, president, and major Zionist leader has voiced clear intent to erase the Palestinian people from their lands, either by forced expulsion, or military violence. From Herzl and Chaim Weizmann to Ben-Gurion to Netanyahu, the record is not ambiguous:",
"content" : "Every single Israeli prime minister, president, and major Zionist leader has voiced clear intent to erase the Palestinian people from their lands, either by forced expulsion, or military violence. From Herzl and Chaim Weizmann to Ben-Gurion to Netanyahu, the record is not ambiguous:{% for person in site.data.genocidalquotes %}{{ person.name }}{% if person.title %}<p class=\"title-xs\">{{ person.title }}</p>{% endif %}{% for quote in person.quotes %}“{{ quote.text }}”{% if quote.source %}— {{ quote.source }}{% endif %}{% endfor %}{% endfor %}"
}
,
{
"title" : "Dignity Before Stadiums:: Morocco’s Digital Uprising",
"author" : "Cheb Gado",
"category" : "",
"url" : "https://everythingispolitical.com/readings/dignity-before-stadiums",
"date" : "2025-10-02 09:08:00 -0400",
"img" : "https://everythingispolitical.com/uploads/EIP_Cover_Morocco_GenZ.jpg",
"excerpt" : "No one expected a generation raised on smartphones and TikTok clips to ignite a spark of protest shaking Morocco’s streets. But Gen Z, the children of the internet and speed, have stepped forward to write a new chapter in the history of uprisings, in their own style.The wave of anger began with everyday struggles that cut deep into young people’s lives: soaring prices, lack of social justice, and the silencing of their voices in politics. They didn’t need traditional leaders or party manifestos; the movement was born out of a single hashtag that spread like wildfire, transforming individual frustration into collective momentum.",
"content" : "No one expected a generation raised on smartphones and TikTok clips to ignite a spark of protest shaking Morocco’s streets. But Gen Z, the children of the internet and speed, have stepped forward to write a new chapter in the history of uprisings, in their own style.The wave of anger began with everyday struggles that cut deep into young people’s lives: soaring prices, lack of social justice, and the silencing of their voices in politics. They didn’t need traditional leaders or party manifestos; the movement was born out of a single hashtag that spread like wildfire, transforming individual frustration into collective momentum.One of the sharpest contradictions fueling the protests was the billions poured into World Cup-related preparations, while ordinary citizens remained marginalized when it came to healthcare and education.This awareness quickly turned into chants and slogans echoing through the streets: “Dignity begins with schools and hospitals, not with putting on a show for the world.”What set this movement apart was not only its presence on the streets, but also the way it reinvented protest itself:Live filming: Phone cameras revealed events moment by moment, exposing abuses instantly.Memes and satire: A powerful weapon to dismantle authority’s aura, turning complex political discourse into viral, shareable content.Decentralized networks: No leader, no party, just small, fast-moving groups connected online, able to appear and disappear with agility.This generation doesn’t believe in grand speeches or delayed promises. They demand change here and now. Moving seamlessly between the physical and digital realms, they turn the street into a stage of revolt, and Instagram Live into an alternative media outlet.What’s happening in Morocco strongly recalls the Arab Spring of 2011, when young people flooded the streets with the same passion and spontaneity, armed only with belief in their power to spark change. But Gen Z added their own twist, digital tools, meme culture, and the pace of a hyper-connected world.Morocco’s Gen Z uprising is not just another protest, but a living experiment in how a digital generation can redefine politics itself. The spark may fade, but the mark it leaves on young people’s collective consciousness cannot be erased.Photo credits: Mosa’ab Elshamy, Zacaria Garcia, Abdel Majid Bizouat, Marouane Beslem"
}
]
}