A new life of not my choice

A Story by Rashka

An immigrant forced to leave his home to start a new life in another country.

I am an “immigrant”, the victim of a war I never waged. My home turned into a ghost-house and a battlefield between groups, each claimed to be on my side. I was a “citizen” of my country, but now have no status at all and nowhere to belong to. People call me with different names, and some dared to kick me for no reasons. My colleagues’ bodies washed off shore and the world watched with varied views. The most social media and newspapers wrote negatively about me which uncovered the real face of the world and the vanishing humanities. Many accused me of being a “potential terrorist” despite my bare feet and an empty stomach.

The cost of my food was exaggerated and said was unaffordable, dividing parliaments in the wealthiest nations. Taxi-payers protested and nationalities used my case to return on sight. The international media stole my story to attract more of their own audiences. NGOs and other sympathetic screamed for my help but couldn’t get their voices into the deaf ears of the materialism nations.

My own Arab brothers closed their doors tight as if I was a hungry wolf. My brothers of “Arab-spring” were already dead, and nobody else could hear me. I wished if they would revive and listen to my voice. What a new world! The thing we most care about is “money” not humanity. For the money, we fight and displace others by invading their lands.

I thought dying with dignity under the roof of my family home would have been better than this dishonour. But, I have no choice - I have children to feed, and ought to bear all sufferings for them to survive. I wish one day they would grow up and contribute to restoring peace to my home and the world. But, how could I raise up my children in a home that is not mine? How could I calm my children all day not to irritate the already sensitive lord of the new “home”? How could I integrate with people who rejected me even before my arrival? How could I get a job where the owner of the home himself is jobless? I have never worried as such before. My life was simpler but happier. My neighbours were poorer but generous and welcoming. This is a new life of not my choice.