Breathing in words
They said, “Talking is like breathing” I am breathing.
For a while, I have been in this beautiful, peaceful country, surrounded by a community where people walk, talk, study, and work without any fear for their safety or security. I even see dogs and ducks crossing the road with confidence, knowing that cars will stop for them with respect. It always amazes me, and I think, what a lucky nation to live in such a progressive system. But then I reflect on my own situation and feel a deep sadness. Here, dogs have tags for identification, yet I live among them without any form of ID. I possess skills that could contribute significantly to society, but I remain invisible, without the entitlement to participate. I can’t help but ask myself—why me? Why did I have to flee my home, my family, and my entire life? Why did I have to become a refugee?
I once lived in my country without fear. I had a loving family, a humble and cozy home, and a bright future ahead of me. But then, war came knocking on our doorstep. Bombs started falling from the sky, and bullets whizzed through the air. My family and I were forced to flee, grabbing what we could and leaving behind everything we had ever known. We ran for our lives and were scattered and separated.
I embarked on a perilous journey, traversing treacherous terrain, facing hunger, thirst, and exhaustion. I witnessed unspeakable horrors, saw families torn apart, and innocent lives lost. And yet, I pushed on, driven by the hope of finding safety and refuge.
But why me? Why did I have to experience this? Why did I have to lose my family, my profession, and my dreams? Why did I have to become a statistic, a mere number in the grand scheme of things?
As I look around in my refugee circle, I see countless faces like mine – faces etched with pain, fear, and uncertainty. We are all asking the same question – why me? Why did we have to suffer this fate?
But as I reflect on my journey, I realize that I am not alone. There are millions of refugees like me, scattered across the globe, each with their own heart-wrenching story. And in this moment, I understand that the “why me” is not just a question, but a cry for help, a plea for humanity to acknowledge our struggles and our resilience.
We are not just refugees — we are survivors. We are strugglers. We are human beings, worthy of dignity, compassion, and love. So I ask you: Why not me? Why not us? Why shouldn’t we be the ones given a second chance — the opportunity to rebuild, to heal, and to thrive?
The “why me” will continue to echo in my mind, but I know that I am not alone. And together, we can rise above the ashes of our past and create a brighter future – a future where no one has to ask “why me” again.
I am Mr Question