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- A Guide Book For New Asylum Seekers
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
Wow, that line ‘Talking is like breathing’ hit me hard. Have you found that speaking out has helped you in small daily ways here — like chatting with neighbours or at the supermarket?
Thank you so much for reading my blog. I’m truly glad to hear that it touch you. To answer your question, yes, I speak about this topic wherever I find someone willing to listen: at work, in cafés, in shops, any place where there’s an opportunity. My main purpose is to raise awareness about who a refugee is and why someone becomes one.
When I hear a judgmental comment, whether from a person or the media instead of feeling offended, I see it as a chance to reach out and educate. I think of it like this: I have a blind friend, and even if he steps on my foot or spills my coffee, I don’t blame him or raise my voice. I explain. I try to help him understand. I see it the same way when someone makes a negative or misinformed statement about refugees.
Thank you again for your support and for taking the time to engage with this message.
Yes, It may seem small, but these little conversations make me feel more connected and part of the community. They also help me grow in confidence and feel that I belong here.
I am really impressed with your writing skills and also with the format for your blog. Is this a paid subject or did you modify it your self? Either way keep up the nice quality writing, it’s rare to look a great blog like this one these days!
Thank you so much for reading my blog. I’m truly glad to hear your encouraging message it means a lot. This isn’t a paid subject or a professional project; it comes from a broken heart, reaching out to the public with a message that seeks empathy and understanding. Your support reminds me that these words are not going unheard.
Thank you for sharing so honestly. I do wish more of these stories led to concrete change. Is there a call to action here for readers, or is it mainly to start a conversation?
Thank you so much for reading my blog. I’m truly glad to hear the voice of solidarity in your response. At this stage, the purpose of the blog is simply to start a conversation to open a space where stories can be heard and understanding can grow. I hope it will help connect with more voices of alliance and empathy. Who knows where this may take us?
Yes, the system has flaws, but simply asking for more isn’t enough. What are refugees doing to contribute and become part of New Zealand society, beyond just surviving?
Thank you so much for reading my blog. I’m glad to hear your honest questions, and I completely agree expecting contribution from newcomers is a fair and reasonable expectation. In reality, refugees ask for very little. At the core, it’s about safety and acceptance. Given the chance, most are eager to give back to the community that welcomes them. Personally, I’ve been involved in both work and community volunteer activities since I arrived in New Zealand. I’ve worked in the settlement sector for over 20 years, and during that time, I’ve witnessed the remarkable contributions refugees have made at every level of society. We have doctors, paramedics, lawyers, nurses, psychologists, anesthetic technicians, pilots, accountants, social workers, members of the Police and NZ Army, builders, business owners, and even politicians. In case you didn’t know, the son of a refugee once served as Prime Minister of New Zealand. In truth, if we look back far enough, all of us are connected to the refugee experience in some way. It’s part of our shared human story.
Integration means adapting, not just waiting for handouts. It’s on refugees to make the effort to fit in, learn the culture, and participate.
You’re absolutely right, and this is something many people don’t fully understand. What you’re mentioning is something important:
Refugees don’t come looking for welfare. They come looking for safety, and then they look for work.
For most refugees, social welfare systems simply did not exist in their home countries. People worked, whether in small farms, family businesses, trades, or professions, and they survived and even thrived through their own effort. Receiving government support is not something they grew up with or depended on.
In fact, the first question we usually hear is: “How do I get a job?”
Not “How do I get a payment?”
They want dignity. They want independence. They want to stand on their own feet. And we see this in reality. Refugees are now working in many sectors, healthcare, construction, hospitality, transport, retail, cleaning services, education, and small enterprises. Many make a strong effort to learn English, attend courses, and adapt quickly. They volunteer in community organisations, churches, Mosq, Temple and local groups. They contribute long before they are fully settled.
Some have even opened their own businesses, restaurants, food trucks, cleaning companies, small shops, and now we are all enjoying beautiful cultural food and new flavours in our communities.
Adapting is not passive. It takes courage, humility, and determination. Refugees are not just receiving support, they are contributing socially, culturally, and economically.
You’re absolutely right, what you’re have mentioned is something important.
For most refugees, social welfare systems simply did not exist in their home countries. People worked, whether in small farms, family businesses, trades, or professions, and they survived and even thrived through their own effort. Receiving government support is not something they grew up with or depended on.
In fact, the first question we usually hear is: “How do I get a job?”
Not “How do I get a payment?”
They want dignity. They want independence. They want to stand on their own feet. If we see the reality, Refugees are now working in many sectors, healthcare, construction, hospitality, transport, retail, cleaning services, education, and small enterprises. Many make a strong effort to learn English, attend courses, and adapt quickly. They volunteer in community organisations, churches, and local groups. They contribute long before they are fully settled.
Some have even opened their own businesses, restaurants, food trucks, cleaning companies, small shops, and now we are all enjoying beautiful cultural food and new flavours in our communities.
Adapting is not passive. It takes courage, humility, and determination. Refugees are not just receiving support, they are contributing socially, culturally, and economically.
It’s easy to criticise the government, but responsibility goes both ways. Are refugees willing to do what it takes to thrive here, or is it just about what’s lacking?
That’s a fair question, and an important one. Yes, responsibility does go both ways. Government systems are not perfect, and it’s easy to criticise policies or gaps in support. But thriving in a new country also requires effort, resilience, and willingness from the people arriving.
From what we see on the ground, the majority of refugees are absolutely willing to do what it takes.
They learn the language, often while dealing with trauma and uncertainty. They attend courses and training, they accept entry-level jobs even if they were professionals back home. They volunteer to gain local experience and they adapt to new cultural expectations.
For most, it is not about what’s lacking, it’s about how quickly they can rebuild their independence. The first question is usually, “How do I get a job?” not “What can I receive?”
Of course, there are challenges. Qualifications may not be recognised. Language takes time. Trauma affects confidence. Navigating systems is complex. That’s where government support plays a role, not to create dependency, but to create a bridge toward self-sufficiency.
Thriving is a shared responsibility. The government provides safety, structure, and opportunity and the Refugees bring effort, skills, culture, and determination.
When both sides work together, communities benefit. We see refugees contributing economically, volunteering, opening businesses, enriching culture, and strengthening social cohesion.
It’s not about blame. It’s about partnership, and in many cases, refugees are doing far more than people realise to build a new life with dignity.
New Zealand can do better than this. If people can relate more to ducks crossing the street than to their neighbours, something is seriously wrong with our community.
Mr Question’s narrative is undeniably powerful: it deftly juxtaposes the tranquillity of Aotearoa with the vivid trauma of war, conveying the raw emotional toll of displacement (e.g., “bombs started falling… bullets whizzed” and “I remain invisible, without entitlement”). Yet, from a scholarly perspective, the piece remains primarily anecdotal and lacks engagement with structural, policy-oriented critique. It highlights systemic failures—bureaucratic inertia, lack of documentation, invisibility—but stops short of interrogating why these Aotearoa systems persist, despite clear strategic frameworks like the NZ Refugee Resettlement Strategy and the Safe Start/Fair Future report. There’s no exploration of how immigration entanglements, local political economy, or resource allocation contribute to these persistent inequities.
Additionally, the emotional emphasis on “survival” and “resilience” risks reinforcing a discourse that frames refugees as exceptional, rather than highlighting the everyday, mundane forms of participation that build social cohesion (e.g., employment, education, civic engagement). This representation, while compelling, may unintentionally preserve the “deserving refugee” narrative, making visible only the extremes of suffering rather than the nuances of integration and citizenship-building processes.
As a senior lecturer in migration studies in New Zealand, I read this article with a profound sense of both empathy and concern. The author’s account does more than narrate personal hardship; it offers a window into the structural mechanisms that perpetuate marginalisation within Aotearoa New Zealand. The persistent challenges around documentation and identity are not simply administrative oversights, but represent entrenched systemic barriers that continue to exclude and disempower those seeking refuge.
What is particularly striking is the way the narrative exposes the disconnect between official discourse and lived experience. While New Zealand prides itself on a humanitarian approach to refugee settlement, the reality described here is one of protracted uncertainty and bureaucratic inertia. Such barriers function less as safeguards and more as instruments of social control, determining who may participate fully in society and who must remain on its periphery. The author’s analogy of ducks crossing the road with confidence, contrasted with their own enforced invisibility, powerfully underscores how marginalisation is manufactured and maintained by institutional processes rather than by any lack of will or ability on the part of refugees themselves.
This has serious implications not only for individual wellbeing, but for the broader project of social cohesion. When newcomers are systematically denied opportunities to contribute, participate, and build a sense of belonging, we collectively undermine the fabric of our communities. Research in the field overwhelmingly supports the conclusion that successful integration is mutually constituted: it requires both accessible pathways provided by the state and proactive engagement by newcomers. However, the onus must fall first on dismantling the barriers that impede access, opportunity, and dignity.
The solution demands more than symbolic commitments or isolated acts of goodwill. Genuine change requires policy reform—accelerated processing of documentation, culturally responsive support structures, and the co-design of integration initiatives with refugee communities themselves. Until these structural inequities are addressed, the promise of inclusion will remain aspirational rather than realised.
— Dr Mary , Senior Lecturer
Thanks!
The image of dogs and ducks confidently crossing the road really resonated with me – it speaks volumes about a peaceful environment. I found a similar sense of calm explored in a playful way on https://tinyfun.io/game/italian-brainrot-animals-playground, which was interesting to consider alongside this.
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Thank you, Mr Questions.
Your writing is beautiful and deeply moving. “Talking is like breathing” shows the weight of your journey in every word. No one should feel invisible in this world, and it matters that you speak up. You are not alone; many others, including myself, carry the same questions and find strength in your voice. Stay strong.