Essay: “It is enough for me that my son does not know the pain of war”

I remember long ago, when I was not a refugee. I was, and many people with me, living in simple houses, which contained small rooms, and in those rooms we had very nice days. We had small balconies. It was all not so organised. And from those balconies you looked at little narrow streets. From the balcony we saw the sun and the peace and we breathed in the morning and the songs that were sung on the streets. And this is where our day begins.

Vibrant vibrancy

We began our simple life in the morning. This house was our little country. And in this life, we had nothing except this house, which caught our tears and embraced us with joy. Our parents spent their entire lives building and raising us in this house. And we had our identity in this house. We lived together to receive mornings and spend our evenings with joy. We loved each other, danced and sang with each other.

I remember coming from a bright land full of vibrant vibrancy. A country that never sleeps. And also from a country, exhausted because of corruption and injustice. I lived in a country that held everything. A country full of contradictions. I breathed its polluting air. And I walked its tired streets and I saw the poverty and exhaustion on the faces of many people. And despite everything, I was there with conviction and contentment. And I thought it was possible to sing for freedom.

Fire of freedom

I feel regret now, that I sang for her. In all my life I thought I had freedom, but in one day and night I found myself, outside my house, my street and my city. We had pictures hung on the walls of the house. We locked the doors. We only took the key with us. And we don't know on what day we will return. Me and my little family and neighbours and friends and family and our people, who have now spread all over the world. Because the fire of freedom, which we wanted, burned us.

I was forced to go far and find a new place. Even if it was in the Zaatari desert was. We travelled the continents and the waves of the sea and walked through forests. We were the first people to walk in the forest. Only lucky people could flee in a plane and it didn't matter where to.

Ruthless sea

We escaped the fire that had lit the desire for freedom. The sea was relentless, swallowing thousands of people and spewing little children on her cold beaches. Her waves were louder, than the screams of mothers and their tears. And she was stronger, than the loving grip of the fathers and their prayers. The sea was relentless as she pulled them to her bottom with poor life jackets, foisted for a lot of money by smugglers.

You were stronger than a father trying to save his child and his lover. Your voice, your sound, your injustice, your high waves suppressed the pleas. The sounds of a nightmare. Reminders of horrific stories. Despite all the above, there are still people on those beaches waiting for a rubber dinghy, which will drown them in the middle of the sea. There are even more people, waiting on distant islands for a lifeboat that will take them to another life. And there are many people in the nether woods with exhausted feet in old shoes, falling and standing up. They are looking for an exit from this life.

Free Earth

In the trucks, they lay in a small corner. Every breath coming from those people moved the world. They needed air. The locks on the truck doors were stronger than their hands and they were trying to kick the doors open. They were shouting: open the doors. We don't want to go anymore and we don't want to live there, because dying in this truck is too painful. We want to stretch our feet and open our hands when we die. We want to breathe deeply to say goodbye to life.

We want to say to the people who also want to flee in trucks: it is enough to have free earth. So don't come. We want the sun to be the last thing we see behind the deadly darkness. I and my son and my father and mother, grandfather and grandmother and our people are exhausted from the deadly routes. We have fled from the scourge of war for freedom.

Passers-by of borders and news sections

We are looking for a country, which is safe. Safety is the best thing you can have in life. We knew that strange people came into our beautiful home and tore up our photos and stood with their dirty feet on our beautiful memories. Maybe that is not important now. We are now on the other bank of life. We were the passers-by of borders and news headlines. Our stories are found in music and songs.

Now we laugh, but in our hearts we cry and decide to live again. It is enough now when I see my son laughing and that he will live the way he wants and sing for freedom if he wants. It is enough for me that my son does not know the pain of war. That he sees the sun and walks through the rain and breathes freedom. In a country called the Netherlands.

Image: Freedom House (Flickr)