On the wrong side of the border

Syrian war art wall by Syrian artist Maysa Mohammed.
One day, you chose a profession. Remember how you dreamt about the future? You worked hard… I bet you once fell in love. Maybe, you got married and had kids. You made friends for life, surrounded yourself with people who love you and whom you love. You have a home, a job, a family. You can protest against the government or march in support.

They too have dreams, family, beloved ones. But, today, they’re on the wrong side of the border. They’re surrounded by war, death, hunger and destruction. By oppressing governments, radical groups. They look into their kids eyes and understand: they either run away or stay and die.

They beg for help and other countries gently refuse, saying “I’m really sorry, but it’s not my problem”. They get it, it’s a much more complicated political situation, that taking refugees in has an impact on a country’s economy etc. But that means absolutely nothing compared to the hungry face of their children, to the neighbour’s nephew who just died in a bombing, to the cousin who just joined the rebel forces despite of the young age.

So they hop in awful ships, full of people, and face the furious ocean. They know that there’s a minimal chance of surviving. They know that, if they do, they probably won’t be welcomed on the foreign land. Some spend years and years living in refugees camps. They know there’s no other choice. And, for some survival instinct, they’re somehow full with an unexplainable hope for the future. Anything is better than staying and dying.

Today I opened my Facebook and there it was, a photo of a Syrian refugee boy, dead on the beach. He’s one of many, too many. Many people like you and me, who just dream of living in peace, of loving and being loved, providing for their family, having a profession, a home, loved ones around. People who did not choose to wake up on the wrong side of the border.

I, from where I am, can’t really do much. But there are two things that I can do. One is donating the amount I’d spend on a dinner to the UN Refugee Agency, one of the only organisations that’s providing some relief to those people.

The other thing I can do is to never allow my heart to not get angry at absurd things like that.

Image: wall painted by female Syrian artist Maysa Mohammed, publish on the fantastic from.sham.with love.

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