Life is always surprising us…

YYou know? Recently I’ve encountered an internal conflict that I cant get over or seem to resolve. I keep telling myself Nima you should be happy. Nima you are in England. Nima u have a chance. Nima u have friends here. Nima England is multicultural and u wont stand out as a refuge. But no. Nima you are in a camp. Nima u have to start the whole process again. Nima u don’t know if u will make it. Nima u may not get asylum. Nima nima nima. Who have u become? Truth is I didn’t feel happiness when I crosses the channel and arrived in English territory. I didn’t feel relief. Relief for surviving. Relief for being alive. Happiness for achieving something and for seeing doors open to a new opportunity to build a future I will be proud of and become the person I’ve always wanted to become. I wasn’t happy. I felt empty. I couldn’t feel. Surviving or not didn’t make a difference. Being in England or any other land felt indifferent. It was scary. After all, was this really what I always wanted? I crossed the border on a Monday with my best friend. Well after all this time he has become my brother and certainly one of the most important and crucial people in my life. He means family and it seems like I’ve been stripped off my own family for the second time. First Iran. Now England. I guess our future is a repetition of our past. And if it is, why should I even dream of something different and better?!When we arrived they called my name and said they’d send me somewhere. and of course the only thing I asked for was for Omid to come with me. Don’t leave me alone amidst chaos disorder and uncertainty. Don’t leave me alone with my hopelessness. Please. I didn’t let my eyes close cos I thought had come with me. We made it this far, together. Why wouldn’t we continue together? Its not my journey. Its our journey. And doing it without him translates into emptiness. An emptiness that doesn’t fit inside me. They moved me somewhere. Somewhere is the only word I can use. I have no idea where it was, that the name of the place, town, village or city was. I was in the middle of the unknown and had no way of reaching answers. I had no wifi, no phone, no Omid. I didn’t know what they’d do with me. After all they could do whatever they wanted to. No one would ever know. Were faceless people stepped on by those who have documents and live in arrogance and pride. I wanted to tell my family I am alive because they hadn’t heard from their son for more than 20 days. But I couldn’t. Again. Causing them pain. Suffer. Torture. One more time cos once is not enough right? The only thing I remember doing in the first day I arrived was pushing doors. Pushing doors, harder and harder. Stronger and stronger. But all of them were locked. Just like my future, my dreams and my hope. I wouldn’t leave that place. That would be the end of me. I couldn’t breathe anymore in such despair. eight days after they moved me to London and I could finally find happiness. It was the best time I’ve had since I’ve reached the UK. It was in London where I was give. The freedom and opportunity to feel normal again. After all this time I felt like a human no different from every other human. I could ask strangers about addresses. And they could answer me politely because I’m not just a refugee and documents don’t define who I am or aim to be.

Nima sent us his story, with a request to share it.

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