Iâm going to tell you all a story about what itâs like to be a refugee
In 1991, a war started in former Yugoslavia. I had not existed then, but I glimpsed at my moms diary and what I read was tragic.
Every man who was of college age had to join the military to get trained, for at least a year, this was law, and is still law in many nations. Since my father fit this description, he had to fight in the war. The war was rooted in religious hate and racism.
My dad was gone for months at a time, and my mom tried her hardest to stay safe. Her house was taken from her by the âbad guysâ on the other side, so she had to live in the basement of a friends home, and prayed that it wouldnât get bombed.
My dad would come home time to time to visit her.
She became pregnant, with little olâ me, but my dad had already left to go fight.
My mom was hungry, always. All she had to eat were potatoes. Water was seldom, and she was struggling. Since she was really pregnant, the âgood guysâ decided that she should probably be transported to a safe place and a hospital, so she was air lifted to croatia (she had been in bosnia at the time).
She gave birth to me, but my dad was still fighting. Somehow the word got back to him and he RAN AWAY from the military. He ran through mine-fields, faked his religion so he wouldnât be killed, and ultimately made his way back to me and my mom.
Now, for the ârefugeeâ part.
My parents realized that if I were to be raised in former Yugoslavia, it wasnât going to be a very good life, so they applied as refugees to the united states. the process to become a refugee is EXTREMELY extensive, and it took MONTHS before they were approved, and the only reason they were approved was because my godmother had already been in the states. If we had no one here, we would not have been accepted.
Flash forward to coming to america. My parents left EVERYTHING behind. Every single material possession, their sisters, family, friends, diplomas, everything. My parents came to the states with $100. one. hundred. dollars. and as soon as they arrived they each found jobs. All 3 of us slept on a piss-stained mattress, and then my brother was born and it was 4 of us. We slept in a one-bedroom apartment in the âghettoâ where there were shooting every single night. I remember being evacuated from our apartment almost once a month because there was someone who was on the run or about to shoot into the building.
Since my parents couldnât afford day-care, my mom worked 8am to 6pm and my dad worked 10pm to 7am, so one of them watch me at all times. They both worked weekends, and they both worked their asses off.
This is what it means to be a refugee. Itâs not coming to America on vacation and getting free money. Itâs not coming to America to ruin the economy. Itâs coming to America to avoid bombings. Itâs coming to America to work your ASS off and have a life worth living. Itâs coming to America to not make your life better, but to make the lives of your children better.
If youâre American, please understand the privilege that comes along with being American. Please understand that many, many countries in the world are vastly different than yours. Please understand that being a refugee in American means you have a chance at life.
yousharknotpass
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theartofmadeline
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