I had a dream about how it must feel to lose your conflict in crisis and to be forced to flee your home…. I started writing about the guilt, shame, stress and pain a man escaping from persecution, helpless to save his family may suffer.

In’shallah this will be a story one day… but for now this
Let me know if you like it….


Searching, grasping, there was something that I could not quite identify, something that was not quite there. What was it? It was not something that money could buy, not something I could add to my home, to my body, not a ‘something’ which I could acquire. Of this I was sure…. For over the years I have spent more money than I care to remember on things, that I later looked at with a mixture of guilt and embarrassment. Guilt to have wasted money that I did not myself earn, embarrassment that I was so easily bought by a sales pitch, so eager to hand over dollar bills in exchange for what I hoped would feel the void inside of me….

When I wake in the morning, I lie in bed, staring at the ceiling, trying to feel. I breath slowly, trying to ensure my breath reaches every part of my body…. I lie in silence, feeling the blood pulse throughout my body, trying to feel it in my toes, my fingers, my heart, all of me.. I try to feel to make sure that I am still there. Make sure that I am still relevant. All my life I have felt like I was living, but was not truly alive, like I have been breathing, but have never felt the air fill my lungs…

I felt like an empty shell, for all my successes, all my accomplishment, I felt as though I was nothing. I was no one, I am not really here….

asylum seekers