A day in the life of a refugee

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A DAY IN THE LIFE OF A REFUGEE

"One who flees in search of refuge, as in times of civil war, political oppression, or religious persecution".

A refugee- as defined in the scuffed, well-worn pages of the fraying Merriam-Webster Standard English (1996 Edition) Dictionary that I held in my hands. Sitting in the decrepit, four-walled space that I and nine others collectively called home, these words portrayed a sterile, formulaic and impartial illustration of a refugee's life; they may have been essentially politically accurate, yet were these words enough to capture the torrent of emotions, experiences, and everyday existence of such an individual?

The brilliant rays of the early morning sunshine penetrating through the single, splintered window in the room abruptly roused me from my deep contemplation. They ricocheted off the bleak walls, adding some colour and optimism to what were otherwise very dismal surroundings. As they danced, scintillating radiantly off the jagged edges of the fragments of glass scattered on the floor, I was flooded with a rare moment of fleeting inner calm - a feeling I had seldom experienced since the conflict broke out in my homeland. I hoisted myself up, and offered my daily prayers, escaping into a spiritual illusion -a fleeting mirage - of contentedness. But it wasn't long before I was faced with the mundane reality I faced every day. Cautious not to wake the sleeping forms of my room-mates, I inched my way to the bathroom we shared. I commenced washing the threadbare garments, each wring of cloth inflaming the multitude of blisters on my calloused hands; yet this was the least of my worries.

As I prepared myself for the day ahead, my thoughts were continuously distracted back to those whom I was forced to leave behind. Sifting through the few, meagre essentials I could afford to bring, I took a fleeting glance at a photograph of my mother taken years ago; her impromptu pose and beaming smile make her almost unrecognizable, bringing back memories of what now seems a distant, intangible fairytale of the past. I fight back tears at seeing this stark contrast with her present state - she has aged beyond her years since the outbreak of war, and was too frail to accompany me. As a refugee, I, and all those in my situation remain on a relentless journey to find safety, and to discover our true selves. Our lives are suspended in a constant realm of uncertainty, held by a mere delicate fine thread - ready to snap at any instant. We live in perpetual fear of ultimately getting discovered.
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Again, I am brought back to the present reality with the rousing of my fellow room-mates. We are essentially like one large extended family, united over having to face the same hardships, regardless of our cultural differences. But, as any household does, we also have our fill of complications - especially given the frugal resources we have.

As a scuffle ensues over the order of priority for using the bathroom, I am thankful for the several minutes of tranquil reflection that I had managed to acquire. Briefly bidding my farewells amongst the trivial commotion, I sigh ...

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