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One flew over the refugee camp

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Introduction

Dear Diary, My name is Heelen Shah. This is my writing and my thoughts based on my horrific encounters of the WW2. Today's date: A diary entry of 7th September 1941. The World War 2 has finally began - the days which I have been dreading for so long...Germany has targeted us, and we will be soon victims of this dreadful conflict. Today, I received a letter this morning from the post. It was addressed to me - it had my name on it! But who would want to write to me? My curiosity was growing more and more over this letter; I felt inquisitive by it. I hastily flipped open the letter, and read: Dear Mr Shah, I am writing to inform you about the danger around here. The World War 2 has begun, and so we need to evacuate as many people as we can. We will send you to a refugee camp in India and will inform you regularly about the war... ...read more.

Middle

I am with the police, and to them, I am an immigrant. The security men are chasing up my records from Great Britain. They are trying to find evidences if I have been in trouble with the police before; if I have done anything wrong to get myself into trouble. They are treating me really bad - as if I am a real bad citizen. "Please, let me phone Benson. Just one quick phone call-" "Who is this Benson?" "He is a highly ranked officer who brought me here in the first place." The security guy looked sternly at me. "O.K - just one quick phone call, and that is it. Make sure you don't do anything funny 'cause if you do - you know the consequences." He handed me his mobile, and I dialled the number, pressing each key forcefully. "Hello, this is Mr Shah - is this Benson?" "Yes...I remember you, how are you, how's the refugee camp? "I am in an immigrant place - stuck and I need your help to clear me off-" "Sorry, can't help you..." ...read more.

Conclusion

First of all, the commander of the refugee's gave me a warm welcome, but as I saw other refugees in the camp, they looked at me tediously. I knew that they didn't want me here. "What're you doing here" spat out an American refugee. "I had to immediately evacuate the city." I couldn't care less about the rudeness people had around here. I just had enough of this place. I want to go home. I want to be with my family. With these thoughts, the evening swiftly went passed, as how a droplet of water slowly, but steadily reaches the ocean. 29th June 1942 - At the refugee camp. Dear Diary, I have just spent a week here, at the refugee camp. I feel isolated, miserable, and I am missing home and my family. All we get here is a place to stay and a very short provision of food. We get rice and bread three times a day, and normally, we have to fight for the short quantity of food. I have no friends, and I just solemnly keep my sorrow thoughts inside myself, and I simply wait for someone to help me...just waiting... ...read more.

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