Refugee The Diary Of Ali Ismail Now

But I write this to you, future reader, not to make you sad.

The man next to me, a dentist from Aleppo named Tarek, keeps checking his phone. There is no signal. The battery is at 4%. He is scrolling through photos of his dental clinic. White tiles. A poster about flossing. It looks like a museum of another universe. refugee the diary of ali ismail

For three years, I was UNHCR Reg. No. 782-09-114. I was a "transit" case. A "vulnerable male." A statistic in a spreadsheet that a caseworker in Geneva closes at 5:00 PM to go home for dinner. But I write this to you, future reader, not to make you sad

I write this to tell you the invention . The battery is at 4%

We don’t run away from death. We scoop it out with our finest possessions.

Note to the reader: This entry was found sealed inside a plastic bag, wedged between the inner and outer hull of a deflated dinghy washed ashore on Lesvos. The ink is smeared, but the pencil marks are legible.