My journey began in 1993.
It has never been told publicly but I decided to write down my own story somewhere!
Words cannot describe the last moments of the Rohingya who were so brutally murdered and raped.
Words are not enough to offer your condolences to us (Rohingya).
Words will not bring us back.
Words will not end the pain, misery, and fear that Rohingya people all around the world feel.
They (Myanmar military) want us to fear going to mosques, to stop us from proudly declaring we are Muslims.
They (Myanmar military) want us to question our religion, to question our foundation. They want to label us as ‘immigrants’.
People typically lock a door, latch the grill, or turn on the alarm to keep safe. Others like us (the Rohingya) are people on this earth who have to take a perilous journey to seek safety. This is not a story just about my family. It is the story of thousands of Rohingya families as well as others like us who have made the same desperate journey that are filled with unknown dangers that threaten our very lives.
Just think for a moment about how desperate someone has to be to take such a risk in search of protection. The people who have a country to call their own have no idea how lucky they are. I know what it feels like not to have a country, a place I belong.
I also know how the world treats me. It is my sincere prayer that no one else is born a refugee. Displaced with our entire lives on a constant pause as we seek asylum wherever we may.