“Youuuu are sooooo Beautiful”

“You are myyyyyy….

the song playing in the background wakes me up with a lump in my throat. Reminds me of her. I have been living in this dorm for two days now. Haven't eaten anything. Can’t Prague offer Halal meat? I neither have money left nor courage to search for these luxuries. What if I get caught? My head is spinning and each body cell is aching. My mind is blank. I need a fag. A crack fag would do the needful. Not that I fancy crack but my life is upside down, another crack won’t break it further. Had it not been this quest for Stockholm, my life would taken a U turn to reach heaven… or hell? But, Stockholm is the destiny to survive, probably my only opportunity to try a living… to be with her for a purpose…

“This is your passport and other travel documents. Your flight is at 8. Check in counter opens at 5. You arrive at the counter only at 6:45. Remember, board the flight at the last moment. Later the better. Khuda Hafiz!!!”

I adhere to what that rusty man said. Do I have a choice? Living a life out of suitcase is what I have been doing from last couple of months. I have been meeting unknown goons. I obey to their directions. They transport me to the mysterious places that I have not heard of. I am beginning to forget, who am I? Where do I belong? Risking my life, is that worth it? All along what stayed with me is she, her memories….

“How long you have you been staying in UK?” Immigration officer asks me after studying me from top to bottom.

“Eh…Eightttt, eight years?” I murmur the well rehearsed line while patting my beard.

A big noise of stamp brings a shiver to my body bringing a faint smile to my face for the first time in the last couple of days .. err, month… Yes!!! I made it. I am finally going to Sweden… Hush!!!

I board a plane…

I stare at my new passport. It bears a name, which has become my new name. This red leaflet costed me 10,000 dollars. Big money? Never seen it. But, felt it. My inherited house and lifetime of my dad’s saving is lost in translation for few pages. To bring me my life back. It wasn’t enough. I had to sell loads of crack to come this far. I had sworn never to sell crack in my life, not until... I have lost my heart, a part of me with it. To make another life with her. Who else but her…

“You have reached the Stockholmes Airport. The local time is 6 PM and the temparature outside is -2 c. Thanks for flying with…

I look outside the window. Snow has done it’s trick. The white layer of snow on the ground and the cloudy air brings me back to my senses. Destination is arrived. As I step outside the airport, the distressing cold chill my bones. My nose and eyes start watering. Before I know, I am crying with mixed emotions. Joy of freedom, her loving memory makes me feel lighter. .A fresh breath of air fades the flashes of dead bodies, cries, sound of bombs. It relives my tattered body to a numb silence…

I show a piece of paper to the information desk, he looks at me suspiciously while handing me the city map directing me towards the camp site.

Tears roll down my eyes as I enter the camp site seeing the familiar faces of my countrymen, who share my sentiments…   sentiment of being away from home, the loved ones…grieving the death of family members…being shelter less with no nationality …to live with an identity which is despised by many… The Refugee!!!

I set my foot in the tent offered to me as an Iraqi refugee. I am allotted number 286. My 7^th identity since I left home. Swedish government has been kind to us to offer refugee status with an optimism to get an asylum seeker visa. Probably, all is not lost…

Hope makes a person do uncanny things. Who had thought that, one day I will run away from Basara? I managed to slip the US military base, the bombs, the authorities to reach Europe via Russia. I bore different names. Finally, I managed to set foot in Prague. Getting red passport was easier… offer money and bribe crack and the job is done… money, crack brought me life but killed my self… as if it existed at first place … she reminded me of me sometimes… but, the moment, I am away from her, I am worth nothing but a count in the population from a disputed country.. without any kith and kin…after losing the family to bombarding rain, my unbound energies were diverted in vengeance. The only way to control my growing rage was to join the battle of freedom… losing my useless life to the nation which is at the mercy of enemies… who is the enemy? US? Or, my own countrymen? I could never figure that out. It did not matter, I wanted to die. She gave me that ray of hope, to try another chance… to live.

Few more days to go. She will join me. We will start another life in this foreign land with a borrowed status of identity - asylum seeker. One day, when the sun of victory rises in my country, I will go back to build the nation I once cherished. Red passport is my present but my destiny lies in the homeland - with my self worth!!!

**********

P.S. This story is inspired by an article I read in the Time magazine about thousands of Iraqi refugees taking shelter in Europe. Swedish government is especially kind for granting asylum seeker visa status to refugees. Stockholm hosts the biggest Iraqi refugee camp in Europe.

----Glossary----

Stockholm Syndrome: The famous word originated from a real incident happened in Stockholm where a victim fell in love with the kidnapper.