Being in a place far from home A place I did know I could call my own Staring up at the ceiling Searching for familiar feelings Looking across bridges, old and new Then up at the sky, the very same blue The wind blows, coming from miles away The flowers bloom, symbolizing the start of May I fall into my own thoughts, dark and alone, When a smell all too familiar hits my nose, Turning to see if this is deceit, But no, with my very own eyes I see, They blew against the spring w

Some borders are made of wire. Others are made of water. I learned this on a beach that was not mine, watching hibiscus fall open at dawn. Red, wild, unafraid of the wind that had carried it here. The locals said those flowers came years ago on ships, as seeds tucked in pockets. They were not something planted, but something that just arrived. They brought no maps, no claim to the soil. Only color, and the stubborn belief that light was reason enough to open. Early mornings,

It is a strange, mystical thing that one word can hold the weight of multiple definitions. It can be a physical place where one seeks sanctuary and security. For another, it can be a feeling of comfort and a sense of belonging. That word is “Home”. For me, home is not a place made from concrete walls and a roof covering the top of my head; it is the joyous laughter of my friends, the quiet exhale and calm atmosphere of my house, and the savory aroma of food my grandmother coo

“You don't have to be the biggest seed.” A beautiful garden behind a small home where the wife planted seeds everyday. The garden was beautiful, filled with flowers, trees and bushes! One day a small little seed was planted in the soiled dirt, unfortunately the small seed wasn't directly in the sunlight but it received plenty of water like the rest of the seeds in the soil. The small seed was so excited to grow, it told the other seeds “I want to grow and be a big beautif

“One bar, two bars…..One bar at a time.” The park is a grand place, people go all the time with their kids, friends and family. The green grass, the giant blue sky, the beautiful scenery of nature and the small playground in a small corner where all the kids jump and play. Today, a smaller child showed up, her hair was up in pigtails and she had freckles all over her chubby cheeks— she LOVED the playground, she came every day. She noticed a group of bigger kids by the mon

What is it like to dream? Is dreaming simply the natural process of resting each night, a time where our minds wander into worlds filled with impossible, chaotic, and extraordinary moments? Or is it something deeper? A silent yet powerful goal we set for ourselves, one that pushes us forward even when the road ahead feels uncertain? For many people, dreaming seems effortless or a choice. People dream occasionally, because it is as simple as falling off a log. In kindergarten,

The game of chance. We are, whether we like it or not, divided by politics, money and generalizing. We are of the same world, but not the same dawn. When there’s the privileged, there’s the less fortunate, who have to face the ignorance of our current generation - and what we fail to realize is that the less fortunate have an equal if not more advanced employment of intellect, intelligence and creativity. Everyone has the potential to be who they want to be. You may not be in

I did not carry furniture or the walls I grew up in. I carried smaller things, my name, my heritage, my language, the way my mother cooked my favorite meal the way my father folded clothes like they mattered. I carried songs that no one here can understand, and recipes, without the ingredients that pull it together. They say I left my home behind, But a person can leave home, Home cannot leave the person. It lives in the way I speak, in the stories I repeat, In the small mome

When most people think of home, they envision a fixed coordinate on a map, a place, a street and an address. But for those in the refugee and migrant communities, home is rarely a static place. For many refugees who are forced to flee, they can't leave their living room, prayer room or their garden with them. Instead, they take memories, recipes and symbolic items that remind them of their country they left behind. These aren’t just souvenirs, they serve as a reminder of wher

Waking up to the warm feel of a late spring day in your sun-dappled room, pulling your blanket up over your eyes in an unsuccessful attempt to eschew going to school as your mother comes in and confiscates it, sternly announcing that you are to “get up right this instant.” You omit that command and peacefully roll over onto your stomach and slide your head underneath your pillow, resting your sore eyelids and anew escape into a deep slumber. Once you wake again, the pleasant,

and in the midst of waiting to to go home, miles away from it, on a random sunday night, you realize that your childhood is gone forever and so is home. because the moment you leave your home, you leave all the places in the world, forever. after that, no place is going to be permanent. even if you return, home is not the same. and so it begins a chain reaction of leaving people, places and things behind and then you realize that there's nothing to wait for that the road you

I sit in a circle of voices. Each story begins softly, but soon the room fills with the weight of memory. One woman speaks of her grandmother’s kitchen the smell of bread rising, her hands folding love into the dough. I can almost taste it, warm and alive, a recipe carried across oceans. A man remembers a courtyard, where cousins chased kites into the sky. Their laughter rose higher than rooftops, higher than fear, higher than the silence that followed when the courtyard was

across the border there stands a wall or a brick, maybe my hands have infused some of my soul into it, I like to think. it is a wall bearing the weight of generations and their stories, their sorrows and their laughters, their lives are engraved on to it, layer over layer, generation to generation and the last one was mine. the last fragrance it stored was my mother's low effort dish, the last sound it heard was my father's voice after he came home, the last name etched in it

Ridiculous, isn’t it? How would a fish continue to live in a birdcage? When I first saw the phrase from a music artist called Fish in a Birdcage, I thought it was a rather silly name. However, after dwelling upon it as I listened to the artists’ discography, I realized it displayed a meaningful message. It’s a fascinating yet sad imagery for some, and a harsh reality for many. It represents an able-bodied, talented, or skilled creature unable to function or thrive due to the

We all may know Ke Huy Quan from his role as Short Round in Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom, or from his other roles. Maybe you just simply know him for being an Oscar winner. However, there is more to Ken than just being an Oscar winner. He was just a normal kid in Vietnam, oblivious to the instability and racism happening in Vietnam, when suddenly, his life turned upside down. One night, Ke’s father grabbed him and 5 of his siblings to escape on a boat to Hong Kong, w

Butterflies are winged insects characterised by large, often brightly coloured wings. They undergo a complete metamorphosis, a change of form of a thing or person into a completely different one, by natural or supernatural means.The butterfly begins life as an egg, emerges as a caterpillar, goes through a processing phase called a pupa, and then undergoes a complete change in body form during development as a butterfly. In nature, it’s not uncommon for a species to pass befor

It can take between 10-30 years for different seeds to grow into a tree. It is a lifetime enough to dream, hope and dare. How much time it takes for the seed is not of much importance, the thing that matters most is that it grows. He held a plastic bottle in his hands, and nature was his audience. In this supposed microphone he talked of his dreams and expressed his passion for doing what is right. It didn't take much, just a bottle of water that was no longer of use to any

“Life doesn’t get easier or more forgiving, we get stronger and more resilient.” — Steve Maraboli Resilience means “the capacity to withstand or recover quickly from difficulties” and grit means “a character of resolve or courage”. Trying again refers to getting back up once or multiple times when facing difficult challenges. Everyday, refugees go through a number of struggles. A bunch of them face trauma, loss of loved ones, murder, violence, seeing things that nobody shou

“Out of suffering have emerged the strongest souls; the massive characters are seared with scars” — Kahlil Gibran I’m Yazan, a boy from a refugee camp in Syria who recently moved to America. I’ve seen things not many kids have, something that I shouldn’t have even seen. I’ve seen my loved ones die right in front of my eyes, experienced the feeling of starvation and dehydration, and felt emotions not even I can understand. I’m completely numb, I have been for a while. After l

“I’m using it to motivate them, to give them a reason to continue on to dream again and to know that if you have a downfall, that doesn’t mean it’s the end of the way.” — Yusra Mardini. Refugee Olympic Swimmer Did you know that a handful of refugees make their way onto being Olympians? Quite a few refugees can and have demonstrated high-level athletic performance, therefore getting accepted into the Refugee Olympic Team. So, what’s so important about this? Well, refugees ty