I realized something strange:
By the time you reach the water, you are a ghost wearing running shoes.
If this diary finds you, build something. Not a wall. A door. refugee the diary of ali ismail
When the water started seeping through the floor, Tarek took off his leather shoes. He didn’t throw them overboard. He held them up.
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. I realized something strange: By the time you
— Ali
The father of three behind us starts to pray. The teenager from Idlib is laughing—hysterically, I think—because the moon is very bright and we are all going to die in a raft meant for ten people that holds forty-seven. A door
I write this to tell you the invention .
We don’t run away from death. We scoop it out with our finest possessions.
We are not asking for your pity. Pity is a hand that stays closed.
If you are reading this, and you have a house key on a ring in your pocket, please understand: I am not a burden. I am an export.