Tonight, the stars are very bright. The coast guard’s light is a white dot on the horizon. It might be rescue. It might be return. I don’t know which is scarier.
— Ali
First, you lose the sound of church bells (or the call to prayer, depending on your street). Then you lose the specific smell of your mother’s stove—lentils and cumin. Then you lose the ability to walk down a street without looking up at the rooftops. refugee the diary of ali ismail
Remember that I, Ali Ismail, age sixteen, once had a favorite cup (chipped blue ceramic). I was afraid of spiders. I hated boiled okra. I wanted to be an architect, not because I liked buildings, but because I liked the space between buildings—the shadows where children play. Tonight, the stars are very bright
But I write this to you, future reader, not to make you sad. It might be return
But tonight, I am a cartographer.
I realized something strange: