9th December, 2019
I don't know, my age. All I know is I'm alone in this world. It wasn't always like that. I too had a mother and father. I was their only child. They loved me and they spoilt me. My father was a poor man in Arkhine, but every day would be an Eid for me. My mother wanted me to be a doctor when I grew up.
One day the army came to our village. I was playing in the fields and I hid. I saw them killing the people. One by one they killed our people. I was shaking, I couldn't have the courage to go and help anyone. I saw children being thrown into fires, they were still alive and I could hear their screams.
After the army left, I went to my village to look for my parents. My mother was dead. My father was dead. I cried next to their bodies for more than a day. I wanted them to wake up, I called their names to wake up. They never woke up.
I saw people running, I had no choice but to run with them. The journey to Bangladesh was a difficult journey. I starved for 3 days, sometimes I had to eat leaves to stay alive. Eventually, we arrived in Bangladesh.
Now I am living with another family. Every day, I go out and beg for food. Every night I have nightmares about my parents, I still see their dead faces. I still hear the screams of the children. Yes, I am alone here, yes, I am terrified to be here, yes, I miss my mother and father, I miss them so much that it hurts me.
My only dream now is that I survive.