9th December, 2019
My husband would always tell me that only death could separate us.
He is the man of my dreams. Such love and care, he would help me always. All the women in the village would envy how my husband looked after me like a princess.
Then came those dark days. It was the day that we all feared would come but hoped that miracles would happen. The Burmese militias came with their machetes to burn our villages, to cleanse the land from the Rohingya. My husband kept telling me to run! I didn't want to leave him, I begged at his feet to not go, but he hugged me and told me for the sake of him to run for Bangladesh and he would join me.
I ran with my father in law. We had to run, I ran with whatever I had. I looked back to see the young men of our village trying to fight off the militias. As I ran I prayed for all the men's safety. That day I saw what heroes looked like. Not the heroes from the movies, but heroes of Rohingya. Our men, our husbands, our brothers.
We finally made it into Bangladesh after 8 long and painful days. We now live in a refugee camp. Every day, I wake up going from camp to camp to see if my husband made it. In my heart, he is right here. I just can't find him yet. I know he's alive, but there are so many people. He told me only death could separate us. They tell me he has probably died, but I know I will find him. I know he is here.