9th December, 2019
I was born in Burma. I hail from a very loving family. My mother would spend most of her days looking after the house, cooking me all my favorite meals. My father was a joyful man, he is my best friend. The truth is he spoilt me a lot, what a sheltered life I once had.
One night, my father woke us all up, he was panicking and told us all to quickly get up. I could see from my window the village next to ours was on fire. The Burma military was coming to our village next. My mother started to pray and cry as she got me ready. It was a cold night, I couldn't find my jumper. There was no time.
We ran towards the river, I kept looking back, I could see our village in flames, my heart was beating so fast! As we approached the river, we saw a boat, one of our village men got the boat ready, and we got inside and the boat took off. But the army came and was firing at us. We ducked down, the bullets nearly hit me. Then we heard a scream, my mother had been shot in the arm. My father wrapped it around. Thankfully the military couldn't catch us.
We made it into Bangladesh. Now life is very difficult. We live in a tent. My father is not the same. He doesn't talk much and he looks lost. My mother’s arm is now infected. He spends his day trying to look for treatment. I spend my day doing what I've never done before. I carry this jug on my head and look for water. I walk for miles often and carry whatever water I can and bring back home. Sometimes I come without any water and I see my mother’s sadness, but she still comforts me.
Life is hard these days.