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.

I realized something strange:

I have to close the notebook now. The water is getting higher. Tarek is handing me his left shoe. refugee the diary of ali ismail

We are asking for your .

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. When the water started seeping through the floor,

I write this to tell you the invention .

By the time you reach the water, you are a ghost wearing running shoes. I realized something strange: I have to close

War exported me. Bombs exported my neighbor, the baker. Fear exported the girl who sat in front of me in chemistry class (she could name all the elements, but she couldn't name a single safe country).

The man next to me, a dentist from Aleppo named Tarek, keeps checking his phone. There is no signal. The battery is at 4%. He is scrolling through photos of his dental clinic. White tiles. A poster about flossing. It looks like a museum of another universe.