I’ve been quiet through this
whole thing. I haven’t really spoken my two cents yet. Maybe out of fear. Maybe
because the words haven’t been there. Maybe I’ve been in denial this issue has
really anything to do with me. But it does. Because it really it has everything
to do with all of us.
Refugee. The dictionary defines the word as “a person who has been forced
to leave their country in order to escape war, persecution, or natural
disaster.”
Where
we live, where we work, refugees constantly surround us. Refugees from Nepal
and Burma, Rwanda and Liberia, even Syria and Afghanistan. We’ve come to love the people who we call
neighbors. We can’t see ourselves living anywhere else. They have become home.
As our
country decides whether to let any more refugees enter the USA, I can’t help but
be thankful that they allowed the refugees in who currently reside in our
neighborhood. What if we hadn’t met Moo, Mooku and Daykulay, Sui and Esther,
Anisha and Sabina, Shalena and Hari? And then there is Mary, our daughter’s
best friend. They play everyday, being so sweet with one another without ever
knowing any different. Anna doesn’t know Mary’s family is from the mountains
between Burma and Thailand. She doesn’t know what Mary’s parents and siblings
had to endure to get here, to safety. She doesn’t know that Mary’s family lived
in a refugee camp before flying on a big plane to welcome arms in the city of
Charlotte. All she knows is that Mary is her best friend and that’s all that
matters at this point. Friendship.
