Now we’re guests in a faraway land nearly 40 years on. No trees, no cool breeze, no best friends. Only endless days spent in sending SMSs…

Haris…as a naive migrantwho just moved here,relying on you tapered worries.

Bob, I am grateful for yourThree letter name.It’s another reminder of homeOf a world predictableOf a life I had.

[Y]ou, one day, will knock lips with Turkish-coffee-clad veils whose beds our kin must tuck in misty-eyed.

People whose lives were determined for them by a group of politicians whose severing, dissecting and reattaching of their lands has turned their world into a monster that not even its creator can control.

When an entire segment of the world is burned and reduced to a lawless battleground for thugs and mercenaries, a land where government does not exist, where the slate of history is being wiped out...

The Arab Spring whose seeds failed to bloom anything other than a chaotic mess that requires only blood to grow has contributed immensely to the rising numbers of these migrants.

Even the new things thatI less than know,I keep trying, did againuntil perfect.

You are…the embodimentof immediate good karma.The equalizer between bottomfeeders and the sanctimoniouscogs in the system.

You stand for what is right-for the patient and the staff.Pressures of work may down you,maybe bent but not broken.

Workers were required to stay six months, and even then permission to quit was not always granted. The factory held the first two months of every worker’s pay; leaving without approval meant losing that money...