It’s winter, and I am counting down to Ramadan. The nights are long and cold in the crowded tent, away from home. One morning, the weight of the genocidal war and displacement gets hold of me, and I get angry at everything and everyone around me. With the unraveling of the rage that has been pent up inside me for far too long, I stop recognizing myself.
And so, without informing my family, I start walking, away from the tent in the Saudi quarter and head west. I walk to abate anger, to overcome anxiety, and to alleviate fear. I walk and find myself by the beach.
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