The Diary Of Ali Ismail: Refugee

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.

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). refugee the diary of ali ismail

Then he used his expensive Italian shoes as a bail bucket. He scooped the Aegean Sea out of our coffin, one sole-full at a time. The man next to me, a dentist from