Dear Khodayar, the first time I heard about what happened to
you was on the Monday. Someone said another refugee had burnt themself, this
time in Dandenong. I wanted to find out more but there was a giant silence for
the next few days. Like the ocean swallowing a person. Who was it? Are they all
right?
Then I learnt your name and I saw your face and I found out
that you aren’t all right. That in the deepest pit of misery that we heaped on
you, you decided to cut your life. And you did cut it. That camp by the creek
was the last home that you knew. The protection of the leaves and the earth was
not enough to keep you safe from the men who were looking for you. Khodayar I
had to visit your camp to get closer to you, to offer comfort to you. Khodayar,
your words are very powerful; the stories of your life and your journeys are
heroic. I think of you in the night, crossing from one side to the other. Love
Stephen
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