Cunningham writes that people have the illusion of life experiences exceptional, unusual and very exciting compared to other lives human. I have this illusion. Today I had a perfect day, many people would envy. It was a rare day, an exceptional day.
The Chechen boy, with whom I shed tears of joy, anger and pain came back to say goodbye. We said a lot, without an interpreter and without words. We laughed and we promised not to forget. from now on will be engraved in my memory forever. A gentleman
Kosovo and I have cared for a small Chechen just one year. The love for this child has brought us together more than one culture, language and a common citizenship. Watching him play has a sense of normalcy to a picture out of the ordinary. A small
of Guinea fell asleep in my arms. When he sees me in the corridors opens its arms to me, recognize me, trust me. When his mother comes to pick him up, cries and clings to my legs. I am proud but at the same time it breaks my heart to see him terrified of losing me.
-5 days and I go to the center. I can not imagine a farewell, I can not shape the words that I utter. It is not humanly bearable create reports and then leave.
I plunged into this adventure without a clear idea of \u200b\u200bwhat I lived and I got involved for the bones from the lives of people who met him. I do not see the refugees, I see Ahmed, Zahra, Said ... I see the eyes watching, listening to the mouths that talk about and sniffed the smell of the person in front of me.
Whenever a school cycle ended I was sad to leave the people to whom I loved but I knew that they would take their way. Here I leave for mothers, children and men who risk a forcible return to a country that is no longer theirs, and let people migrate still migrate legacy of dashed hopes and dreams too shy to be made. I leave many question marks pasted on the vine.
are psychologically destabilized, I sucked a few drops of each trauma, I gave up any illusions about justice triumphant good. They are stories that do not believe and I do not want to tell people who ask me about this experience and that certainly will not tell my children one day (more disillusioned that disappointed!). Every little achievement has cost deep pain, conquest irrelevant to the price paid.
The Chechen boy, with whom I shed tears of joy, anger and pain came back to say goodbye. We said a lot, without an interpreter and without words. We laughed and we promised not to forget. from now on will be engraved in my memory forever. A gentleman
Kosovo and I have cared for a small Chechen just one year. The love for this child has brought us together more than one culture, language and a common citizenship. Watching him play has a sense of normalcy to a picture out of the ordinary. A small
of Guinea fell asleep in my arms. When he sees me in the corridors opens its arms to me, recognize me, trust me. When his mother comes to pick him up, cries and clings to my legs. I am proud but at the same time it breaks my heart to see him terrified of losing me.
-5 days and I go to the center. I can not imagine a farewell, I can not shape the words that I utter. It is not humanly bearable create reports and then leave.
I plunged into this adventure without a clear idea of \u200b\u200bwhat I lived and I got involved for the bones from the lives of people who met him. I do not see the refugees, I see Ahmed, Zahra, Said ... I see the eyes watching, listening to the mouths that talk about and sniffed the smell of the person in front of me.
Whenever a school cycle ended I was sad to leave the people to whom I loved but I knew that they would take their way. Here I leave for mothers, children and men who risk a forcible return to a country that is no longer theirs, and let people migrate still migrate legacy of dashed hopes and dreams too shy to be made. I leave many question marks pasted on the vine.
are psychologically destabilized, I sucked a few drops of each trauma, I gave up any illusions about justice triumphant good. They are stories that do not believe and I do not want to tell people who ask me about this experience and that certainly will not tell my children one day (more disillusioned that disappointed!). Every little achievement has cost deep pain, conquest irrelevant to the price paid.
