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REVENGE

I like to think we ran from the pain, that we chose to leave pain behind. but everyone knows that it’s not possible.

This monologue is based on the story of a refugee I met at the Ulus Refugee Center. The anger and hurt that was present in this man was deeply moving. I happened to stumble upon his conversation with another man and I could not help but sit there and take in the experiences of this man. The atrocious murder of his father shaped his life and his perspective and all he could talk about was his need for revenge.

 

in 2014
many unthinkable events occurred.
the Syrian civil war death toll reached 130,000
the Ukrainian revolution began
we found out that about ⅓ of women in the EU have experienced physical or sexual violence since the age of 15
Ebola
train crashes in the Congo  
gas explosions in New York
a flight disappears in the calm illusion of the clouds

yeah, welcome to our world.

but what happened to me and my family in 2014 involved one of those unthinkable events and involved me and i was involved in one those unthinkable events in 2014, a sentence that still causes my breath to lodge itself in my throat until it suffocates me.

I am from Iraq.
 In 2014, Daesh took over my home, Mosul.
my brother, my mother and I, we fled.

I like to think we ran from the pain, that we chose to leave pain behind. but everyone knows that it’s not possible.

my father stayed behind, living with the pain we thought we would never have to feel again.

and one day i received a call. my neighbor, a kind man, told me that my father had died.
“what? how did this happen?” i could barely get the words out.

my father had his hands bound by rope and tied together, his mouth stuffed with cloth. he was stabbed 13 times in the front and twice in his back, only to have his right arm sliced open.
they took our money, our jewelry, our food. everything.

but mainly, they took my father.

they ran out screaming about Islam, their version of my faith. the real islam is so beautiful and filled with peace. their version of my faith that they made up, made again, and made other lost people believe that they are lost too and that they must get rid of the people that are found.

where does it ever say that Mohammed wanted to kill everyone, or that this is the true way to be?
who ever said that?
NO ONE.

I hate their Islam.
i hate it so much.

do you know who killed my father? do you?
because i spend every day searching. i am angry. i am furious.
you’re American, can you help me? help me find them.
i want revenge. no, i need revenge.  

i did not sleep or eat for a month after i received that phone call.

my mother, she is sick.
she is in a hospital bed, as we speak.
i am the eldest son, i hold the responsibility.
she asks me every day, the same question.
“is Baba making sure everything is clean? is he doing well?”

and it tears at my heart. it hurts.

because every day when she asks I say, “yes mother, he is good. he loves you.”
and i change the subject because the one subject i care so much for is about the pain we left my father to die in.

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