A Story of One Refugee

Our historical memory is ridiculously short. Humanity has an attention span of a stoner (short-term 5-second memory): just two generations ago, our grandparents were growing in times of war, with bombs flying over their houses and families going missing.


Sounds follow me. From the endless highways of Iran to the highest Himalayan plateaus, from the mountain villages of Pakistan to the Buddhist temples of Taiwan, from the pointy pagodas of Burma to the rural churches of Kenya, from the desert of Somaliland to the crosses and crescents of Ethiopia. Sounds of footsteps: bare feet…