Immigration

I wanted to apply for a job, nothing fancy, just working at the local shop. But he wouldn’t let me. He kept insisting that I should stay at home. All I wanted was to do something, to meet people, but he shut down all those possibilities.

It felt like he was holding me back from living my life, from being independent.

I was at work one day when she sent me a photo of a clown. It was not to be funny, but she said it looked like me.

She was always saying bad things about how I dressed. I couldn’t forget it. I kept thinking, maybe other people think the same. It made me feel bad, like I was not good enough.

She’d snatch my phone every chance she got, always poking around in it, reading my messages, and checking who I’d called. It felt like I had no space to breathe, no privacy at all.

My phone wasn’t just a device anymore; it was a leash, and she held the other end tight. Freedom? Forget about it.

I called it my escape fund, tucked away at the back of my wardrobe, hidden behind my clothes. He never bothered to look there.

Any spare change I had went straight into my secret stash.

One day, I’d save up enough to break free, to find my own place away from him.

I was out chilling with my mates when my phone rang. It was her, and she sounded really messed up, saying she’d hurt herself if I didn’t come back.

When I got back, I found her in the bathroom, knives lying there like some horror movie. It freaked me out big time.

After that, I felt like I had to stay close, like I was responsible for her. I couldn’t even hang out with my friends without worrying about what might happen when I wasn’t there.

I would run and sit by the river. One day, I’ll be free, one way or another. Somewhere where nobody can hurt me.

Life is just too hard here. I don’t want to be here anymore.

I don’t want to be anywhere anymore.