I was born a refugee. When I left Syria, I became stateless. I fled to Denmark in 2015 in search of asylum. Being a refugee was easier. As a refugee, you are expected to go home at some point. That home was supposed to be Palestine. Due to my stateless status, it wasn’t possible for me to go there. Now, I’m not sure what my displaced future holds for me. It’s a waiting game. As I wait, I search. I search for a feeling of belonging in a place I know is not my home. My search began seven years ago. I was 12 years old and realised I didn’t belong where I was. I had feelings of detachment from the environment I was born into. I knew I wasn’t Syrian, I was Palestinian. My blood is Palestinian. I can feel it in my heart. Still, I look at myself and ask that person; who are you? If I am Palestinian then I should be recognized as such. If I feel it inside myself, is that enough?
My body reacts to environments that I feel comfortable in. The movement of water, the wind in the trees; nature. I have connected myself to earth how I would like to be connected to a homeland. I feel safe in nature. Maybe that’s because the elements of nature are living but have no homeland. They are like me, belonging to earth but no country. I want to be like you in a way that I feel protected by borders. I want to feel like I have somewhere to go that accepts me as their own. I want to have the opportunity to fight for my country. I want to live in peace. I have felt Palestinian since the day I can remember feeling. I grew up surrounded by other Palestinians in the Al Yarmouk Camp in Damascus. I went to a school where they taught us what it means to be Palestinian. During that time I still had hope that soon I could experience it for myself. The feeling you experience when you go home. The feeling of familiarity.
I often dream about waking up in the place I envision as my home, a place that is familiar. Maybe I should create a fake passport. I can’t wait any longer. If I get caught, at least I tried. I did something I’ve been waiting 19 years to do. To me, the risk is worth it. To be able to experience the scent of the air and feel like I’m right where I belong is what I think about everyday.
The emptiness of so many different entities represents how I feel. I can’t help but find representations of myself everywhere in the world. Mainly in inanimate objects, I am reminded of what I feel. Struggling with the thought of being nothing because of my legal restrictions but simultaneously knowing that documents don’t make me who I am. From feeling comfortable in my skin to feeling not good enough, not worthy enough, not strong enough, not brave enough, not human enough. Sometimes I need a reminder that I am human. Sometimes I need a reminder that I bleed the same blood as you. Feeling anything other than human is what I’ve been conditioned to feel based on my status, but I am human. I have senses and I belong somewhere.
I can only hope my senses will one day be fulfilled with a place I can call home. Smells, sounds, neighborhoods, and people. I have experienced my homeland through other people. Through teachings, stories, and photos, I created this version of my homeland in my head. Palestine, where my ancestors are from, became refugees after 1948 and traveled to Syria. Since then, my family has seen no way back home. I have no legitimate travel document. Only a name, photo, and classification: stateless. That is my nationality in the eyes of the world. I feel Palestinian, but I am stateless. I am Mela.
