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On Being a Migrant

I used to call myself a gypsy, or a nomad, because I like to move homes, countries and even dreams. Movement is attractive to me. It is a new beginning, a breath of fresh air, a new chapter, a liberation and an adventure.

In the face of the fear of migrants for some in our society, I want to share my love of being a migrant. The truth is that Life is constantly in movement and so are we. Since the beginning of the ages, we moved. Either because of internal suffering that made it insufferable to stay where we were, or because of external dangers that obliged us to seek asylum. The adventure migrants, pioneers in search of unknown territories moved out of curiosity.

If you think you do not qualify, think again: you are at the very least a migrant in time. Time moves and so do you: you grow old and cannot do anything about it.

We are all migrants in time. Trying to stop time, hold still in the face of the eternal movement of the universe is simply futile. One cannot hold on to the past. We need to let go of nostalgia, of the regret for what was.

Instead, let's stick together in the face of the tragedy of humankind: let hold each other while constantly dealing with the loss of what was.

Let’s comfort each other, support each other, be for each other.

We are all migrants.


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