When my mom and I drifted with the ocean, we thought of many many things. We were in the plain, over the waters, thinking of my father. He, who had to leave four years before. We had waited and waited for four years. I hated it. I hated waiting. Waiting for something that was so far away. Too far in miles and too far in our brains. But it came, after a long while it came. I remember jumping in the air with excitement, but I don’t remember thinking what would become of me and us as a family. My dad was the one I cared about and wanted to see at that moment.
As we were drifting, I was filled with joy. The joy of seeing my father and the joy of a new country, whom many called it heaven. They said you’ll have everything, you’ll be free, you’ll be so happy there. That’s what they said before we came.
I hugged him tightly and kissed him on his cheek. He laughed and hugged us both. We had come a long way and were exhausted. But with my father, exhaustion did not mean anything. He was our strength.
After a few weeks I realized my life wouldn’t be the same. I had expected a house, a car and everything. But we had to work for it. It wasn’t the way I thought it would be. The way I wanted it to be and had imagined it for four years. I started feeling lonely, I longed for the rest of my family, for our old house, and our own mystery. The only thing that helped me survive was knowing that I was the luckiest girl for having things that others didn’t and for having the best parents in the world.

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