My first moments with the identity of “refugee” began in Za’atari camp in Jordan. This first cry of my new life was far from home. Today, I have completed ten years in Za’atari. Ten years and Syria is now just a dream, a distant tale of my homeland. Za’atari camp is the only thing I know in this life. A decade is so long, and time’s clock continues to tick. Between one refugee family and another, stories vary here. Za’atari was the only safe shelter we had access to. Many of the refugee children now attending primary school were born or raised here and have never known any other environment or home other than the camp. Many young men and women hope for a better future through education and access to university studies, and this is the only opportunity for most young people to get rid of the word “refugee.” My escape from the bitter reality in which we live is through my favorite hobby of drawing. Now, ten years after seeking asylum here, I have been asking myself what my future might hold, but today with possibly more years to wait, we all may need to keep wondering and waiting. But the camp is a temporary stop. There must be ambition beyond the camp. I will lose the word and will not be a refugee forever.
Thank you for reading, and I invite you to visit my campaign at and learn more about me.