Dear You,

 

Believe it or not I am in a dinghy, I’ve got my smartphone with me and I can write this letter to you. You are someone in the “world of luck” and I am crossing the ocean to get to yours because mine isn’t safe. The irony is that I’ve never experienced anything more unsafe than this journey.

 

I'm a woman and on board we’re more than 50, kids included. Mind you, I know that it could accommodate max 20. Another thing I know is this: I had to leave the people I love because being the youngest of the family, I'm also the only one who could possibly earn money to send home. Those who I left are hungry most of the time, occasionally starving. But most importantly they paid for this journey, by saving for years. When I left, that is three months ago, I didn’t know that being alive means being able to die with those you love. Death is this boat I am on.

 

All I've got with me is a plastic bag. In it a pair of shoes I am saving for land, a change of underwear and a photo of my family. I stole it from them, the only one we own, because unlike me they can still see each other. That's all. I've got money, yes, but apparently worth nothing, if I ever get to the other side of this ocean.

 

I can't see my future, and that’s not because I don’t know if I’m going to make it. The future belonged to the “me” left behind, not to this body travelling on.

 

But I am writing to you because I have a request to make. You can help. Whatever you feel towards me when I get to your world, whatever your opinion on the instinct that made me foolishly jump on this boat this morning, as spontaneously as it is for you to reach for a glass of water when thirsty, please promise me that I will never meet these people again. I can’t afford memories of the fear I am in. I can’t.

 

S.