Diary Entry Number 2:
Exposition:
It’s day 2 of my time here in the kitchen and today is the day when I go to the immigration pantry for my new documents. I plan on leaving my hotel early so I can learn more about this place before I fully move in, so I’ll get on a walk around while venturing to the immigration pantry.
I started my walk from the hotel onto the streets and I immediately started to see big ads in a language I couldn’t quite understand plastered all over everywhere about some type of election for president. I heard that this kitchen was having its election cycle soon, but I wasn’t so sure that plastering your big messages all over where people commute would be the best decision since they’re just trying to get their grind on for the day. Another thing I noticed was that there was a nice smell coming from an Asian rice grains stand. He was speaking this different language I didn’t get but from what I understood, I could tell that he was selling phosphorus and potassium for sunlight. I was a little hungry, so I was going to get some, but I was a little worried since I didn’t speak the language since I was a Persian rice grain. But what happened next really inspired me. I asked for some raw potassium that I would process later, and he immediately recognized my rice grain accent and started to speak my native language. He gave me my potassium and asked me if I came from the bag that came in yesterday since I came from the hotel but didn’t look at the part. I first thought it was a little rude to ask like that, but I answered yes anyways because I was happy someone close by understood me, he told me his name was Min and to ask him if I had any more questions and to get a phone to translate and learn the language. I thought that was really sweet of him and he even wrote down his phone number for me. I kinda thought he might have been trying to get with me and was a little suspicious, but he was pretty charming, so I’ll give it a pass for now but maybe not later. Pretty soon I was on my way to the immigration pantry after surveilling my surroundings, I guess even if they put me in a really high shelf hotel it’s still a low-income area because there were so a lot of wilting foods around me it was a little off putting but it was I’d take this 5 times over what I had to deal with at home.
Point of Attack
I finally made it to the immigration pantry and holy there was a big line. I knew that obviously I wasn’t the only one coming from the outbreak but I swear there was more grains waiting than those who came from the bag. It turns out that there were more people waiting there than those that came from the bag and this kitchen had an over migrant issue and they were at full capacity. So I got into line and waited around 5 hours to finally get in the pantry. It was a hot line where I had to wait in the scorching sun for these stupid papers but when I finally got in what I was told next made me appalled at this system they’ve developed. I followed the line into a nicely furnished office with a can of tuna with glasses who spoke my language. She told me that unfortunately my papers have been delayed for the next week and I was going to need to wait.
Rising Action:
But what was I supposed to do with no papers, walk around? How was I supposed to possibly survive with no documentation for a week, I can’t get anything. They told me the next door over would handle it. I walked in and they handed me $200 and got me to leave. I was completely flabbergasted and considered going to the next kitchen over to survive because how was this possibly gonna be enough to get my feet off the ground. After I left I went back to the hotel.
Falling Action:
The concierge warned me I was gonna have only 3 days left here before they were going to need to kick me out for the next shipment of people and that I was going to need to find a job to survive.
Resolution:
I was too worried for how I would get a way to survive in this kitchen without any sort of help and not knowing the language so I am going to sleep now. I hope to get to write about a new job tomorrow and hopefully survive the next week.
I decided to base this story off of real stories of refugees (specifically Syrian ones) coming into countries that say they are humanitarian and can take care of them but forget to actually put in the work to make sure everyone is accounted for reasonably. This is a horrible problem that not many talk about where many refugees don’t even get the right documentation to start a life nevermind get a job in their new country. So I hope I get a chance to really show the kinds of struggles that come with being a refugee and trying to integrate into a western society.
