Sometimes, I ask myself why do we even exist in this world? What is the purpose of our existence when we are born into a world that constantly reminds us that we are unwanted? As time passes and life unfolds, I have come to realize a painful truth: refugees are often treated as if they are not truly human beings, but rather as problems to be managed, numbers on a report, or shadows on the margins of society.
We are counted for data, yet uncounted in real life. Our existence is noted in official documents, in aid registers, and in policies, but we remain invisible in the hearts of the world. We are excluded from the very spaces that claim to protect human rights, dignity, and equality. The word “refugee” itself becomes a label that strips us of our individuality, our dreams, and our stories.
The situation of refugees, particularly the Rohingya, can be likened to that of orphaned children, caught between the loss of their motherland and the uncertain care of a foreign government. For the Rohingya people, their homeland was once a place where they felt connected to their roots, their identity, and their community—like a mother who cares for and nurtures her children. The forced displacement from Myanmar, due to violent persecution, shattered their sense of belonging and left them adrift. Their motherland, which once provided them with a sense of security and protection, has become inaccessible, much like an orphaned child who has lost their mother.
The emotional toll of this invisibility is immense. It is not just the lack of physical belonging, but the psychological weight of knowing that you are constantly seen as “other” a reminder of a crisis, a victim of war, a displaced person without a home. We carry these identities not by choice, but by force, shaped by histories we did not create, and yet we are expected to be silent, to adapt, and to not take up space.
For many refugees, survival is not only about escaping war or violence it is about surviving the loneliness of being forgotten. It is about building a life in societies that see your presence as temporary, even when years pass. It is about trying to dream again when all the world expects of you is silence.
But our existence is not meaningless. Our lives carry stories of resilience, of love, of community, and of strength that are too often overlooked. Every day, we fight not just for a place to live, but for a chance to exist as equals in a world that seems to look past us. To live without fear, to learn, to grow, to contribute to simply be human. We ask for nothing more than the basic rights afforded to all people, and yet we continue to be treated as if we are invisible.
We are still here, still existing. And that existence, though often overlooked and denied, carries an undeniable strength. It is a reminder that refugees are not just victims, but individuals who, despite everything, continue to push forward. We exist, and in our persistence, there is power.
