From My Diaries in America: A Confession
I didn't realize the toll this was taking on my health until a cardiologist compared my recent medical records with the old ones and informed me that my condition had worsened. He even presented me with the option of open-heart surgery to replace some arteries.
In Egypt, my priority was a surgery for a cleft palate and a herniated disc; now in America, my heart issues took center stage. I still had other health concerns waiting in line, while appointments here demand both time and patience. Before seeing the doctors, I had to wait a month and a half just to begin the approval process for treatment. Health is vital, and health requires living with dignity, which, unfortunately, has become compromised.
Living here has its harsh realities that leave no room for leniency or joking. After arriving in America, I received nine hundred dollars from three members of the Yemeni community in New York, with each person giving me three hundred dollars. I accepted it with immense pain, embarrassment, and a profound sense of shame—blame falls on those who govern and support the tyrannical rulers and the authorities in Yemen.
One of my friends recognized my struggles and gave me five hundred dollars, and later, without me asking, Nabil from another state helped me with a thousand dollars, two-thirds of which I sent back to my family in Yemen.
I wanted to work here to cover my living expenses, but to work legally, I need a work permit, which I can only obtain after applying for asylum, taking at least a month or more, or by securing residency.
All these circumstances push me toward seeking asylum for political or humanitarian reasons, yet I haven't done so, and I don't think I will, no matter how dire the situation becomes. I continue to resist, and my heart still beats, despite its damage, while the politicians in my bloodied homeland reap the daily harvest of suffering.
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