I could very well emigrate, but I remain anchored in the wanting. It's as if a politician were whispering in my ear: "Just wanting it isn’t enough!" And the truth, hard as stone, is that merely wanting is not enough.
It takes much more than desire; it requires gathering strength and money, being ready for the thousand and one steps that take us beyond the border, from the simple suitcase to the bureaucratic paperwork that weighs more than the heart itself.
I could cross any border illegally, as many do, heading toward the unknown. Some say it's better to be a beggar in the United States than in many other parts of the world. Maybe these voices are right, or maybe they are wrapped in a veil of illusions. The truth is, the difficulty we don't know becomes, in our eyes, the ease we’ve never experienced. What do we know about the cold on the other side of the ocean? About the suffocating heat awaiting us under distant skies?
I read the newspapers, hear the echoes on the radio, watch the parade of news on television. Everywhere, migrants lament. There's always a hint of bitterness in the lands that promised happiness. Who would have imagined that paradise also has its cruel seasons, with harsh winters and unbearable summers? Each story is unique, each journey its own narrative, but there is something common in the hardships hidden behind the promises of a better future.
I laugh, alone, remembering the professor who, during some random class, shared his adventures in Russia. With a cigarette between his fingers, he said: "I smoked to forget the hunger and the cold in Russia." And that’s when my desire to emigrate faltered. Maybe I still want to leave, but for now, I occupy myself with laughter and laments, savoring the irony of life's little tragedies.
(By Lucas Muaga)
