Written by: Tero
My name is Tero. I was born 20 years ago, in Jaffna Hospital, at 10:24 in the night. I was born on my father’s birthday. He always told me I was the finest birthday gift he had ever received. I am a lefty and I like to believe that I am different. I would like you to believe that I do not have the same story to tell as my classmates. Some people were made but I believe I was created for a special purpose. I don’t know what that purpose is yet, but I will find out soon. If someone were to ask me what my favourite thing was in the whole world, I’d tell him or her it’d be the stars. I have been living in Canada for nearly eight years, which is certainly long enough to miss some significant things from my home.
I miss the warm climate all year round, and sleeping outside in my fruit smelling backyard. I miss going to the crazy, colourful markets that smelled of all sorts of spices. That reminds me… I miss eating the food on banana leaves with my bare hands. I miss speaking in my mother tongue and my carefree life as a child within the boundaries of my little home. I miss the home I shall never see again. No matter how exciting Canada can be, I will always have special memories of my own country. Unlike other people, I remember things that took place in my childhood, as they were important to me. In my country there was peace, and there was war. Because of this reality, I am able to distinguish from right and wrong. That is why I do not encourage war in any way. I am not one to stir up quarrels between others because I know that fighting can kill. After being caught between clashes with shootings and shells, seeing death after death, after hiding in bunkers for days with my family, I have vowed to never hurt anyone in that way. I came from a paradise island shaped like a teardrop in the Indian Ocean. I am who I am because of this tiny island. During the time I lived there, I experienced life, death, sorrow, hope, and all sorts of other feelings as a child.
Children my age would play games like hide-and-go-seek and patty-cakes, but I played hospital and bandaged my “wounded” dolls. I remember when I would lay down to sleep; I would hear the shells in the near distance. Those sounds, I never want to hear again. While being in the bunkers, I would see dead bodies, babies crawling around their lifeless mothers. Those sights, I never want to see again. But I am constantly reminded of it because I would have nightmares about it from time to time. If not the dreams, I would be hearing and seeing it on the news on a Tamil channel or through word of mouth from those I know.
As a result of war, the people of my kind back home don’t have a voice and because I can’t do much to change the situation back there, I would be a voice to anyone who needed one here. War kills and being silenced is deadly. I am whom I am because of where I have been. I have learned so many lessons through these hardships. The lessons are simple. Love, love, love and love. Love everything and everyone. Forgive every bad deed and every bad person. Because of this conflict, my family fled the country not knowing that we wouldn’t see my father for another ten years. It was too hard for me to say goodbye to my birthplace because everything about it was so wonderful (other than the war).
When I found out we were leaving Eelam, my heart broke, my throat hurt, and I wanted to cry though I didn’t. For if I cried, it wouldn’t change a thing. As much as I wanted to stay, I knew that we had to go if we valued our lives. I felt that I had to visit all my favourite places and say goodbye to my country because I knew I wouldn’t be returning any time soon. I then ran to the church like all the other times I was in distress. The church gave me a sense of security, faith, and satisfaction. It was down the street from where we lived. There was a large statue of Mother Mary on the outside. How beautiful she looked in all her blue glory. Her eyes looked as if they could see for miles. This church is close to my heart because it has given my family refuge. One day when the shells began, my family ran into the church. We were tired of hiding in the bunkers and we felt that we’d put our safety into the Lord’s hands. After several hours, the loud noises stopped and we came outside and found that the houses around ours had been bombed, but ours was standing untouched. We found that to be a miracle. Ever since then, I had become very religious and that church had become very dear to me.
When I got older, I spent much of my time at the beach so I went back to say goodbye. For the final time, I had stood there watching the sunset that made everything look orange, yellow, and glowing. Even me. I loved hearing the sweet lullaby of the waves crashing against the shore, which was very comforting. I looked around and there was no one in sight. That’s when I realized that in a way, each person is independent on this earth. The beach is filled with all sorts of people during the day, but it gets abandoned in the night. I began contemplating, no matter where I am and what I do, I’m going to have to figure it out all for myself. The beach exists, even after the people have gone, I will exist away from my land.
Then I had to sing my swan song to my backyard where we had many fruit trees; durian, wood-apple, pineapple, jackfruit. We had so many fruits that I don’t even know all the names. Each tree had a distinct smell of its own. One could walk through the yard blind folded and easily guess which fruit tree they were walking past just by the smell. In that very backyard, we would play all day. We’d climb the trees, and have treasure hunts. Under the jackfruit tree, we dug a hole and we buried all the neat stuff that we found. My mother and father never knew about our secret hiding place. There was nothing wrong with telling them about it, but it was important that we don’t because we had a secret place that they didn’t know about. I remember, the days when my whole family would lay out on the rooftop and just watch the stars shining with all there might. Over there, you could actually see the stars because there was no pollution and very little lights. My mother used to say how she would miss those stars one day. I didn’t know what she meant at that time, but now I know she meant we were leaving. She was right about missing those stars. Sometimes my father would put me on his shoulders and he would tell me to catch the stars. I would try and try but it was too difficult though I enjoyed trying. Each time I reached for them, I felt that I was getting closer to them, and if only I was a little higher up, I’d actually catch one. I used think that one day when I’m all grown up, I would catch the stars all on my own and my father wouldn’t have to give me a lift.
When the time came for us to leave, we stood at the airport saying farewell to my father. This time, I couldn’t hold back my tears, because Daddy’s little girl was saying goodbye to her daddy. The pain of leaving my country, my father, and my stars engulfed me. I learned the meaning of hope as a child, which was why I was able to board that flight with hope.
Here in Canada, at night, when I look up into the very same sky, I can’t find my stars. But, I will catch them. That same hope, that makes me believe in my land.
