I have my own reasons for making this decision to leave home. I’m not like these people. They have other reasons; so many things to escape from. The long and protracted war that has been going on for ten years and more. Armies of occupation in their soil. Their sons, and daughters too, martial women who have their own regiments, have gone against all the traditions of their society, joining the militant movements. Fighting for a cause. Families broken up. For them, seeking political asylum is often a matter of life and death. Am I, belonging to another ethnic group, the majority group in the country, am I too responsible for making them refugees? No. I’m not guilty. I’m really a peaceful kind of person. I have been more or less privileged all my life. I’ve had a good life. My father is a businessman, he has wealth. So I’ve always had what I’ve wanted. I was educated in a good private school too. Maybe life was too easy for me. I didn’t join the revolution like many of my friends did. I had no interest in destabilizing the State. I was not one of those who were socially deprived by caste, a feudal power structure, or lack of wealth. I had no social conscience either. I didn’t rave and rant against the exploitation of my own people by multinational and vested interests. I had no purpose in life. So many of my friends had disappeared, died or been detained in camps during the revolution that my father was only too happy to give his consent for me to go abroad. He had enough money to give my sisters in marriage. Besides, I didn’t have a profession or a career. I wanted a change, some adventure. I wanted to make a journey that would change my life. I wanted to venture into an unknown country; make my own predictions and decisions, question the revelations that would confront me at the end of this long saga.