Your name is Babylon? asked the Greek police officer, to a young male trying to board to a flight to Italy.
Babylon, a youth with raven-black hair, exuded an innocent smile, yet his gaze held a hint of detachment, as if one of his eyes was adrift in the tumult of the war he escaped.
As he raised his hand to unveil his visage to the officer, I couldn’t help but notice a scar etching a painful path from his eye to the rear of his skull. This mark spoke volumes about the hardships he had endured – a testament to a life colored by the brutal brushstrokes of wars and oppressive regimes. These were the stories we often choose to turn a blind eye to, even as they shape the fates of countless individuals.
Babylon sought the promise of a brighter life in Italy, clutching onto his dreams amid the uncertainties that surrounded him. As our paths momentarily converged, I locked eyes with him, understanding that the odds were not in his favor. The officer’s laughter had betrayed a system that often turned away those yearning for new beginnings.
Amid the unfolding scene, my curiosity was eclipsed by a fervent prayer, an earnest plea that the officer’s heart might soften. It seemed plausible that the passport Babylon held was not truly his own, a desperate act born of necessity. His name carried the weight of history, much like the ancient city it referenced – a burden of displacement, adversity, and the search for sanctuary.
Babylon, unwittingly, embodied the inequities of our world, stark reminders of the lottery of birthplace that bestows some with privilege and condemns others to struggle. His story left me humbled, underscoring how much we often take for granted, merely due to the circumstances of our birth.
As he stood there, a poignant embodiment of a fractured world, I could only offer my silent wishes for his journey ahead. May his path lead him to a place where opportunities flourish, and the scars of his past can find solace.
Farewell, Babylon, may your destiny be kinder than the burdens you’ve borne.
