Imagine if it was you

IMAGINE…

Imagine you are six years old,
and most of your life has been darkness
in the belly of a bomb shelter.

Imagine your playground is
the broken bones of what once was a children’s hospital,
and the whistle of missiles is more familiar
than the song of any bird.

You lie in bed at night,
listening to the hum of death draw closer,
asking yourself,
When will it hit my home?
And then it lands—
just outside your window.

Imagine it is your child
who is taken by force to a foreign land,
stripped of their name,
given a new citizenship to erase who they are.
Trained for war—not as a soldier,
but as a child,
with a gun bigger than their courage
and orders they cannot understand,
pushed to the front lines of the enemy’s ground.

Imagine it is you
who hears that your father is dead.
You, living under occupation.
You, forced to betray your own country.
You, speaking the language of your enemy
because it is the only way to stay alive.

Imagine it is you
who sees your father killed,
you who stand powerless
as your mother is raped,
and there is nothing—nothing—you can do
to defend her.

Imagine it is your little sister, five years old,
who is assaulted.
You hear her fighting back,
hear her calling your name,
and you cannot reach her.

Imagine this is your life—
as it is for so many.

Three years you have lived like this.
You don’t know when it will end.
You don’t know if it will ever end.
You don’t know if anyone is coming to help.
The world is silent.

Imagine you have lost everything:
Your home. Your mother. Your father.
Your brother. Your sister. Your dog.
Nothing remains.

And then—
a greeting arrives.
From a girl in Norway:
"Do not lose hope. You are not alone."

A family opens their door.
They give you food,
a bed,
safety.

Imagine how little it takes
to give hope
to someone who has nothing left.

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Line Sundsby Hovdal was a volunteer with Novi last summer. She lives in Norway and works at a preschool there.

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