A Tapestry of Life

Abdul

In the heart of the refugee center in Sweden, amidst the soft glow of the midsummer bloom, Lina sat ready for her next appointment. She had been informed that Abdul, a 21-year-old Syrian refugee, was next.

The door opened slowly, and Abdul stepped in. His eyes, dark and unreadable, roamed around the room before finally resting on Lina. His grip on a worn-out bag over his shoulder was tight, his posture rigid.

"Welcome, Abdul," Lina greeted warmly in fluent Arabic, having learnt the language to better assist her clients. But Abdul's expression remained unchanging, his lips set in a straight line.

Undeterred by his lack of response, Lina began the intake process. She carefully explained each form and the necessary information to be filled out. Yet, throughout this process, Abdul remained largely unresponsive, his gaze often wandering somewhere beyond the office walls.

Form by form, they noted down everything from personal details to Abdul's past experiences, skills, and qualifications. It was a necessary step for Lina to understand his background and to potentially aid his integration into Swedish society. Abdul, however, remained as unresponsive as before, filling out the forms mechanically.

Lina moved on to explaining the center's services - language classes, job support, healthcare, and more - but Abdul showed little interest or reaction. His face was a mask, revealing nothing of his thoughts or feelings.

The last part of the intake process involved finding Abdul a place to live. Lina checked the center's housing database, finding a shared housing situation with other Syrian young men. It was a good location, with access to public transportation, grocery stores, and the center.

"This should suit you well, Abdul," Lina told him, presenting the housing details. But Abdul's face remained unmoved. He took the details, his gaze briefly falling on the paper before returning to his distant stare.

With that, Abdul stood up, his chair scraping the floor. He turned to leave, his face as emotionless as when he had arrived. As he walked out of Lina's office, the bustling energy of the center seemed to wash over him without leaving a mark.

Lina sighed quietly, watching the door close behind him. She was no stranger to this kind of response. After all, trauma and displacement could manifest in many ways. She reminded herself that her role was not to provoke immediate change but to offer a stable foundation from which individuals like Abdul could, when ready, start to rebuild their lives.

---

A month had passed since Abdul's arrival in Sweden. Lina had observed his behavior, noting the consistent lack of emotional response and engagement. Despite the support and services offered, Abdul remained as he had been on the first day, seemingly untouchable by the surrounding environment.

One afternoon, she invited Abdul into her office. He sat across the desk from her, his eyes flat and distant as ever. Lina greeted him warmly and explained the reason for the meeting.

"Abdul, I want to give you something that I think might help," she began, sliding a sleek device across the table towards him. It was a phone. He looked at it without picking it up.

"This phone has a special software on it called MemAid," Lina explained. "It's a journaling application. Writing can often help us process emotions or experiences that might be difficult to voice out loud. And this isn't like a normal journal."

She paused for a moment, making sure Abdul was following along. When he did not break his gaze from the phone, she continued.

"MemAid is encrypted," Lina explained, "which means that whatever you write in this journal is secure. It's private. Only you can access it. No one else, not even me, will ever know what you've written unless you choose to share it."