小說創作
這是本人國中時為了探討伊索比亞難民議題所創作的英文小說。希望大家喜歡。Hermela’s top-secret diary
2011/4/17
Dear diary: Mother bought this diary for me today because it is my 6th birthday. I am Hermela, a little girl living in Ethiopia. My dad Fassil is an Ethiopian novelist, that’s why I could spell and write these hard words. He told me that Fassil means ‘Unite’ in Ethiopia, and he says that people should unite to overcome problems, that’s why his father decides to name him that. My mother Alice is an American writer who writes famous mystery novels, she always tells me that I should value education so I could be like her and write fabulous novels like her. To celebrate, we hold a big party at home, I ate so many ice cream that I was stuck in the bathroom all afternoon, and in fact, I am sitting on the toilet and writing this entry at the same time.
“Ethiopian Names and Their Meaning.” Durame, www.durame.com/2013/01/ethiopian ... r-meaning-and.html.
2011/4/18
Dear Diary: I am sobbing so much right now that my hands are shaking uncontrollably. My dad has a website that lets him post the facts that he knows about war. He was posting an article he wrote about guns today, and a soldier came to our house and said that because of his knowledge and talent in war, the rebels would like him to be the general, so he must change into general uniform and go and direct the rebel army. I am so sad right now, what if he was killed in a fighㄇt? I am too sad to write anymore, maybe I will write tomorrow when I have calmed down.
ISSAfrica.org. “What Is Driving Ethiopia's Ethnic Conflicts?” ISS Africa, 25 Nov. 2019, issafrica.org/research/east-africa-report/what-is-driving-ethiopias-ethnic-conflicts.
2011/4/19
Dear Diary: I am soooo happy! Dad sent me a letter today, I will put it in this book.
Seattle Pacific Univ. “For Love of His Country, Ethiopia, He Paid the Ultimate Price.” Medium, Medium, 12 May 2016,
medium.com/@SeattlePacific/scholar-in-chains-dda6f0b3aeaf.
2011/4/20
Dear Diary: Daddy died! He died! Those government jerks! The government soldiers killed daddy in a brave fight. His body was delivered to us in a wooden coffin. Mommy wants to go to America, but daddy told me to love Ethiopia, and that to me means staying here and show those idiots our courage and strength. Mommy convinced me that daddy would want us to be safe and happy, and we should do this by going to America. We are going to the airport later; there, mommy is calling me to hurry. I would leave it here for today.
“Mulugeta Seraw.” Wikipedia, Wikimedia Foundation, 14 Jan. 2020, en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mulugeta_Seraw.“
Ethiopia Refugee Crisis Explained.” How to Help Refugees - Aid, Relief and Donations, www.unrefugees.org/news/ethiopia-refugee-crisis-explained/.
2011/4/21
Dear Diary: Mommy brought me to the airport, but we didn’t have government identification, so we rented a room in a nearby hotel and waited for an opportunity to maybe sneak on an airplane. Mommy was freaking out because she had never broken the law before, and I surprised myself by comforting her in an adult-ish way. Mommy giggled and patted me on the head. I am in the hotel right now, sitting comfortably on a couch in the room, mommy is working on her newest novel. I’ve read mommy’s new novel, and it is very good.
United Nations. “Hidden in Plain View: Refugees Living Without Protection In Nairobi And Kampala.” Refworld, www.refworld.org/docid/3e314172e.html.
2011/4/22
Dear Diary: Mommy died too! I am crying silently in the luggage cabin on the plane. We rose very early and went inside the airport this morning, there was a plane flying to America that is arriving in thirty minutes, so we sneak across the lobby and tried to sneak past the security check desk, but they have posted three armed soldiers there, and when they saw mommy, they grew suspicious and asked her for identification, but when she said that she didn’t have one, they pulled out their guns and pointed them at mommy. “Don’t you dare hurt my mommy!” I shouted, running at the soldiers, “Hermy! No!” Mother used all of her strength to push me aside, at that moment, one of the soldiers fired at the spot where I stood before and which was then occupied by mommy! She fell heavily to the floor with a loud “Thump!” I ran past the desk and between the soldiers, running with all the strength that a six-year-old could muster, and running toward my only hope: the arriving plane! I boarded it through a door leading to the luggage cabin and hid between a red suitcase and a white garbage bag. Twenty minutes later, I heard a rumbling sound, and the whole cabin starts to shake violently. The airplane had taken off. I am writing this journal by leaning against the wall and using the hard suitcase as a table. The plane jolted around so much that my head bounced against the ceiling. The announcement said that it is 8 p.m., so I am going to sleep.
“U.S. Immigration Laws Under the Threat of Terrorism.” Google ¹Ï®Ñ, Google, books.google.com.tw/books?id=uCdlhnSaaxwC&pg=PA150&lpg=PA150&dq=refugee+mother+killed+at+security+check&source=bl&ots=9wjHJlnJ8z&sig=ACfU3U34V6FtoxcFZiP3BlBENJSdUvSAvg&hl=zh-TW&sa=X&ve.
2011/4/23
Dear Diary: The plane has finally arrived in Taiwan, I had a great time sleeping last night because the walls of the cabin kept out all the noise, and I slept peacefully accompanied by lifeless suitcases. I am going to try to sneak off the plane somehow, so I am planning this mission while the workers ran around to land the plane. Okay, I’ve got an idea, and I am going to try it in five minutes. So that is all that I could write for today, but I promise that I will write more if my plan goes well and I am still standing tomorrow.
“Plane Stowaways: Do Any Survive?” BBC News, BBC, 2 July 2019, www.bbc.com/news/uk-33199985.
2011/4/24
Dear Diary: I am still alive! Yesterday, I silently opened the cabin door and crawled out, stuffing my diary into my dirty shirt and tucking my pencil inside my pocket. I found him instantly and when the door opened and the pilot announced that they could go off, I followed the man I accidentally crossed path within the bathroom down the long hallway and off the plane itself. He was playing his phone and didn’t notice me, I took this advantage and got really close to him as if he was my dad(ugh). We passed the guards without any trouble, but at the security desk, the officer asked the man for his and my passports. Startled, the man turned around and saw me, his eyes got wide with recognition, and then it flashed with anger as he remembered the incident. The man yelled and charged at me, the officer snickered and watched. I ran past the desk(second time in one week) and toward a women’s bathroom. The man huffed and puffed behind me, not noticing that people were pointing and laughing at him. I ran out of the airport door, and still, the man ran after me. I rolled over and crawled under an airport bus, watching, smirking, and giggling at the man. He couldn’t see me and my perfect hideout. He turned his head this way and that, trying to find me. However, when he realized that I wasn’t there anymore, he roared and trotted angrily back into the airport. Now, I am on another plane taking off for America, learning from my last experience, I had hidden inside the luggage cabin and checked out all the bathrooms to make sure that I don’t cross paths with any sort of unpleasantness.
2011/4/26
Dear Diary: After the long two-days journey, I am finally in America! The pilot just announced that we have arrived and that we would be landing in twenty minutes. I’ll write after I’ve somehow escaped the airport security.
“Ethiopian Immigrants.” Immigration to the United States, immigrationtounitedstates.org/483-ethiopia.html.
2011/4/28
Dear Diary: I have parents again! I am sorry to break the promise of writing immediately after my escape, but so much has been going on! Two days before, I had sneaked out the plane like last time, but one of the guards, a black African-American man with a hook nose and bulging muscles, grabbed me and pulled me back. America is definitely a safe country. If an airport guard can spot me so quickly and grab me before I could run away, then this place would be crimes free. “What do you think you are doing, little girl? Where are your parents?” He asked me in a sort-of-mean tone. “They are both dead.” “What?! Where are you from” He changed his tone to a sympathetic one and asked me. “Ethiopia. My dad Fassil is the general of the rebelling side; my mom Alice is a famous novelist from Massachusetts; she writes mystery novels.” The guard looked at me in aw, but only for a second, he morphed his face into a serious expression and said in a brisk tone, “I read her books quite often. But the point is that you sneaked on and off planes and trespassed other countries, so even though I want to help you, I can’t. Go with me, now, and don’t try to run away.” We walked away from the crowds and down a dim-narrow passage. I was thinking that maybe he was going to torture me, but he was politely asking about my mother and polishing his rifle at the same time. We walked into a…… holding cell! The guard nodded at the door while cuffing both my wrists with a pair of shining silver handcuffs. The next day, the guard brought two people to my cell door. They looked like couples. The brown-haired man held hands with the black-haired woman. They studied me and nodded at each other. The guard broke the silence and said to me, “I placed an advertisement in the new paper yesterday explaining your identity and asking if anybody wants to adopt you, and surprisingly, nearly a hundred people did. The airport guards held a little vote and decided that maybe this couple might fit your style.” ”Yes, we are writers from Massachusetts, your mother’s hometown, and we were friends of her. We have been dating for a while but never had any children, so we’ve wanted desperately to adopt you.” The woman explained. She sounded really kind, and that was also reflected in her eyes, which were warm and bright with happiness. I nodded, and the man hugged the woman enthusiastically, they were both tearful. So now, I have parents again!
2012/9/01
Dear Diary: I hope for god’s sake that my handwriting is better than last year, anyway, I am going to elementary school now, and I am so excited! Mother got me brand-new equipment like pencils, an eraser, and a beautiful new bookbag. I am leaving for school in a few minutes. I will write later at night. The school was the worst thing that happened to me! When I got to school and sat at my desk, the teacher walked in and started taking attendance. “John… Michael… James… Heremela?” I had quickly raised my hand, “Here!” Mr. Davenport, his head as bald as a monk, looked at me with cruel eyes and said, “So, you are that famous girl from Ethiopia.” The whole class laughed at the word “Ethiopia,” and the teacher grinned. After the first period, I was trying to learn the roots of all the toilets and offices and whatnot, and suddenly, five big boys cornered me. “So, you are that freak from Ethiopia?” The tallest and meanest one asked me, I backed away and ran.
2026/1/23
I am now twenty, so I won’t use “Dear Diary” anymore. I graduated from Harvard University a year ago, and now I am trying to run for mayor. I want to run for mayor because I want to make it easier for other Ethiopian refugees to get into America. I would give speeches to tell others that racist and sexual discrimination is just rubbish, and we have to stop these ridiculous things to keep the country strong. Today is election day, so I will leave it here for today. I hope I could write again someday.
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