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Immigrants stories: worlds and borders

Stories and News No. 988

When Paradzai Nkomo applied for asylum in Britain, she was refused. And when she asked to go home, in Zimbabwe, her application was rejected.
This absurd story goes on for fifteen years.
Or maybe it’s a lot more…

Once upon a time, at the beginning of everything, a world.
The world was like a sphere.
The spheres roll, change position and orientation, swing and rebounds.

Especially if they are alive .
In that case they dance and vibrate, grow and sooner or later they die.
However, the evocative and continuous movement that makes the world something breathing and dreaming, like all living things, told stories and made it live as much.
It defines horizons and causes encounters.
More than anything, it generates travels, from one cardinal point to another.
Most of them are inevitable, like the snow of the glass ball, which cannot help but fall, if Her Majesty the Gravity demands it.
So, it often happened that the inhabitants of one part of the world rushed into the other and vice versa.
The waltz continued more or less serenely, with peaks of unprecedented cruelty and rare nuances of moderate empathy.
As long as someone has invented the greatest illusion that a mindless and small heart creature can imagine.
Read it as yet another attempt to catch a wave with the fishing net.
In short, the border.
Henceforth the story is well known.
The world divides into two, so three, the three changed to four, the latter add a fifth, and so on.
So many worlds, many borders and as many worldless inhabitants, perennially traveling.
Meanwhile, the original world, or the sphere, continued to spin along the paths given by the star map.
Then the unexpected happened.
The worldless inhabitants, tired of being rejected by all, began to accept the only possible alternative to death and began to live on the borders of other worlds.
Even just to have a name and a home like everybody.
Surprising consequence, borders became worlds as everyone else.
And those who lived in, the borders inhabitants.
But since, over time, people are more likely to learn the bad habits than the contrary, they also decided to cultivate illusions.
They took the ever-fertile, as blind pencil and drew their sacred border too, so that the worlds called borders had as many.
As a result, the original world was fractioned in a large number of other worlds. The latter were separated by borders, which in turn became as many worlds, divided by further boundaries.
However, even the bordersless people felt excluded and, over the years, they understood to have no other place to survive than the boundaries of the same borders made by the worldless inhabitants.
Not before having predictably scolded the latter: "Shame on you! You should understand our need better than everybody..."
Nevertheless, that is well-known too. As learning
easily the bad habits, with the same ease, people forget the bad memories.
Now, I think it's obvious what happened next.
Over time, things got damned complicated.
Because even the bordersless inhabitants were conquered by the perfect illusion and decided to mark the indestructible outlines of their land as all their predecessors.
As a result, the world from where it all began was divided into many worlds, each separated by a border, which in turn was a world distinct from the others by a frontier, or another world, which was limited by a boundary, that someone else called his world, and so on, to the point that each world was the border of another and vice versa.
If you saw them from above, everything would be clearer, now, as when we come to the end of a story.
Billions of dots, crashing on each other, victims of the illusion of being something better than only a bright sphere in the great darkness of the universe.
Once upon a time there were and, despite everything, still are.
Those we call the human beings

Read more stories of immigrants
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