I’ve lately been thinking about what it must be like to be a refugee. The word itself seems to talk about finding “refuge” in something or someone from something bad, that is, “fleeing from some horror” that they have experienced or have been exposed to and must leave for danger of death or torture. I’m taking another course, Immigrant and Refugee Health, and in this class, we discuss the various aspects of what it means to be a refugee and immigrant in the U.S. We discuss the struggles they have, coming from one country where they have absolutely no hope, to another country where no one understands neither them nor their culture, finding a job is nearly impossible, and feelings of displacement, loneliness, depression, helplessness, confusion, and a myriad of other emotions are constantly facing them. Their mental health is very fragile and many refugees end up committing suicide without proper intervention. While I am grateful that I do not live in the constant fear of death or of being raped, my heart breaks for those who do. It must be so traumatic, especially for the young boys and girls who are exposed to this. I am so blessed that I live in the U.S. where there is freedom and a law that is upheld and that protects the innocent, and a justice system where actions of injustice are given their consequences. In war-torn countries, dictatorships, or countries that many refugees flee from where drug cartels and gang activity is rampant, the law and the concept and presence of justice simply does not exist in a way that rewards justice and metes out consequences for injustice.