After living in heaven, I woke up in socialist hell — corruption, chaos, and stalkers included. A personal story about finding home, freedom, and the courage to leave.

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✍️ Writing Stories Became Hard…

Writing stories became hard after living in heaven and realizing that, for so long, I was surviving in hell — a place where I forgot what it means to be normal, to be human.

Now I’m lying in bed, fever 42°C, sweating, dizzy, and one thought keeps looping in my head:
👉 I want out of this socialist hell.

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🚨 Day One in Hell

On my first day here, my stalker followed me twice — once in the morning, once at night.
The “socialist police,” of course, did absolutely nothing. They’re too busy holding hands with organized crime families.

Corruption isn’t just high — it’s practically a national sport. 🏆
And people’s lives? Constantly in danger.

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🌆 Back There… in Heaven

But there… oh, there I felt safe.
I could walk at 10 p.m., even midnight, through quiet streets, and never feel afraid.
It was like the city knew me — and I knew the city.

The warmth of the air, the kindness of people, the way hearts connected instantly — that made all the difference. ❤️

Talking, hugging, laughing with people was natural.
Normal.
Home.

From Don Quixote to Roxanne, from bad boys to good boys, from police to everyday people — everyone felt human.

So normal. So at home.

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😶 Not My Culture, Not My Fit

But here?
This culture. This system. This madness.
It doesn’t fit me.

As hard as I try to adapt, I never will — because this is not me.
IS. NOT. ME. HERE! 😤

Maybe immigration loves people who blend in perfectly, who say “I love the system!” with a smile.
But I can’t fake that.
And you shouldn’t either.

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💭 Be Honest With Yourself

Be honest with yourself — or you’ll live a life of misery pretending to fit where your soul doesn’t belong.

Ask yourself:
✨ Who are you?
✨ Where do you feel at home?

Go there. Stay there. Even if it’s hard.
Because when you connect soul-to-soul with people and culture — that’s home.

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☕ What I Miss

I miss my people.
My coffees.
My churches.
My food.
My Arabian perfumes.
My music.
My sunshine.
My warmth.
My beaches.

But most of all — I miss me there.
Feeling… home.
Feeling in heaven. ☀️

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🚀 Let’s Begin

Let’s start the mission.
Let’s make it official:

🔥 Operation: Leaving the Socialist Hell! 🔥