This is not just a petition. It is my final cry — my last attempt to stay alive.

My name is W. A, a Syrian refugee living in Türkiye under temporary protection. I was born with albinism — a genetic condition that makes my appearance visibly different from others.
But in the environment I live in, this difference has become a lifelong curse.

I don’t suffer occasionally.
I suffer every single day.

Every day brings mockery, rejection, humiliation, and psychological harm.
People stare, laugh, whisper, and insult.
They don’t see a human being — they see a joke, a flaw, something “abnormal.”

Even the institutions designed to protect vulnerable people treat me as if I don’t exist.

Since childhood, my life has been a continuous chain of social cruelty and psychological pressure — and it has never stopped.
Not at school. Not on the streets. Not anywhere.

Among the thousands of painful incidents I’ve been through, I still remember when a teacher mocked me in front of the entire class and called me a cruel nickname instead of my real name — while everyone laughed at me.

On another occasion, someone said to me sarcastically: “Don’t laugh, or your face will get redder.”
Since that day, I’ve become afraid to laugh.

These are just a few examples of the thousands of public insults, acts of discrimination, and verbal assaults I’ve endured for years.

Today, I live in complete isolation.
I avoid going out. I avoid speaking to anyone. I cover my entire body whenever I leave home — just to hide my appearance and avoid further abuse.
I can no longer tolerate even one more word.

This is not a phase. This is not drama.
It is a long-term psychological breakdown caused by constant exposure to hostility, exclusion, abuse, and humiliation.

I’ve reached a point where I’m not really living — I’m barely surviving.
I have no sense of safety, no protection, no dignity.
What I’m experiencing is daily psychological damage, and it has reached a level where I am literally being driven to end my life.
I no longer have any options.

I contacted the United Nations, UNHCR, and many humanitarian organizations.
I explained, I begged, I pleaded — and all I received was silence.
And silence is just as destructive as words.

This is my final message... before I disappear completely.

I do not want to return to Syria. I cannot remain in Türkiye.
Canada, with its values of human dignity, justice, and inclusion, is my only remaining chance to live again.

I am not a burden on any state or society. I have three years of professional experience as a Web Developer, and I am fully committed to learning and improving my English, integrating positively, working, and contributing productively to my new community.

All I ask for is the right to live safely, with dignity, without discrimination, humiliation, or abuse.
All I need is a safe environment that respects my humanity and gives me a chance to live like everyone else.

Please —
Help me escape this psychological torment.
Help me relocate through any legal pathway available:
humanitarian resettlement, private sponsorship, or a visa that allows me to move to Canada — noting that I already hold a valid passport.

✍️ Sign this petition.
📢 Share it widely.
📬 Help this message reach the person or organization who can take real action.

Even one signature might open a door.
Even one share might reach someone who cares.

Let that person be you.
Let this petition be the moment you helped save a life.

With the last hope I still carry,
W. A

My full name and personal details are available upon request to any trusted organization or sponsor willing to help.

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Update – 20 June 2025

After being forced to leave our previous home, we rented another apartment in the same neighborhood. However, when I attempted to register my new address with the Population Directorate, I was informed that the area is classified as a "restricted zone," and new address registrations are not allowed.

This means that I am now officially without a registered address, which places me at immediate risk of losing my temporary protection (Kimlik) and facing deportation to Syria.

I state with complete honesty and full awareness that if I am deported to Syria, I will end my life. This is not a threat or a cry for attention — it is a true reflection of the despair I live in and the real danger I face. Being sent back to Syria would mean certain death.

I cry out in deep pain. I do not want to die, but what I am going through is harder than death.

I think thousands of times about ending my suffering, but there is a voice inside me that tells me to wait a little longer — hoping that someone will be able to save me and take real action.

Right now, I am on the edge — without an address, without protection, without stability — and every day that passes without a solution increases my fear that a sudden decision will be made and I will be deported.

I am here in Turkey only because I hold onto the hope that one day I might be able to move to Canada. Without that hope, I would not be alive today. I say this with complete sincerity — this is my reality.

My family knows nothing about what I am going through, and I do not want them to know. They would not take my suffering seriously; they might even mock me. But the truth is, I am slowly falling apart. I cry with deep sorrow every day, wondering what will happen to me. I do not want to die — but my suffering is more painful than death.

At the same time, my family is considering returning to Syria. Since I am legally connected to them in Turkey, their departure could put me in even greater danger. But I am not like them — my situation and risks make Syria a deadly place for me. It would certainly be my grave.

I also want to express my deep disappointment with the UNHCR office in Turkey. Despite multiple attempts to seek their assistance, I have not received meaningful support. Their lack of attention to my case has left me feeling abandoned and helpless in this critical situation.

Please, I urge you to take immediate action. I feel my end is near.

Before making any final decision, I intend to share my full story publicly — not out of bitterness, but so that someone may act before it is too late if another person in the future faces similar circumstances.