A TESTIMONY OF SURVIVAL, GRATITUDE, AND LETTING GO



When I came to Seychelles, despite it not being my first, second, or even third time leaving my country, I arrived carrying something heavier than luggage. I arrived with hope, yes, but also with an emptiness I couldn’t explain at first. An emptiness that grew quietly, day by day, shaped by the way I was treated, by what was said and what was never said, by how I was seen, and often, how I was not.

I dealt with a lot.

More than I ever expected to.

There were moments I wanted to give up. Moments I wanted so badly to go back home, not because I was weak, but because the unfair treatment, the unfair judgments, and the quiet discrimination made me feel out of place. Like I was constantly trying to prove my worth in a room that had already decided I didn’t belong.

It breaks something in you when you give your best and still feel invisible.

When you work hard and are met with suspicion instead of support.

When you show up every day and still feel like an outsider.

There were days I questioned myself.

Days I wondered if the problem was me.

Days when resignation felt easier than resilience.

And then… there was Ell.

Ell was not just a colleague. She became a lifeline. A safe place in an unsafe space. She cared in ways that went beyond duty. She noticed me when others looked past me. She spoke to me honestly, told me things no one else did. Things I needed to hear, even when they were hard.

When I was at my lowest, when I wanted to resign, when I felt like I had nothing left to give, she talked sense into me. She reminded me of who I was when this place tried to make me forget. She stood by me. She checked on me. She made sure I was okay, emotionally, mentally, humanly.

Because of her, I stayed, because of her, I endured. because of her, I am still here today. and now, as I stand here, I am faced with a different kind of pain.

Ell is leaving.

She resigned before me, and I won’t lie, part of me is happy for her. Truly happy. She deserves growth. She deserves peace. She deserves a space that recognizes her value without question.

But another part of me is grieving.

Because she was the only person who treated me right.

The only one who made this place bearable.

The only one who made me feel like I wasn’t alone.

Her last week has made something painfully clear to me: this space will not feel the same. Her absence will be loud. And while people say the best dancer knows when to leave the floor, it still hurts when the music stops for someone who helped you survive the dance.

I feel bad that she’s going, not because she shouldn’t, but because I’m not ready to stand here without her. I wish her nothing but the best, yet a part of me wants to go with her. A part of me is tired. A part of me wonders how much longer I can stay where the one person who saw me is no longer here.

This is not just a farewell.

It’s a reflection.

Its gratitude mixed with loss.

It’s strength standing next to exhaustion.

Ell may be leaving this workplace, but she leaves behind proof that kindness matters, that one person can change another person’s entire experience, and that sometimes survival looks like staying, until it doesn’t.

I am grateful.

I am sad.

I am proud of her.

And I am still figuring out what comes next for me.

But one thing is certain: I will never forget the person who made me stay when I was ready to leave.

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