Pedrito’s 30 Days with ICE.Fictional Memoir

My Dear Readers:

After a prolonged hiatus, I am back on this platform. I would firstly like to extend my most sincere thanks to all my readers of the past who were kindly attentive to my back-then regular posts, poems and prose pieces alike. I have been away for quite a long time because I have been struggling at the core of my being to face the utterly shocking and disturbing events that materialized in the U.S. as well as in the world and continue to do so in our ever-evolving attitudes and perspectives toward our humanity.

I am an empath. Calling me a “hypersensitive” person would not be an exaggeration. (I have read on this matter heavily when experts in the field are concerned.) Once I forced myself to digest the terrifying news and to move from a reaction to an action, a venue opened up for me. Instead of remaining numb all day and all night long, I slowly began to put my thoughts and emotions into writing. I have found that my voice, our voices, to be significant and necessary, if we are to effectuate any semblance of change.

Today’s post is my first entry where I attempt to imagine the horrifying developments surrounding “Pedrito,” a child, whose family has been taken apart upon the order of mass deportations of American immigrants under the new regime.

In my posts for the upcoming 30 days, I will be adopting the format of a diary as composed by my protagonist Pedrito. If you are aware of the disastrous occurrences in the U.S., you will clearly see that my writings originate, in actuality, from actual happenings of monstrous scale.

Thank you once again for having been here to read me in the past, and thank you for being here today.

hülya n. yılmaz

Pedrito’s Diary, Day 1

Wednesday, January 22, 2025

My name is Pedro. I am 8 years old. My parents call me Pedrito. I have a sister, Gabriela. She is 4. Mama was washing me and my sister. She always does so after dinner. We brushed our teeth as we do every night before we go to bed. Mama started reading us both a story. Tonight, it was going to be a tale about grandparents. My grandparents live far away. I know them only from pictures. I kept my notebook on my lap. I hoped Mama to tell us about our grandparents.

A heavy banging on the door startled us. We heard Papa’s footsteps. He must have opened the house door. Papa was supposed to oil the hinges. The door squeaked as usual. Then came the thumps of many feet and yelling. Much yelling.

Papa’s voice was muzzled. We could only hear him say, “We have papers.” A man’s angry shout took over, “You are coming with us!”

The three of us rushed to the hallway. Papa was being held by two tall men in thick jackets. As they dragged Papa out the door, I saw “ICE” on their backs. 4 other tall men were still inside our house. They came for us. They pulled us apart. 2 grabbed Mama. 1 came to get me, the 4th, my sister.

Outside, we were all shoved into a black van. The engine was already on. The driver took off right away. We were in shock. We were so very scared. Gabriela started to cry. She couldn’t stop her sobbing. One of the men yelled at Mama: “Shut her up, or I will!”

© hülya n. yılmaz, 1.30.2025