In a heart-wrenching twist of fate, a group of refugees from an unnamed war-torn country have arrived in the Great White North with dreams not only of safety, but of adopting kangaroos as their new furry companions. These hopeful individuals, who braved treacherous journeys in search of peace, now find themselves in a land where even the dreams of cuddly marsupials are out of reach. Upon their arrival at the Canadian border, the refugees were greeted with a friendly “eh” and a polite but firm border control officer who explained, “We love kangaroos, but sorry, our wildlife regulations are as strict as a hockey referee with a vendetta.” The refugees, armed only with a naive passion for kangaroos and newfound freedom, stood perplexed as they watched the officer pet a domesticated rabbit instead. “I thought this place was called the Great White North because of the kangaroos!” said Ahmad, a once-dreaming father who now feels like he’s been handed a snow shovel instead of a dream catcher. His vision of frolicking among bouncing kangaroos in some idyllic Australian suburb has been replaced by shoveling snow to buy basic necessities while nursing a grudge against the country’s unfortunate naming choice. The fantasy of adopting an adorably hopping kangaroo has morphed into a collective satirical joke among the refugees, as rival claims arise about who was more disappointed in the face of stern wildlife regulations. While the group bonded over tales of kangaroo encounters on YouTube, they quickly learned there are stricter rules involving beavers, moose, and snow than there ever were for their previous home, where kangaroos would’ve jumped at the chance to be cuddled. Undeterred, the gang began a grassroots campaign, “Kangaroos for Kinship,” complete with hand-drawn posters depicting kangaroos with tiny Canadian flags. However, local wildlife officials considered the campaign a nuisance, arguing that seeing kangaroos while singing “O Canada” could risk an international incident—since real kangaroos are only found Down Under. “Every night, we pray for the chance to hug a kangaroo,” said Fatima, clutching a macaroni masterpiece of a kangaroo that her children crafted from their last package of ramen. “We miss the days when we could go to a park and find a kangaroo looking back at us instead of a Canadian goose stealing our breadcrumbs." With the distance of countless oceans standing between their hopes and an actual kangaroo embrace, these refugees find creativity in their confinement, turning their grief into gourmet recipes for faux kangaroo poutine—fries piled high with ill-gotten vegetables and a sauce made from the tears of their dashed expectations. As they gather in community kitchens to brainstorm the best methods for kangaroo-inspired activism, they find solace from their sorrow in laughter, exchanging absurd ideas such as “Kangaroo Day” celebrations where children would dress up as marsupials and hop around the community garden. In a world that often prioritizes borders over bonds, the persistent quest for kangaroo kinship stands as a testament to the ridiculousness of circumstance. Jabbed by fate but buoyed by humor, these dreamers currently lack a furry friend to leap alongside them, but have collectively learned to hop over the hurdles of disappointment—ever determined to forge deeper connections in a land that, ironically, has proven even further from their original dreams. As the group prepares for winter, their makeshift banners, once illustrations of kangaroo dreams, now read "Kangaroo-Loving Refugees: Dream Big, Hope Bigger!” even though the only kangaroo they are likely to see is on an “Australia” postcard. They might not be frolicking with their dream marsupials anytime soon, but they are finding warmth in community, resilience, and a sweetly absurd sense of humor. In the icy grip of a Canadian winter, they remind us all that dreams can survive even the harshest climates—whether they’re populated by kangaroos or not.