SUSPENSION BETWEEN HELL & HEAVEN

 They say after we shuffle off this mortal coil, we find ourselves on a grand bridge, suspended somewhere between the pearly gates of Heaven and the fiery pits of Hell. God, with a mighty sigh and an even mightier scroll, reviews our life's ledger, and then, with a flick of the wrist, dispatches us to our eternal reward or damnation.

But then there are the immigrants. Ah, the immigrants! They arrive at the bridge, suitcases still in hand, looking around with that familiar glint of hopeful confusion. God reviews their files, pauses, scratches his chin. "Hmm," he murmurs, looking from Heaven to Hell and back again. "Not quite a fit for here...and definitely not a fit for there."

And so, the immigrants remain. Not condemned, not exalted, just… there. On the bridge. Forever. They’ve set up little stands selling baklava and empanadas, arguing good-naturedly about who makes the better coffee, and occasionally trying to explain to newly arrived souls why they're not quite "in" yet. They're the permanent residents of the limbo-lounge, forever negotiating the celestial bureaucracy.

The question is :Are immigrants truly **not accepted by either side**, or is it that they are **not interested in taking any side**?