From Forced Migration to Forced Isolation

As a child, I used to believe that people only leave their home country, along with their family, belongings, and memories, by choice. During the 2003 war in Baghdad, I watched my relatives flee one by one to neighboring countries while my parents chose to stay. We all thought the nightmare would soon end, that life would return to normal, and that those who left would eventually come back home.

After three months spent hiding in the basement, listening to missiles, airplanes, and sirens, nothing returned to normal. Not my home. Not my school, my family, or my friends. Not our neighbors, our relatives, or our community. Everything began to shatter, one piece at a time.

The first thing we lost was safety. My sister and I, both in elementary school, were terrified to go to class. On our way to school, we would see destroyed buildings, barricaded streets lined with razor wire, and hear news of kidnappings—sometimes of students from our own neighborhood. Soon after, we lost our education. It was no longer safe to attend school, and my parents had no choice but to keep us home. Then, we lost our home itself. Our belongings, our relatives, our friends, everything familiar was left behind when we were forced to flee.

We thought we would return once the war ended. I truly believed, as a child, that everything would go back to the way it was. But my parents knew better. They didn’t know what awaited us, but they knew we had to seek safety. They knew we had to go somewhere my sister and I could have a chance at a normal childhood and uninterrupted education.

By 2005, life was already unstable, and it would remain that way for years. When we finally received refugee status and resettled in the United States in 2009, a new kind of struggle began—forced isolation. We were safe, but separated. Isolated from relatives, friends, and the sense of community we once had. We faced discrimination and an ongoing search for belonging.

Sixteen years later, that search continues. We still look for familiar faces among our neighbors, coworkers, and classmates. We look for people who speak the same language, share the same culture, or understand what it means to lose stability and home. People who, like us, are rebuilding a sense of community in a place we chose for safety and stability, yet where we still carry the weight of displacement.