I am honored that DateKeepers (The)published my new article “Navigating Life’s Nonlinear Journey: Triumphs and Trauma in a World Scarred by War”.
In the article, I explore what it’s like to grow up in an environment where the prevailing belief is that life follows a linear trajectory.
“Before I ever started school, my parents had already experienced several displacements within their own region. Eventually, they settled in a small town, Diana, near the city of Erbil, the capital of Iraqi Kurdistan. I spent my first three years of school in that small town. However, for my fourth-grade year, we relocated to a larger town nearby. The new school was bigger, and the children I encountered there spoke a more standardized dialect of Kurdish. The linguistic differences weren’t all that drastic, but my rural dialect brought laughter and ridicule, as did the modest dress my mother made for me. More often than not, I found myself sitting alone in the backrow of a classroom filled with over 40 students.
One day, I was filled with joy because some of my classmates invited me to go with them to watch a school sporting event taking place at the soccer stadium in our town. As we watched the athletes compete and enthusiastically cheered them on, I tried to strike up conversations with my classmates. My excitement was abruptly interrupted when one of the girls, who’d been absent for most of the day, suddenly joined our group. She was clearly unhappy to see me there.
“You told Sarwa yesterday that you weren’t coming,” one of the other girls told her. I vividly recalled her words the day before, how she’d said she had other important commitments.
“You’re lying,” she retorted, and then added, as if to bolster her own credibility, “you disgusting village girl.”
I don’t know what I looked like to them, but I felt my cheeks burning, my heart racing in tandem with the rhythmic beats of the athletes’ drums.
The variations in our dialects were relatively insignificant. I had no trouble distinguishing between the phrases “I will go” and “I won’t go.” Yet the contrast in our life experiences was monumental. The war had impacted my family and village far more than our neighbors and my peers at that school. Now we looked and felt more worn-out, impoverished, and vulnerable, easy targets for harassment and exclusion.”
Then, I delve into the significance of imagination and creative writing in shedding light on injustices, with a particular focus on the tragic death of Jina Amini:
“Jina’s murder inspired thousands of poems, paintings, songs, and movies from artists all over the world. These events not only put pressure on publishers to make space for stories like hers, but also underscored why every story must be told. When only one group of people with a narrow set of interests gets to tell the same stories over and over, whether it’s American MFA graduates or the men who commit honor killings, everybody’s understanding is curtailed. Those of us who do not get to tell our stories often find ourselves believing others’ narratives, just as my friend Ava once believed the narrates that blamed her mother. As writers and artists, we’re each responsible for exposing ourselves to diverse sources of inspiration and finding the most vivid modes of expression for the stories that experience, interest, and passion have moved us to tell. Publishers, meanwhile, have responsibilities, too: to read widely and familiarize themselves with many subjects, to maintain open minds when encountering new work, and to amplify a plurality of voices, not just those that echo their own.
I still feel the distance that yawns between me and my peers, especially here in exile. I feel it whenever I attempt to engage them in conversations, whether at academic conferences of casual social gatherings. Yet, at the same time, I feel that I’m fortunate to possess a deep passion for reading and writing. The world of literature has not only expanded my imagination, but also equipped me with the tools to engage in meaningful conversations. I often turn to poetry as a means of communication, particularly with individuals who, like myself, have experienced harsh circumstances like war, displacement, and suppression. Though I’ve missed many of the stages of life through which my peers have passed, I’ve nonetheless found purpose in my difficult and winding journey, for it’s motivated me to make the most of my creative skills and strive every day to uplift those who’ve journeyed alongside me.”
Just Words: Echoes of Kurdish Women 