(Part I)

“I lived through the Iran-Iraq War and the Gulf War, and a couple of years later, we left. It was dangerous, the government was despotic, and people were getting thrown into jail for no reason.

My dad was actually abroad at the time. He called my mom one day and said, ‘In two weeks we have to leave.’

We packed everything and fled in the middle of the night. I didn’t tell even my friends; we only told our closest family. I still haven’t been back so that was a final goodbye.

My sisters were in their late teens and early 20s and leaving was more difficult for them because they had more established friendships. I was excited because I was 12, and didn’t understand what it would mean to get transplanted. So, as a result, it hit me the hardest.

We came to California and it was a new environment, new language, new culture. It was extremely hard.

The first three months were the worst, and I was adamant about going back because I just couldn’t take it. Every day I was fighting with my parents, ‘I want to go back! I can’t stand it here!’

But they couldn’t see that happening, and rightfully so. It wasn’t a realistic option because we probably would’ve been killed.

They were also insistent on me going to school because they wanted me to integrate. It was the right approach, but it was so hard. What made it even worse was that we arrived in California a week after the start of school. Let’s say we arrived on Thursday, and Monday I was at school.

It was a very traumatic experience. It probably would’ve been easier if I had a few months to decompress before I started a new life. I didn’t, and I resented that. My sisters were college age, so it took them several months before they got into some sort of program and continued with their education. I never had that. I never had a chance to soak it all in and acclimatize myself by walking the streets. As soon as I came here, I had to go to school.

That experience stayed with me. Now every time I move, I always like to have a little bit of padding before I start a new chapter—just to settle in a little bit. Even when I moved to Cambridge, I arrived two weeks before I started my job just to get a feel for the place.”

(Cambridge)

(Part II)

“The worst was the constant teasing. I was mercilessly and relentlessly picked on.

Since then I’ve read books on that topic, and people often identify the eighth grade, which is when I came in, as the worst time. It’s mind boggling how nasty kids here are to one another. It’s a toxic environment. I remember when Columbine happened. I wasn’t surprised. Not that it was in any way justified, but the environment in high school is horrible. To this day, I don’t understand why kids are so damn mean to one another. It wasn’t like that in Iraq, that’s the strange thing. I came from an environment where the house was burning down, there were bombs everywhere, but kids were not as abusive. Sometimes they were physically abusive—they would beat each other—but there was little psychological abuse. The U.S. was much worse, at least when I went to school.

So those first three months defined my character, in good and bad ways, for the rest of my life.

It’s strange how such a short period in your life can be so consequential. I was always a shy person but those three months exacerbated my shyness substantially. I still have a lot of social anxiety, and a sense of deep-seated fear—fear of people and interactions with people, especially in a group.

In high school, at lunch time or school break, kids form a circle and chat with each other—usually a circle of six or seven kids in the school yard. To this day, that is my least favorite form of social form interaction.

I am perfectly happy talking one-on-one. I am perfectly happy talking to an audience of 1000 people.

But put me in a group of six or seven people, and I get a feeling of passing a hot potato. At some point the attention of those six or seven pairs of eyes is on you and you are supposed to talk, and that kills me. I can certainly trace this back to the memory of that awkwardness.

Another thing I absolutely hated for the longest time—and even today to some degree— is being asked to form a group with other students. I hated group projects. And what I hated the most was when the teacher did not place us in groups. Because when the teacher asked us to form a group, no one wanted to be in a group with me. So I had this horrible experience of going from table to table and they are all turning their faces. It was a feeling of humiliation—that feeling that nobody wants me. It lasted for the longest time. It’s different today, but I still have anxiety over having to go up to a group of people and introduce myself. It’s social anxiety, but also a feeling of being an outsider and a feeling that I don’t belong.”

(Cambridge)