I found humour in the empty streets after 6 PM, or having to congratulate everyone in the room at a birthday party

“Recently, I was celebrating the 50th birthday of a school friend who lives in Denmark. A lot of friends from my city living all over the world were at that birthday party. We were dancing, laughing, and enjoying the moment. Yet, amid our joy, we suddenly found ourselves crying. How many birthdays had we missed? How many celebrations had been ripped away from us because of circumstances beyond our control?

“It hurts me when people think refugees are stupid or merely poor. Many of us are not seeking a better life; we are simply trying to survive, to find a place where we and our loved ones can feel safe. My presence in the Netherlands is a direct result of war. I wouldn’t have come here if it hadn’t been for the conflict that erupted in my home country of Yugoslavia back in 1992.

“At 17, I remember my mother giving me sleeping pills for the journey. I was terrified and reluctant to leave everything I knew behind. The most vivid memory from that time is of being on a bus that was bombed. My mother urged me to put my head down, and in my teenage defiance, I told her to stop embarrassing me. In hindsight, I realize we were fortunate; countless others experienced far worse fates.

“Once we arrived in the Netherlands, we were lucky to have friends who welcomed us, allowing us to avoid a prolonged stay. Initially, I thought we would stay just a few weeks, perhaps a couple of months, until the war subsided. But as time passed, it became clear that the war was far from over, and I had to come to terms with the reality that the Netherlands was now my home.

“In the 1990s, I felt a warm welcome here. The political climate at that time was different, and I appreciated the uniqueness of Dutch life. I even found humour in the empty streets after 6 PM when shops closed, or having to congratulate everyone in the room at a birthday party, which still does not make any sense to me!

“Despite the challenges of learning the language, I somehow adapted, though my accent will always remain. I intentionally distanced myself from the trauma of my past, disconnecting from the news and striving to embrace my new life. I moved from Limburg to Rotterdam, a city that felt multicultural and eclectic, offering me a sense of belonging that I hadn’t anticipated. My job at RSM has been fulfilling, allowing me to thrive in an international environment where I still feel more safer and complete.

“In former Yugoslavia, I dreamed of studying political science and journalism, aspiring to be a writer or journalist. I went to gymnasium and was planning to chase my dream. I still do write in my spare time for my own pleasure, but I never pursued those dreams due to my lack of confidence regarding the fact that Dutch is not my mother tongue. I have seen others who came here at the same time chasing their dreams and succeeding, and I am proud of them.

“However, a few years ago, I began to feel a deep sense of anger – anger at how my life changed so drastically. I felt as though it had been stolen from me, a sentiment shared by many of my friends from the former Yugoslavia. We adapted, we coped, but beneath the surface, I now wonder what my life would look like if there was no war. It’s a new feeling for me and I must say, I don’t like it.

“As a refugee, there exists a pervasive sense of guilt. You constantly feel the need to prove that you deserve to be here, that you are integrated and belong, even though deep down, you often feel out of place. After fleeing my war-torn country, I lacked a sense of belonging – not fully here, yet not truly back there either.

“In today’s world, it seems all too easy to place blame on refugees for societal issues. Yet, I refuse to be ashamed of my status. In some strange way, I feel enriched by my experiences. I have become a fighter – resilient and adaptable. But a part of me is still seeking for something that is lost forever.”