My Life: A Priceless Experience(Nurfad) My own existence as I know it began with a simple opening of both of my eyes when i was three years old; memory glimpses of me and my pet dog "Gary" playing in front of my small yet comfortable home in the mountainous terrain of North-West Bosnia & Herzegovina. Life at its most simple stage began for me at this moment in space and time. No worries, just me, Gary, my mom, and my dad living in a communist republic of Yugoslavia enjoying the smooth breeze that lingered on every passing across the lips that we possess almost as if to say: This is just a taste of what is to be written in your life.

Little did I know that the playing in front of my house, eating whatever and whenever I wanted, swimming in the "korana" river, picking the neighbors plums with my cousins, running around the corn field of the local villagers, and the safety and security in the arms of my two loving parents would come to a steaming halt due to a war that was about to break out in the beautiful yet now former Yugoslavia. What started off as a kind yet peaceful memory of my country and village soon turned into a terrifying yet conscious reality. As the War became indefinite in Bosnia, so did the reality that I would have to eventually run for freedom elsewhere, to a world unknown to the untrained eye, a distant world that a young boy such as myself at the time couldn't understand, but could only witness and leave the understanding to a later time, if God gives you a second chance to live in such a distant world; far from all those childhood memories that may not seem like much to a materialistic individual, but to a simple village boy in the mountains of Bosnia; those memories are missed even to this day.

Let me give you an insight through the eyes of myself as a child of war, as a witness to injustice and suffering. Let me give you a theatrical release, not on the big screen, but through my eyes that saw it all unfold. I have nothing to thank except for God for giving me the strength of memory recollection that I possess to be able to share this with you, so that you can relive with me, yet understand the moral of the true story itself. I assure you by the end of it all; you will be able to interpret your life today in a more positive and inspirational way, all thanks to one young man (me). All I wish to do with this is share my experience, spread the affect of unconditional awareness for human nature. So without further elaboration, let the story unfold!

On April 21st, 1992; the coincidental birthday (left uncelebrated) of my mother, I was at my father's uncles house using my village boy entertainment prospects, such as playing in the front yard. To my dismay a loud unbearable noise came thundering over me, soon following that, sirens erupted throughout the city; not only scaring me but making me cry. I ran inside of my father's uncle house to learn from my father that the opposition (left un-named in this story) had declared an air raid on our region of residence. This left no choice but to run through the fields. My fellow countrymen were doing as well in front of my relatives house. My mom packed little, nothing at all you could declare. She grabbed me softly yet abruptly by my hand and expressed with fear and terror, "We have to go son!". I had no reason to oppose, I was assured of the love and security my mother showed me; so we fled as if the winter was one day away and migration was the only resolution to an otherwise unthinkable destiny. Knowing my mother and father, they are people who are strong-willed and believe in the flexibility of destiny, the ability to control your own destiny. This was the defining driving force to run for safety, from my parents perspective, that running wasn't for their sake, that running was for me. As the running and refugee status lingered and continued upon me and my parents we headed in the 2 km frontal direction that gave way for temporary relief from heavy fire through the Krajina-Croatia Hills. With the ongoing war in Croatia between Yugoslav military and Croatian nationalists, the entry into that country was at your own risk, much like the entry to any country of the former Yugoslavia during the 1990's. Ravaging through the woods of Croatia, stopping at undetermined points to regain energy without food; the movement continued on for days, the gun fire behind us was not to be unheard, the war planes flying over us shelling the villages below them were not to be loved or rejoiced over, this was a crisis that saw thousands of people die, atrocities committed (by all sides), and yet the people who suffered the most were not renowned politicians or military combatants. For pure injustice, the suffering belonged to the children and surrounding civilians who could not control the outcome or tendency of war.

Being able to organize these visions of reality in my brain, now that I am mature enough to do so, really makes it difficult for me to comprehend the reasons behind the full fledged civil war in Yugoslavia; why involve so many innocent children? Why commit genocide? Why terrorize the people who do not possess weapons? Why fight to profit monetarily? As a child running away from all the problems with my mother and father by my side, these questions were not in my head at the time. I was more so concerned at the time for the physical demands of my small child body; those demands were concentrated solely on food. Food was the biggest issue for me, surviving on rotten food that surmounted to a measly 150 calories per day, if even that, got me nowhere. The malnutrition and under-nutrition I endured during my three year old days were indescribable. The only signs of such bodily torture that I carry today lie directly on my core body, where protruding hip bones (which I cover up to be less self conscious) and externally showing sternum, due to rib reconstruction, have mutated me morphologically, so that I myself question now who really benefited in this war?

As the war continued, I was in the midst, with my parents, in all the fighting and anger that the Serbians and Croatians showed towards one another. Helicopters destroying buildings around us, no matter in which U.N. refugee camp we stayed in, war planes shelling the literal shit out of anything Croatian, and military personnel torturing opposing military prisoners. A child has nothing good to see in such violence. The food shortages continued well into me and my parents in our second year inside of the war zone. The water shortage was evident, but the river near by came in handy even if bacterial levels were relatively high for consumption without proper immune functionality to be able to withstand variable stresses when exposed to such water. Once again not something I was conscious of, but something my body severely endured during the struggle.

Today's implications of such stresses result in nosebleeds every once in a while, a random condition that no doctor has been able to solve, yet one doctor had mentioned exposures to high mercury concentrations (found in rivers and lakes around the world). You might be wondering so far where I will end up if you have read this far into my life story, so I will further the progression of this story.

As UN gained control of parts of the North-Eastern Croatian/Bosnian border, alongside the control they gained access to civilians, such as us, to transport us closer to the Slovenian and Istrian regions of former Yugoslavia. We set foot to walk closer and closer to Zagreb, the capital city where refugee buses took us to Pula, Croatia, where I stayed for a while. As time progressed, vital food necessities were restored to my body through a two meals a day program sponsored by the United Nations. This really helped me rejuvenate my body as much as possible, but trying to stay positive as internal mechanisms are malfunctioning was a struggle I can only explain. But to help you understand, your trust in my word is needed.

My life up to this point, when I think about it, went by fast. The two year struggle to get out of the war-zone seemed to me to last months, while it in fact did go on for two years, from refugee camp to refugee camp. As further time progressed, the implications of declared refugee status brought upon sponsorship possibilities throughout the world. Some refugees ended up in Australia, others in Germany, but a majority of refugees ended up in the North American countries, me and my family being a part of that group. November 8th, 1995; the day papers were processed through the Canadian government to have me and my family depart Zagreb heading towards Calgary, Canada. The plane ride is loosely remembered by myself, but my dad did tell me the food to him tasted horrible, but being in such a situation, the sight of food in any state was welcomed no matter how bad the taste. And so my new life, in a new world, begins here in Canada where I live to this day.

Being transported from the airport to a small town just outside of Calgary, in November of 1995, was all new to me and my parents. Being people from a foreign land and a foreign culture, the whole aspect of life was different for us. The language was difficult to learn more so for my parents than myself. The food was easy to get accustomed to because of the filling feeling of having food. The people were easy to get accustomed to, in a sense, because of the overall general welcoming personality that Canadians seemed to possess during the transition stage of our arrival in Canada. I started school (1st grade) just before Christmas, a holiday I have never seen celebrated with such enthusiasm, due to the fact that i was of a different religion and the practice of Christian faith was a new soon to become familiarity for me and my family. Meeting new friends in school was easy for me because everyone was surprised to see a foreign child. Not many were present in the town of High River, Alberta at the time. In fact, I was the only child, alongside a Chinese (still a friend of mine to this day) child, who will also remain un-named in this story. My parents being foreign and without recognizable diplomas were forced to start working as soon as familiarity with the language was equivalent to understand what hello, yes, hi, no, good job, and bad job meant. Being limited in education standards in the new-world sense, my parents worked two jobs to support the demands of higher society; paying for rent, paying for television, paying for electricity, paying for my schooling, paying for food and of course paying the people who sponsored us back. As the transition state is remembered by me, it was a time full of mixed feelings for all of us. Me being part of a Bosnian family, any pain my parents felt, I felt alongside them; from cousins, close relatives, grandmothers, and grandfathers being killed during the war to low income implications on household spending, all of that came to be psychologically stressful for me. Enduring stress when being a child is also hard to help you understand unless you have been in that situation.

As the years passed, we become accustomed to the way of life in Canada; the relative increase in economic affluency came to be helpful in the comfortability aspect of life in this country I live in today. And now we fast forward through all of the day to day experiences to where I am today; writing this story in my new bed, in my new house, on my new laptop in the 21st century, alive and well. With Gods help, and with my parents unconditional love and care, I am conforming and shaping to be a well-rounded individual with a solid life experience in the rear view mirror; not always focusing on it, but always being reminded of how going from living a simple lifestyle to almost not living to living a privileged lifestyle has shaped me for the better as a human being. My passion for life is like no other. I am in my fourth year of undergraduate studies at a Canadian University. I am soon to be studying medicine at an institution of my choice. With Gods assistance and daily care for me, and my loving father, mother, and relatively new-born brother, I am well on my way to a fulfilling life with happy moments, sad moments, intermediate moments, lively moments and near death moments; all of these are enclosed within me.

The war I was in has helped me deal with my identity as an individual. It has also helped me realize how politics and government can influence the bad decisions made by the very people that run such conglomerate systems of rule. As I live my life, I am happy, and this brings me to my closing of this short yet hopefully inspiring story. Live your life with passion; passion that will carry you to unconditional love for your girl or man, for your mother or father, for your sister or brother, and for those who make your daily life special. Even if it is a simple verbal gesture that brightens that persons day, or if it is by some chance something larger, whatever that may be, keep in mind the fact that you are privileged, the fact that you are alive, and the fact that no matter how hard life gets, no matter what is taken away from you, always try your very hardest to control your own destiny. But with that being said, care for those around you, because without them where would you be? How would you celebrate your achievements as a person? How would you become self-actualized? So the next time you leave your house, and every time after that, thank God for your blessings, kiss and show love for your family and friends, and live your life everyday like it was your last day on this planet; because a chance may exist that tomorrow may be your last day. So live happily and enjoy it; and if tomorrow is not your last day, then keep driving the car of life. I am here to motivate you and I am here to tell you, you are human and so am I, take it all in my friend. It is all worth it in the end.

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