Ever since the start of the Syrian conflict, my family and I have moved from one place to the next. From our hometown in Damascus, we made our way to Jordan. In Jordan, we moved four times within the country, and each move meant a different school and a new start. It got to the point where I wouldn’t even finish a semester at school before I had to move again. 

I was the “new girl” every time, and I think even people who didn’t have to move around know how annoying it is to be in that position.

We finally settled when I was in the second semester of fourth grade. I was so excited to have spent a full semester in one school, and that I was going to graduate to fifth grade with all my friends. Yes, friends. I had friends. Friends who I was so attached to. Kids just like me who saw me as more than a “new girl.” People who had the chance to meet the real me.

It was amazing, but it was short-lived. Because by the end of the first semester in fifth grade, it was time to move again.

This time, the move was drastic. It wasn’t just to another city in Jordan, a country that looked and felt so much like Syria. This time, we were moving to Turkey.

I’ll be honest, I was actually a bit excited. Sure I was leaving my friends and that was horrible, but this was a new country that I had never seen before. It was a whole new world. When I got to Turkey, though, I realized the downside.

Moving to such a different country was a shock in so many ways. I couldn’t have anticipated the major differences in culture, the new language, and the different school system. It was nothing like I had ever experienced before.

It may sound extreme, but it took me three and a half years to find my place. By the time I entered high school, I had my very own circle of close friends from all backgrounds and all walks of life. I finally understood the school system here and what the path to university looks like. I finally felt like I belonged. Like I had found my place.

But then, my parents announced that we must move again. This time? An even more shocking move — all the way to the Netherlands.

My initial reaction was resistance. I didn’t want to move, and do it all over again. I wanted it all to just stop, to just be me, with my friends, in this life that I have now.

But during quarantine, I gained a new perspective. I realized that, for starters, friendships and relationships change, and sometimes that’s okay.

If we’re lucky, we get to keep our friends for a long time, although I know that college and university and whatever the next chapter of each of our journeys has in store for us might pull us away from each other.

But more importantly, physical closeness or distance doesn’t dictate the strength of a relationship. I haven’t seen my friends for months even with them living so close, but we’re still friends! And that can very well be the case when I leave.

Moving is not foreign to Syrian kids. Because many of us were forced to leave the country, we know what it’s like to be the new kids. But in a way, it makes us stronger. While the circumstances were not in our control, our experiences make us resilient. Moving around so much just made me that more social. I can now adapt wherever I am. And I know I am very lucky to have these opportunities, so I welcome them and look forward to all that this move — and any other, should there be more — brings.

This is my journey. I can’t wait to see what happens next.