A Lost identity .

A Lost Identity

When war forces a woman to rebuild her life while watching her children drift away from their roots

When her feet first touched a land other than the one where she was born, raised, and grew into herself—a land where she built her future and that of her husband and children—it was a homeland she loved to the very core.

Maryam dreamed of stability, safety, and peace in a place where her sweat had blended with the soil, where serenity settled deeply in her heart.

She took pride in that homeland, in loving it openly, and she planted in her children’s minds the meaning of belonging and the responsibility of building a nation.

Her children did not disappoint her.

They answered her call, learned at her hands, graduated from her school of values, and grew into loyal, devoted citizens.

Then war erupted.

It devoured everything—green fields and dry land alike.

Homes were destroyed, peace was shattered, minds were displaced, and the doors of openness and compassion were violently shut.

Maryam and her children had no choice but to leave,

seeking refuge in a land willing to carry them beneath its sky.

Like countless migrants, she tried to build a new future—one different from the dream she had once lived.

She endured hardship and struggled to integrate, until she believed she and her family had finally become part of the host society.

Each family member followed a path permitted by the country’s laws.

The children adapted quickly, excelling in school, learning the language, customs, and social norms with ease.

With time, however, a new generation emerged in Maryam’s household—a generation that slowly distanced itself from its original identity and embraced that of the host country.

Maryam no longer recognized her children when conversations turned to identity, homeland, and the cultural roots that had once shaped them.

In her tireless effort to be accepted, she had unknowingly neglected what she once taught her children—lessons rooted in the homeland that had sheltered them under its sky and carried them on its soil.

Exile and hardship stripped away her sense of national pride.

She began to see herself as a second-class citizen.

And how can someone who feels second-class openly celebrate their identity,

when the fear of exclusion and marginalization never truly fades?

Maryam felt deeply torn—

between children who had fully embraced the host culture and no longer spoke of returning home one day,

and her own unwavering loyalty to a homeland that had shaped her soul and forged her strength.

Each memory of her once-stable life reminded her how a brutal war had turned everything into a game in the hands of those who never truly believed in homeland or belonging.

War fractured her life’s path and forced her to adapt to a society unlike the one she was raised in—a society that only recognizes those who master its rules.

Whenever she thought of her children’s lost identity, she broke down in tears, fell to her knees, and cursed the merciless war that stole everything precious from her:

her homeland, her children, her identity, and her inner peace.

Yet she refused to surrender.

She believed pain could be transformed into meaning.

She picked up a blue notebook and a pen and began writing the first lines of her first book, “A Lost Identity.”

The book found remarkable success and became a subject of conversation across generations.

Another book followed: “Maryam’s Wall.”

Her pen no longer rested.

It crossed borders of time and place,

until the homeland was freed,

and Maryam returned with her children

to the sky that once sheltered her

and the land that once carried her.

This is not only Maryam’s story.

It is the story of countless women who were forced to rebuild their lives in unfamiliar lands—while silently mourning the identities their children were losing along the way.

It is a reminder that belonging is not erased by distance, and that a woman’s voice, once reclaimed, can restore memory, meaning, and home.