Igor, a Sixth Form transfer student from Bosnia,

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It was one of those dreary days, and dark clouds had covered Sarajevo. I was woken up very early and somebody hurriedly put clothes on me. Still excited about the new bicycle I had gotten for my fourth birthday, I pleadingly asked my father if I could ride it. For the first time, he said no. I did not understand. We went outside, and after walking for a while, my father put me on the ground. My grandparents, parents and my aunt made a circle around me. They talked for a couple of minutes, but I did not hear much of the conversation. Next to my foot, I saw a couple of pieces of metal sitting on the chilly asphalt. I squatted and reached for them. They were bullets, sharp and heavy. At that time they had no meaning for me; instead they looked like random fragments that somebody had forgotten there. Without much thinking, I put them in my pocket. Suddenly, my parents raised me to the height of their faces and said to me: “Igor, big boy, you and Njanja are going on a trip now, and you will come back in a couple of weeks. Everything will be just fi ne. Don’t worry. When you come back, we will go with you and you will ride your bicycle again. Alright?” I nodded. Shortly thereafter, we entered a yellow bus whose window glass was almost entirely missing. “This will not be an easy trip,” the driver said. “Everybody be careful. Should I tell you to lie down in the aisle, please immediately do so,” he added. He appeared very sincere, but his sincerity did not mean much among all the fearful people sitting in the bus. Everybody was afraid, and nobody knew what to expect. As the bus was leaving, crying women and children kept looking back for their husbands and fathers, who shortly disappeared in the curves of the roads. I looked for my father too, but soon his face was nowhere but in my memories.

My aunt and I, as everybody else, were allowed to have one plastic bag with us. A bag of hope, one may call it. It just had a little bit of food and water in it, not very much for such a long trip. Two days later, we arrived in a small Serbian border town called Sabac. Holding my aunt’s hand, I exited the bus and followed her in an unknown direction – supposedly to search for a better future because the life I had known had been taken from me. The next time I saw my father I was nine years old. I addressed him with “Sir.” The next time I saw Sarajevo, I was thirteen. I did not recognize any of the ruined buildings that stood there. Sometimes I still wonder, and ask myself, why? The answer is not much closer than it was at the beginning. The decision to leave Sarajevo that day was something I might have never chosen for myself. However, the decision was made, and reflecting upon it, I finally realize its impact. I may have lost my home, but it has made me stronger. It made me independent and thirsty for new experiences. I embrace the chance to head in unknown directions and discover the world for myself. Thirteen years after fleeing with my aunt, I left Sarajevo again, but this time willingly. Because I know the world is big and has so many beautiful things to offer, the path ahead of me is filled with endless possibilities. I could go in many different directions, and it is this uncertainty of life that fills me with excitement and eagerness to continue forward.

Igor  a commended student in the National Merit Scholarship Program, has been accepted to the following colleges and universities and has yet to decide where he will matriculate: the University of Ottawa; the University of British Columbia; McGill University; St. Anselm’s College; George Mason University; the University of Vermont;and Concordia University.