“Who are you rooting for, Sanela?”
seems to be the question of the week.
Although I do not follow sports, soccer in particular, I cannot escape that question.
“America, of course!” is the first answer that comes to mind, and then, pain. A dull, heart-wrenching pain in the pit of my entire being.
Am I really rooting for America this coming Wednesday? Tomorrow, July 1st. Bosnia vs. America. Soccer.
I’ve lived in America for thirty-three years; more than double the years I lived in my birth country. I was fifteen when my life was turned upside down.
My former country, Yugoslavia, was torn to shreds. Bosnia wanted independence, and in 1992, it paid a horrible, unimaginably expensive price. Thousands of lives were lost. Thousands were displaced, among them myself, a frightened fifteen-year-old girl. Concentration camps and rape camps were opened. Homes were destroyed. Friendships shattered. Fingers were pointed and accusations made.
Hell. Absolute hell.
Refugee life was not much better.
I swore I would never return. America became a safe haven. My forever home.
So why do I feel this horrible pain in my heart when I say I’m rooting for America?
Honestly, most of the time, I feel like I don’t truly belong to either country.
Bosnia has changed. It’s not the country I left behind. When I visit, I feel like a stranger.
And America … It gave me freedom, education, and opportunity, I gave it two sons in return. I raised them to be proud Americans. To never let anyone tell them they are anything but Americans.
They are wonderful human beings. Good men. And yes, I take a little credit.
I raised them to be exemplary citizens of this country, and I am proud. Not just of them, but of myself, too. I am proud to call myself an American.
And still … there’s that pain.
When I think of those boys, those soccer players wearing the colors of Bosnia and Herzegovina, I think of the things they and their families had to endure to get where they are today. The price that was paid. The sacrifices made. The losses carried.
I understand them.
Perhaps that’s why this game hurts more than it should.
Because tomorrow isn’t really about soccer.
It’s about memory.
It’s about a little girl who lost her country.
It’s about a woman who found another one.
It’s about loving two homes and sometimes feeling fully claimed by neither.
So, America, forgive me.
Tomorrow, I can’t root for you.
Not because I love you less. Not because I am any less grateful for the life you’ve given me. But because a part of my heart will always belong to the country that broke it.
Tomorrow, my heart belongs to Bosnia and Herzegovina.
Tomorrow, I am rooting for the Zmajevi od Bosne.
About the AuthorSanela Ramić Jurich is a survivor of the Yugoslav war and the author of several novels inspired by lived experience. She writes to remember, to honor, and to ensure that even the darkest chapters are never erased. View Sanela's complete profile