Why has this post been so hard to publish? I ask myself the same question over and over again, sharing things about my life should be easy right? But it’s not, it’s actually been one of the hardest things for me. I can’t tell you how many times I have written and rewritten this post, so I am just going to write as if I am sitting across from you at a coffee shop.
As you know my name is Lejla, it’s pronounced Layla, for a long time I thought about removing the “j” you may think it’s silly but after having your name butchered your whole life and being called Ledge-La, it can get a little overwhelming. But then I am like wait no that’s who I am, I have the “j” because it represents my heritage, it represents my roots, it represents where my life originally began, where I took my first breathe and where my parent’s world slowly collapsed in their early 20’s. So the “j” has made me more confident and it’s here to stay.
I was born in Bosnia, a small country in Eastern-Europe, many of you may have heard of it due to it’s very popular neighbor, Croatia. I was born in the early 90’s and shortly after my birth, a war broke out which left my parents to fight for survival. Fortunately my parents left Bosnia and made Germany home for the next 7 years until it was time to go back to Bosnia, but where would they go how will they survive in Bosnia when it had been burned down to it’s core stripped of it’s identity and how would they raise their two young kids with no financial stability in Bosnia? How could my mother go back to a country where her father and brother had been killed and majority of her male family members had been brutally slaughtered, how could have my mother gone through all that pain? In all the heartbreak and disaster there was a chance for hope, the United States would be accepting immigrants from Bosnia. Like many others my parents applied and after rigorous questioning and testing they would be accepted and would make Virginia their home. I remember it like it was yesterday, with just 2 suitcases and two small kids my parents landed in the country where dreams come true where you can be anything you want, where possibilities are endless; this would now be “home.”
I was 7 years old when we arrived on the chilly spring evening in March, we walked into our small 2 bedroom apartment that had a few things a sofa, two twin mattresses one for my sister and one for me, blank white walls, I remember it still smelled like paint, very fresh paint. My mom was unpacking our suitcases and started explaining to us that this is where we would now be living and told us there are a ton of kids in the neighborhood so we will make friends quickly and as she spoke with a crack in her voice I saw tears drip down her face, because just like that at the age of 29, she had survived a war, traveled across the ocean to give us a better life with my dad and never complained. She was a warrior like no other, she had always been our hero and she hugged my sister and I, I could feel her pain.
Fast forward through elementary and middle school, I had always struggled with making friends. I grew up with a strict father, I guess surviving a war or surviving to stay alive period, things can get to you and the most horrible thoughts trickle into your brain, so hanging out with friends or having sleepovers, he wasn’t quite fond of. I guess it’s a fear of losing the only thing that brought you to where you are, only thing that helped you survive is now growing up too fast. Back then I didn’t understand him because here I was a teenager just trying to belong but growing up Bosnian in the US isn’t always easy. The older I get the better I understand but at the time it was probably the most horrible thing that could happen to me. High school years weren’t much better, struggling for acceptance continued, I was bullied for things, I would get made fun of, I was also too outspoken for everyone else. I was the kid who stood up to kids that were hurting or making fun of others because I knew how it felt. I also didn’t do all the cool things like sex, alcohol and drugs but I had no interest in that and just incase you need to be reminded, I grew up with a very strict father so there was none of that and definitely no nonsense. Being bullied isn’t cool, every time I hear about it now, it breaks my heart, I feel the pain, I feel for those kids, I know how it is, they aren’t alone. I know how it is to be harassed, I had my car egged 3 times, I was harassed by other girls because I didn’t do certain things, I was called names for no apparent reason and those are just a few. It wasn’t easy to hold on to the hurt alone, not being able to tell your parents why you struggle to make friends; they wouldn’t understand. But I always knew I was different, I was private, I saw the world in a different light, I didn’t expect much in return, just kindness. That experience changed me, I grew very protective of my sisters, I never let anyone say a mean thing to them, never wanted them to feel insecure or get called names, I was ready to fight every battle that came their way and always remind them that I am here to fight every battle for them, I’m always one phone call away.
……………
I remember my father calling me while I was a senior in high school, I stepped out of class and went to the bathroom and called him back because I thought there must be an emergency especially if he is calling me during school, he wasn’t much of a talker, he was always there if we needed him but he spent a ton of time away from home working so a call from dad in the middle of the day meant serious business. I heard his voice crack, telling me I got my acceptance letter to VCU, he was so proud, I knew he was. My dad was big on school, it was his number one priority, he wanted us to be something of ourselves, always told us to focus on school, on grades on our education.
During college just when I thought things were going great, I end up going through a horrible break up, gosh that was one of the worst. Luckily it’s something I openly talk about because it taught me so much, it taught me so much about myself, others and it made me become even stronger and more independent. What helped me heal was focusing on myself and staying positive. Don’t get me wrong, I cried more tears than I could count, I lost more weight than I could have ever imagined and I thought I lost a part of myself. Why it hurt so much was because I struggled for years to finally find my best friend my other half and I finally found my best friend and then it all ended. At the time it was the biggest blessing in disguise I just didn’t know it. I needed to heal I needed to know what I wanted and needed in my life and I needed peace, I needed someone to calm me down when I was spitting fire, someone to understand my struggles to accept my struggles and to accept who I truly am, while it took a while I stayed true to myself, continued with my studies, picked up more shifts at work, stayed so busy that for a while it seemed like my life consisted of school and work.
My mother always told us, “the right man will come knocking on your door” I said mom please just stop, but she was right, as if God had sent an angel to me, there he was, the sweetest, kindest soul of a man, the man who would listen to me cry for hours, who would wipe my tears, who called me pretty when I had mascara up to my hair line and down to my chin, the man who never once judged me but truly loved me for who I am. So if you are out there reading this struggling to understand why things are falling apart month after month year after year, God is saving the best for last, I promise, just believe that everything happens for a reason and things fall apart so others can come together and when you least expect it, it will all turn out okay, just be kind and work hard and stay true to yourself.
I reflect quite often, I get carried away with current issues but remind myself that life is way more than just pretty pictures it’s the story we tell, the struggles we face, the life we have lived and the extraordinary challenges we face. I often get a bit emotional, I squeeze my family a little tighter, give my husband extra long hugs and kisses and tell him I love him every second of every day, because life can change so quickly and I don’t know if he will ever know how much I appreciate him or the people who have stuck by my side, but I think of them and thank them every single day! I celebrate life and all of life’s little victories because it’s the little things that matter, it’s the people we greet, the lives we impact, the kind words we speak, the love we share. It’s about appreciating everything you have, the good the bad and the ugly, they make us who we are and I am so thankful for them all.
Sorry I jumped around I just wanted to share a little bit about myself, my background and my personal thoughts! I apologize in advance for the lengthy post.
xoxo
LOH