It was a typical day when the knock came on the door. I was 11, and I had no idea what this was about; I barely understood about the conflict that had been raging for years. Even though I knew something was happening, our little village had seemed so safe and untouched by war.

My mom answered the door, speaking to an empahtic woman in uniform who was informing the adults of the village that we must all evacuate; we had just been told that we were no longer safe. I remember feeling scared and confused, but my mom’s calm and comforting presence reassured me that everything would be alright.

The train station was noisy and crowded as we waited, lugging our suitcases along with us. I had packed some clothes and toys, feeling brave for leaving my safe little home.

The journey felt long and grueling; at the same time, I was mesmerized by the scenery passing outside the window. Suddenly and without warning, we were forced to the ground by a loud explosion. We had been bombed and I was forced to hide underneath my seat, clutching my teddy bear tightly.

Luckily, we made it to the other side unscathed and were welcomed by a warm family who showed us great hospitality. We would come to call this home for the next few years, until life was safe to return to.

Although the journey and experience of being evacuated during the war was frightening, looking back on it now, I can appreciate the unique and exciting adventure it was. Pointing to my old home village, I am sure my children can learn a lot from this time and realize the importance of standing together, in the face of fear and danger.