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I just experienced one of my first ‘full circle’ moments. I bought this bottle of water on my train to Dublin and noticed the name - Tipperary. Almost immediately, I began humming a tune. I searched “Tipperary song” on Google and learned that it was an old wartime song during World War 1. There’s a backstory to this. When my mother, brother and I arrived to Canada as refugees from Afghanistan, we didn’t know a word of English. My mother, having to work 3 jobs, entrusted us in the care of a Norwegian-Canadian woman named Marit. Other than her routine 5 am hug, I barely saw my mother throughout my childhood. Marit was uncommonly kind to everyone she met. She was also dedicated to her church. While my mother focused on ensuring we maintained our Dari and Islamic values as children, Marit would also bring us to church on Sundays, welcoming us to her community. She always told us that Christians are brethren to the Muslim faith - we knew nothing but solidarity and respect as children. Marit’s husband, Merrill, was Irish. It was a routine practice of his to sit on the porch of his house, staring blankly into the forest behind their suburban home, with a pipe in his mouth. “It’s a long way to Tipperary..” He would hum. He would raise his arms like a conductor’s baton and usher my brother and I to join in. Within a few months, you could mistake us for an Irish choir. Now, at 28, I’m in Northern Ireland heading to Dublin, having just won an award as ‘Entrepreneur of the Year’ for my work dedicated to my country of origin, Afghanistan. My brother smiled solemnly to himself yesterday while we walked around Belfast. I asked him what he was thinking about. “Wouldn’t it have been amazing if Merrill was with us right now?” My throat closed tightly. I guess it really is a long way to Tipperary.