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On the Spanish Camino, you pack light. On the Kurdish Camino, your backpack is filled with ghosts.

The Kurdish pilgrim never arrives.

Imagine your identity is not a noun, but a verb. You do not have a country; you perform your country.

May your checkpoints be porous. May your dengbêj (bards) never run out of breath. May your children mistake freedom for boredom—because that will mean freedom has become ordinary. And may the world finally learn the difference between a mountain and a nation.