You know, those of us who leave our homes in the morning and

Opening Scene
The room feels quiet, the hum of the world outside softened by the windows. Jack and Jeeny sit together in the living room, the flickering light of the fireplace casting a warm, inviting glow across the room. The evening has settled into a peaceful rhythm, with only the occasional rustle of pages as Jeeny turns the book in her hands. There’s a sense of calm in the air, but the conversation, once light, is beginning to shift into something deeper.

Host: The stillness in the room seems to heighten, like a quiet anticipation of the conversation that’s about to unfold. Jeeny looks up from her book, her expression thoughtful, her voice almost hesitant as she speaks.

Jeeny: (gently, her voice reflective) “I came across something Naomi Shihab Nye said that really made me pause. She said, ‘You know, those of us who leave our homes in the morning and expect to find them there when we go back — it’s hard for us to understand what the experience of a refugee might be like.’ Isn’t that such a simple, yet profound thought?”

Jack: (nodding, his voice calm but reflective) “It really is. It’s easy for us, those of us who feel secure in our homes, to take that for granted — the certainty that, no matter what happens during the day, we’ll have a place to return to. But for a refugee, that certainty is stripped away. Their world is in constant flux, and the idea of home is something they might never be able to rely on in the same way.”

Jeeny: (nodding slowly, her voice gentle) “Yes. And it’s not just about losing a home — it’s about losing everything tied to it. Their belongings, their community, their sense of safety. When you don’t know where your next meal will come from, or where you’ll lay your head at night, the concept of ‘home’ becomes something so different, so fragile.”

Host: The stillness in the room deepens, the weight of their words hanging between them like a quiet realization. The light from the fire flickers softly, casting shadows that stretch across the walls. The weight of what Jeeny has said settles, and Jack takes a deep breath, his gaze drifting toward the fire.

Jack: (softly, his voice almost lost in thought) “I think we often forget how much we take for granted. The security of knowing that we have a place to return to, that our lives are stable in a way that many people can’t even imagine. When we talk about refugees, we hear the numbers, the statistics, but we don’t often stop and think about the humanity behind it. The experience, the sheer uncertainty they face every day.”

Jeeny: (her voice calm, but filled with understanding) “Exactly. It’s not just about being displaced. It’s about losing your identity, your sense of who you are in the world. Home isn’t just a place; it’s a feeling of belonging, of roots. When that’s taken from you, it’s like you’re floating, lost in a world that doesn’t quite make sense anymore. The weight of that loss is something we can’t fully comprehend unless we experience it ourselves.”

Host: The room feels heavier now, as if the understanding of their conversation has changed the air around them. The warmth from the fire contrasts with the gravity of what they’re discussing — the loss, the uncertainty, and the dislocation felt by refugees. The world outside continues its rhythm, but here, inside, the realization that we cannot truly understand the refugee experience unless we walk in their shoes begins to feel more real.

Jack: (his voice softer, almost sympathetic) “And it’s not just about the physical loss of a home. It’s the psychological toll it takes — the trauma of displacement, the fear of never truly being safe again. It’s the feeling of being uprooted from everything familiar. I think that’s the part we often overlook when we talk about refugees — we focus on the numbers, but we forget about the emotional devastation.”

Jeeny: (nodding quietly, her tone sincere) “Yes, the emotional impact is so often glossed over. The sense of security is something we all take for granted, but for refugees, that sense is shattered. It’s a trauma that stays with them — not just in their memories, but in the way they see the world, in the way they try to rebuild their lives.”

Host: The quiet in the room seems more profound now, as if the conversation has uncovered something not just important, but necessary. Jack and Jeeny sit together, their words hanging in the air as they recognize how difficult it is for those of us with stable lives to truly grasp the experience of refugees. The light flickers softly in the corner, casting long shadows across the room.

Jack: (sighing deeply, his voice gentler) “It makes you want to do more, doesn’t it? To really understand, to give not just aid, but empathy. We can’t change everything, but we can listen, we can understand, and we can try to make the world feel a little more like a home for those who have lost theirs.”

Jeeny: (smiling softly, her voice warm) “Exactly. Understanding starts with empathy. And empathy starts with recognizing that we don’t fully understand, but we’re willing to try. To listen, to acknowledge their pain, and to give them the dignity they deserve.”

Host: The silence that settles between them now feels peaceful, as if their shared understanding has brought them to a new place. The outside world continues its usual rhythm, but here, inside, Jack and Jeeny sit in the quiet realization that the experience of a refugee is not one we can truly comprehend until we choose to listen, to empathize, and to understand the depths of their loss. The world may continue, but inside, there is a quiet sense of connection, a desire to make the world feel like a home for those who need it most.