I had not hugged a friend or a family member for more than two years until recently when my sister flew in for a brief visit. For safety, we met outside. Despite the wintry weather, her hug warmed me from the inside out. It's strange, but only now do I truly realize how much I've missed embracing loved ones.
I grew up through war in my hometown of Sarajevo, Bosnia, and every moment was full of danger. On one peaceful morning, I had begged my mom to let me go outside after spending weeks indoors. She finally agreed. I was outside for only 10 minutes when I was caught in an explosion. I ran to my neighbor's house for safety and hung my arms around her neck just as my legs collapsed underneath me.
Thankfully, I made a full physical recovery, but the emotional scars never left me. Years later there was another explosion near my house. I was safely inside, but my father had left to buy a loaf of bread. He had only just missed the explosion. When he came back inside, I gave him the biggest hug imaginable. I was caked in tears as I held him tight.
That same night my parents managed to arrange my escape from our war-torn city. I was 16 and came to America on my own. A generous host family took me in. They had a large dog called Oscar. Over the next several months, I secretly struggled with feeling homesick and worried about my family back home. Despite managing quite well at school, I couldn't express my feelings. The only way I shared how I felt was by giving Oscar a big hug.
It is yet another sad aspect of our pandemic(疾病大流行的) lives that hugging a stranger is the last thing on our minds. For many of us, even hugging a relative or a friend comes with stress and anxiety over risks and precautions. As I look back on my past, I count myself truly lucky to have been held, shielded and encouraged at some of the most key moments of my life by the power of a hug.
