Natalie

Refugee

Syria → California, USA

As a kid, every Sunday Natalie went to her grandfather's house to learn Armenian. They’d sit together at the living room table, surrounded by stacks of records and his magnificent golden record player. Her grandfather would play songs from his youth, melodies rich with the history, beauty, and heartache of Armenian people. Afterward, he'd read from Armenian school books, and Natalie would repeat after him, word by word. He was determined that his grandchildren would be proud of their Christian Armenian heritage—a heritage that had survived despite the Turks forcing their family from their homeland.

In Homs, Syria, Natalie’s grandfather built a vibrant life for the family, living harmoniously among neighbors from different backgrounds and countries—Christians and Muslims coexisting peacefully side by side. Natalie was the youngest of four siblings, born seven years after the others—a delightful mistake! By then, her parents were exhausted but loving.

Natalie spent her days in the streets, playing with neighborhood kids, riding bikes and scooters. Some girls wore hijabs, others sported jeans and shorts. It didn’t matter; they were just kids.

She was working as a makeup artist in a department store when news of the war first broke out. She stared up at the TV in disbelief as the chaos of the Arab Spring unfolded before her eyes—a stark contrast to the beauty and art that had filled her life until that point. Everything changed that day in the department store, as the war took hold.

The conflict reached her home city of Homs before it came to Aleppo, the pieces of her childhood repurposed; her grade school was soon turned into a hospital for the injured soldiers. Her grandfather’s house and factories were burned, and everything was stolen, down to the tiles on the floor, not even a needle was left. The only thing that was untouched was her uncle’s body, buried in blood on what remained of the floor.

When the violence escalated in Aleppo, Natalie had no choice but to stop lecturing at the university. Bombs went off too frequently, and the family would turn up the music to drown out the noise, even though it couldn’t protect them from the horror that war left behind. Her sister, eight months pregnant, saw a river outside her house filled with dead bodies. The shock sent her into premature labor, and her baby was born with underdeveloped lungs. Natalie stayed with her in the hospital, unsure of what the next moment would bring.

As the family broke the news to Natalie’s sister and her husband, Natalie was handed her sister’s baby, wrapped in a white cloth. Her hands trembled, unable to close around the tiny body.  It was snowing heavily outside, and the sounds of bombing echoed in the distance. She felt neither cold nor fear—she was numb.

Her sister stared out her window at the snow, thinking of her baby freezing and wishing she could wrap him in something warm; she couldn’t accept the news. Natalie gently opened the white cloth to see the baby’s face - she needed to see his eyes before saying goodbye. Seeing his eyes meant we had met. He had the most beautiful blue eyes.

Natalie stayed with her sister in Aleppo to help her move through her grief as the war waged on outside.

It became increasingly harder to leave the city- roads were barricaded with check points, gas was hard to come by, buses leaving the city were infrequent.

To combat the despair, Natalie co-founded Art Camp with fellow artists to transform public spaces in our war-torn city. Together, they infused these places with vibrant, uplifting art, determined to bring color and hope back to our community. They refused to let hope slip away.

Today, Natalie continues to create art and work as a designer in tech, all while bringing her dream to life by directing and producing a film titled Hairlock. This film captures the contrast between the everyday life she once knew in Syria and the new reality where friends and family are scattered across the globe. And, It's a celebration in the art of resilience.