My enemies are often born of my own choices.

  A small town in Massachusetts, 2003.

  Seventeen years before the birth of Artistea.

  With a creak, the old yellow school bus stopped in front of the house.

  Amidst the boisterous laughter of the children, one unusually quiet child got off.

  Black hair, a vivid purple bruise on his left eyelid, and on the small back of a five-year-old, a backpack as big as his body hung heavily.

  The boy didn't say goodbye to any of the friends left on the bus.

  As the bus drove off in a cloud of dust, the boy stared after it for a moment, his eyes burning with resentment.

  The boy’s name was Chazra.

  Today, his world collapsed.

  ‘No one is on my side.’

  That was the only truth Chazra came to know that day.

  The United States had declared a ‘War on Terror’ and was raining shells down on Iraq.

  The news reported it daily on TV.

  Chazra was a child who had inherited that Iraqi blood.

  A child who went to the mosque with his family, instead of the church that most of this town attended.

  But to Chazra, what Islam was, or what Christianity was, didn't matter.

  He was born in America and had grown up on American soil.

  He had never once thought of himself as anything other than American.

  What happened at school today shattered all of those beliefs.

  A boy with blond hair and chubby cheeks, Frank had been Chazra’s best friend. Until the war broke out.

  Chazra knew nothing, but when Frank’s father, a soldier, was sent to Iraq, everything changed.

  Frank could no longer see his father and had to watch his mother’s tear-streaked face every night.

  It was too heavy a reality for a five-year-old to bear. That anger was, naturally, directed at the easiest target.

  “You’re a devil.”

  That was the first thing Frank spat out in a corner of the classroom after school.

  Chazra couldn't understand the words.

  This was the same Frank who, just a few days ago, had promised to go to Disneyland with his family.

  “Mommy cries every day because of you!”

  “Why? What did I do wrong?”

  Chazra was bewildered by the sudden change in his best friend.

  “You’re Iraqi! Your family is the enemy of America!”

  “My dad works in an American lab! And I was born in America!”

  Tears of injustice began to well up in Chazra’s eyes.

  “Shut up! How are you an American! You’re a terrorist! Your dad is going to make bombs and kill us all!”

  Frank was nearly screaming, a vessel for the adults’ anxieties and the media’s fearmongering.

  “Don’t talk about my dad! My dad is a great scientist! My big brothers and mom said so! They asked him to come to America!”

  Chazra’s protests were useless.

  Frank kept spewing words like ‘villain’ and ‘devil’, and while a few of the other kids tried to stop him, they couldn't hold back the enraged Frank.

  “Frank, stop it!”

  “He took my dad away! It’s his fault!”

  Rage boiled up inside Chazra.

  He clenched his small fist and threw it at Frank’s jaw.

  With a ‘thwack,’ Frank fell backward.

  Chazra climbed on top of him, crying and shouting.

  “I’m not a devil! My dad is a good person!”

  At that moment, the other children rushed at Chazra to protect Frank.

  Outnumbered, Chazra was helpless against the onslaught.

  As the commotion grew, their homeroom teacher, Ms. Anna, ran over and pulled the children apart.

  Frank was bleeding from his mouth and nose, and Chazra’s left eye was horribly swollen.

  “What happened? Chazra, Frank, are you okay?”

  A classmate, Jimmy, shouted to her.

  “Ms. Anna! Chazra hit Frank!”

  Chazra didn't answer. He just glared at Frank, breathing heavily.

  “Chazra, is that true? Why did you do that?”

  Her voice lacked warmth, edged with the impatience of someone eager to be done with an unpleasant chore.

  “Frank insulted me and my dad!”

  “What? I didn’t say anything wrong! Your family are devils! Go back to your country! Give me back my dad!”

  Frank shrieked.

  At that moment, Ms. Anna paused for a moment.

  "No!"

  He lunged at Frank once more, but someone tripped him.

  Chazra fell straight to the floor. His sorrow exploded.

  "Waaah! No! My dad is a good person! My family is kind!"

  The classroom became a scene of chaos.

  The children shouted what they had seen.

  Anna, at her limit, screamed.

  "Quiet, everyone! Chazra, no matter what happened, hitting a friend is a bad thing. Frank is hurt, and so are you. You have to compromise with each other. Understand?"

  The words Ms. Anna had spewed were the first verdict from a world that wasn't on Chazra's side.

  She instructed them to take care of the injured Frank first, then said to Chazra for the last time.

  "Chazra, you stop crying now."

  That final remark branded a single truth into the minds of all the children in the classroom.

  'Chazra was in the wrong.'

  Chazra, son of a terrorist, the boy who doesn’t go to church.

  The boy whose dad will one day make bombs.

  And so, for the first time, Chazra was defeated by the world.

  He couldn't bring himself to step into his house.

  He didn't want to show his mother, grandmother, or his brothers his swollen, purple eye.

  This house, this peaceful town. He hated it all. Chazra glanced around, then let out a heavy sigh, head down.

  “Chazra, what are you doing not coming inside?”

  A familiar, gentle voice.

  He looked up to see Ahmadi, the eldest, standing there.

  He towered over Chazra, still with a boyish face, but with the same deep, calm eyes as their father.

  Everyone at school liked him, and to Chazra, he was the kindest person in the world, his hero.

  “You, what happened to your eye? Did you get in a fight?”

  With a worried face, his brother knelt to meet his eyes.

  “…Yeah.” Chazra squeezed his face with all his might to hold back the tears.

  “What’s wrong, are you okay?”

  Ahmadi looked at him with concern, noticing something was off.

  “Ahmadi… are we… devils?”

  Chazra felt he had to tell Ahmadi, the one he looked up to most.

  “What are you talking about? Why would we be devils?”

  Ahmadi wiped away the tears streaming down Chazra’s cheeks.

  “Frank said so at school. He said our dad makes bombs and that we’re terrorists attacking America.”

  At the terrible words coming from Chazra’s small mouth, Ahmadi’s face hardened for a moment.

  “What? What kind of nonsense is that? Our dad is a scientist. A brilliant one, at that, who was specially invited by America. That’s why we’re living so well in this nice house, isn’t it?”

  “Ms. Anna also said… it’s true that Iraq attacked America.”

  “What? The teacher told you that?”

  The smile vanished completely from Ahmadi’s face.

  Chazra saw a terrifying anger in his brother’s eyes for the first time.

  “Yeah. I don’t want to go to school anymore.” Chazra’s voice was sinking into despair.

  “Chazra, it’s okay. Let’s go inside and treat that eye first.”

  Ahmadi hugged Chazra tightly.

  A deep sadness that his little brother couldn't understand was etched on his face.

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  “We’re not criminals. You believe me, right? We’re good people.”

  Chazra finally burst into sobs, burying his face in his brother’s embrace.

  “Whether we believe in Christianity or Islam, we are all people who believe in God’s love.”

  Ahmadi looked as if he might cry too, but he held it in.

  “Chazra, let’s go inside first. We need to treat your eye right away. And let’s eat something delicious today. I’ll talk to Mom and Grandma and get you your favorite pork cutlet.”

  At the words ‘pork cutlet,’ Chazra’s crying began to subside.

  He pulled away from his brother’s embrace and looked at him through his swollen gaze.

  A few tears rolled down his injured face, wetting his brother’s shirt.

  He felt sorry about that too, and his young heart grew heavy again.

  “Ahmadi, I’m sorry. Because of me…”

  “What? This? It’s fine, it’ll wash out. Let’s go.”

  Ahmadi didn't care at all about the shirt stained with his brother's tears.

  At his confident words, Chazra took his brother’s hand and slowly entered the house.

  “We’re home.”

  Ahmadi greeted first, and Chazra, after a moment’s hesitation, followed his lead.

  As he stepped into the entrance hall, the air, filled with the scent of subtle spices and the warmth of his family, enveloped him.

  On the wall hung a framed piece of calligraphy, a beautifully inscribed verse from the Quran.

  His mother, Raina, came out of the kitchen, her long brown hair tied back comfortably.

  As she greeted the boys with her warm brown eyes, she stopped in her tracks the moment she saw Chazra’s face hiding behind his brother.

  “Mom.”

  Ahmadi called to her with a troubled expression.

  “Chazra, this… Who did this! What happened!”

  Fury flashed in her once-gentle eyes.

  “Why wasn’t there any call from the school? Ahmadi, do you know what happened?”

  At her unusually fierce demeanor, Ahmadi was at a loss, and Chazra, frightened, burst into tears again.

  “Mom, I’ll tell you everything later. First, we need to treat Chazra’s wound.”

  Ahmadi said, stepping between his mother and brother.

  “Chazra, can you go up to your room first? I’ll bring the medicine up in a minute.”

  Chazra looked back and forth between his brother’s and mother’s faces.

  Only after Raina nodded at Ahmadi did Chazra sniffle and trudge up to his room on the second floor.

  “No, what on earth happened? Is he okay? Who would hit a child so hard?”

  “I’ll explain everything. But before that… could you possibly make Chazra’s favorite pork cutlet today?”

  Raina’s expression became complicated at Ahmadi’s request.

  “Your father and grandmother would be furious if they found out… We don’t have any pork, and your father will be home soon.”

  To his devout Muslim father, Zahir, and grandmother, Bashira, pork was an unimaginable taboo.

  “You have to make it today, Mom. I’ll go buy it if I need to. After I treat Chazra. Please, it has to be today.”

  At her son’s pleading eyes, Raina nodded with a deep sigh.

  “Alright, I will. I’ll get the first-aid kit from the master bedroom. You go and comfort your brother. And you have to tell me everything that happened.”

  “Yes, I will.”

  Ahmadi took the first-aid kit and a glass of cool water from Raina and headed to Chazra’s room.

  Normally, a crooked sign reading ‘KEEP OUT’ would be hanging on the door, but today, the door was just quietly closed.

  “Chazra, I’m coming in.” Ahmadi knocked and carefully opened his brother’s door.

  Curled up on the bed in the middle of the room was the saddest child in the world, his face bruised and swollen.

  The room itself was filled with a love for American football.

  A poster of a famous quarterback was on the wall, and the desk was covered with shiny player cards.

  A football, player figurines, and a child’s helmet were scattered on the floor, and in one corner, a hero doll with a lightsaber and a robot car toy formed his own little world.

  “Chazra, look at me. We need to treat it.”

  Chazra just shook his head and burrowed deeper under the covers.

  “We have to treat it quickly. After this, I’ll go out and buy pork. Mom is making a special pork cutlet for you today! Okay? Come on.”

  At the magical words ‘pork cutlet,’ Chazra’s small shoulders twitched.

  “Really…? Mom? Dad and Grandma… we’re not supposed to eat that.”

  Despite their success in America, the family’s faith and identity were always strict.

  The only time Chazra and his brothers had tasted pork cutlet was when they had secretly eaten it at school for lunch.

  The memory of that day, when he had begged to eat it at home, unable to forget its crispy, savory taste, and the house had been turned upside down with scolding.

  He still vividly remembered how his mother and brother had struggled to stop his grandmother from going to the school to protest.

  To a five-year-old, the meaning of religion and country was vague, but he knew to his bones how terrifying his father’s anger could be.

  “Yeah, I’ll talk to Dad and Grandma, so don’t worry. Let’s just get you treated first.”

  At Ahmadi’s confident voice, Chazra finally managed a smile.

  He sat up obediently next to his brother, his eyes full of anticipation.

  “Really? Are you serious?”

  “I told you so. Now, hold still.”

  As the disinfectant touched his skin, Chazra’s face contorted in pain.

  “Agh…”

  “Does it hurt a lot? But we have to disinfect it like this so it doesn’t scar. Just bear with it.”

  The sight of his little brother enduring the pain with a scrunched-up face pained Ahmadi’s heart.

  His little brother was so cute and lovable, which made him feel even more sorry.

  “There, all done. I’m going to go talk to Mom and get the meat now, so you wait here quietly.”

  “Okay! Can I read your comic books in the meantime? The one where they beat up all the bad guys!”

  “Hmm… okay. But you know you’ll be in trouble if you get anything on it or bend it, right? It’s my favorite.”

  “Yeah! I’ll be super careful!”

  With his brother’s comic book in hand, Chazra could slowly forget the throbbing pain of his wound.

  It was his brother’s most precious treasure, normally forbidden for him to touch.

  Losing all track of time, engrossed in the comic, Chazra unknowingly drifted off to sleep.

  In his dream, he had become the hero of the comic.

  An invincible hero who defeated everyone.

  Frank and Ms. Anna, who had tormented him today, were villains screaming as they fell.

  'Die! Die! You can’t beat me!'

  No one could stop him. Countless people cheered his name.

  A statue of him stood on the tallest building in the city, and the feeling of flying was sweet.

  The whole world loved him.

  “Chazra, Chazra!”

  Someone called to him in the middle of his sweet dream.

  He opened his eyes with a sense of disappointment to find the room bathed in the evening glow.

  “Come down quickly, it’s time for dinner! Mom made pork cutlets!”

  “Really? For real?!”

  Forgetting the throbbing pain of his wound, Chazra sprang up from the bed.

  The unpleasantness of waking up vanished in an instant, and his heart began to pound.

  As he headed to the living room, the scent of sweet sauce and savory fried food reached his nose.

  'Oh, right. I have to wash my hands.'

  He didn't want to start this perfect dinner with a scolding.

  Without being told, Chazra first ran to the bathroom, washed his hands cleanly, and headed to the living room, filled with anticipation.

  The dining table was laden with the foods he had dreamed of, like a small festival.

  Several pork cutlets reigned in the center of the table.

  Surrounding them were a steaming potato gratin, glossy ham butter rolls, slices of pizza with melted pepperoni, and even a cola with ice.

  Just then, Chazra noticed an unfamiliar guest sitting at one side of the table.

  She was a young woman with long black hair tied in a ponytail and curious eyes behind round glasses.

  “Wow, what’s all this? Is it a special day today?”

  His second brother, Zaydan, who had returned home at some point, exclaimed in surprise at the food.

  Ten-years-old, he was tall for his age and had a mischievous look on his face.

  He often played mean pranks on Chazra, so they weren't as close as he was with Ahmadi.

  Zaydan, also surprised to see food rarely seen at home, looked at his mother.

  Raina gestured towards Chazra’s face with her eyes, signaling him to be quiet.

  Zaydan, who was quick on the uptake, said nothing more after seeing the wound on his younger brother’s face.

  “Chazra, come here and say hello. This is Auntie Karida, your father’s student. I asked her to have dinner with us while she waits.”

  At Raina’s introduction, Karida smiled gently at Chazra.

  Her gaze lingered for a moment on his eye.

  “Hello, Chazra. I’ve heard a lot about you. Is… your eye okay?”

  She asked in a gentle voice, as if checking on his feelings first rather than pointing out the wound directly.

  At her voice, Chazra unknowingly gave a small nod.

  “Alright, everyone sit. Let’s eat.”

  Ahmadi, who had come out of his room, gathered his younger brothers.

  “Where are Dad and Grandma?”

  When Zaydan asked his mother, Raina answered in a slightly softer voice, conscious of Karida.

  “Your father will be here soon, and Grandma said she’d be late because of a meeting.”

  “So if we eat it all before Dad gets here, it’s a perfect crime?”

  At Zaydan’s playful words, Chazra flared up and retorted.

  “It’s not a crime! I didn’t do anything wrong!”

  Zaydan was taken aback by the sudden anger, and Raina soothed Chazra.

  “Now, that’s enough. Don’t ask. Let’s just eat, okay? Zaydan, will you say grace today?”

  “Huh? Is it my turn already? Oh well. Great Allah, thank you for giving us this precious food today. Thank you, thank you. And… let’s eat!”

  A faint smile spread across Karida’s lips at Zaydan’s playful prayer.

  Chazra also let out a chuckle.

  “Hahaha, what kind of prayer is that?”

  “You do it then, you brat.”

  “Stop, stop. Don’t be rude to Chazra. And Zaydan, say your prayers properly next time. Everyone, let’s eat.”

  Raina settled the situation.

  Chazra was happy looking at the food before him.

  He forgot all about the throbbing of his wound and the fear of going to school tomorrow.

  The pork cutlet his mother made was more delicious than anything he had secretly eaten at school.

  “It’s not going anywhere. Eat slowly, Chazra.”

  Ahmadi said, watching his little brother gobble down his food.

  “It’s because I can’t eat it after today.”

  Zaydan chimed in.

  “There’ll be another chance. Stop talking nonsense and just eat, Zaydan.”

  “Okay, Ahmadi. But Mom, your cooking is really the best in the world. Everything is delicious!”

  Raina smiled and replied to Zaydan’s compliment.

  “Yes, I’ll make it for you sometimes, so chew your food well. It’s a secret from Grandma.”

  “Of course! And from Dad too!”

  “Why Dad? I’m sure he’d like it too.”

  At Chazra’s innocent words, all eyes at the table turned to him.

  Karida, too, looked at him with interest.

  “Dad? Dad is a strict Muslim just like Grandma. We’ll be in huge trouble if he finds out. He got really furious last time.”

  “No, he’s not. When I went to visit the lab with Dad, I saw him eating pepperoni with pork on it.”

  Chazra didn't think his dad was as devout as his grandmother.

  “What?! Really?”

  Everyone was surprised.

  Their father, who always distinguished between Halal (permitted in Islam) and Haram (forbidden in Islam), eating pork.

  It was unbelievable.

  “Sometimes, when your father is out in the world, there are times when he can’t help it. So don’t ask him about it. When you’re done, take your plates to the sink and brush your teeth.”

  Although Raina said that, she was quite taken aback herself.

  “Yes, Mom!” The three brothers answered in unison.

  It was a happy meal.

  He wasn’t afraid of Frank, Ms. Anna, or anyone else.

  'If anyone messes with my family one more time, I’ll hit them even harder than I did today.'

  Chazra brushed his teeth, making that firm resolution.

  “I’m home. I’m hungry. Something smells delicious.”

  The front door opened, and a low, authoritative voice was heard.

  'Dad.'

  The air at the happy dinner table instantly froze.

  Chazra felt a wave of fear.

  His father was usually gentle, but he raged like thunder when a rule was broken.

  What would he say when he saw his wound, and found out he had eaten the forbidden food?

  Entering the house, his father, Zahir Al-Muradi, was the very picture of a devout Muslim.

  He was clad in a white Thobe (a traditional ankle-length gown), with a white Ghutra (a square headdress) and a black Igal (a doubled cord used to secure the Ghutra) on his head.

  The white garment, similar to a lab coat, was his father’s favorite, as he said it symbolized purity.

  “Oh, Ms. Karida. You’re here.”

  His father noticed Karida first and gave a small nod.

  “Yes, Dr. Al-Muradi. I arrived a little earlier than our scheduled time.”

  Karida stood up and greeted him politely.

  “Dad!”

  Chazra broke the awkward atmosphere and clung to his father’s leg.

  Soon, his brothers, who had been resting in their rooms, also came out to the living room.

  “There, there. Have you all eaten? I’m sorry I’m a little late.”

  Zahir said, stroking the head of his youngest son clinging to his leg.

  “Yes, we’ve all eaten. You’re the only one left.”

  “Alright, it would be hard for your mother to set the table twice, so I’ll get it myself. By the way, is your grandmother not back yet?”

  “No, she said she’ll be late from her meeting.”

  “Chazra, can you let go now so I can wash up?”

  Until then, Chazra hadn't let go of his father’s leg.

  He was afraid of the anger that would erupt when his father saw his face.

  He slowly detached himself and cautiously looked up at his father.

  “No! What on earth is this!”

  Zahir's voice was instantly filled with fury upon seeing Chazra's wound.

  “Are you alright? What happened!”

  At his shout, Chazra looked like he was about to cry again.

  Zaydan shrugged as if he knew nothing, and Ahmadi, unable to watch any longer, quickly stepped forward.

  Karida, standing beside them, also looked at Chazra with worried eyes.

  “I’ve already put ointment on it, Dad. Chazra is very shaken up right now, so please don’t be too hard on him. I’ll explain everything later.”

  “Ahmadi, can’t I know too?”

  Zaydan, unable to contain his curiosity, cut in.

  “Um… later. I’ll tell you later. For now, can you and Chazra go play in your room?”

  Ahmadi said to Zaydan with a firm expression.

  At his brother’s look, Zaydan didn't ask any more questions and nodded.

  “Let’s go, Chazra.”

  Zaydan took his younger brother’s hand and slowly went up to the second-floor room.

  He hated that all of this seemed to be happening because of him.

  He hated the worried touches of his brothers, the impending anger of his father, and the nagging of his grandmother that would soon follow.

  In the end, this was all Frank’s fault.

  If he had just kept his mouth shut, everything would have been fine.

  He hated Frank. He hated Ms. Anna too.

  He hated the adults who talked about the war, he hated everything in the world.

  As soon as he got to his room, Chazra collapsed onto his bed.

  Weighed down by all these thoughts, he didn't want to do anything.

  “Chazra, can’t you tell me what happened? Why did you get hurt?”

  Zaydan, who had followed him in, asked with a worried face.

  “I don’t want to talk about it.” Chazra said bluntly, turning his head away.

  “Hey, who hit you? You want me to go beat them up?”

  Zaydan, a troublemaker, often got into fights and caused the family grief.

  “No.”

  Thinking of the chaos that erupted in the house every time his second brother got into a fight, he couldn't ask him to.

  Chazra thought this was something he had to solve himself.

  “…Um…. Then, want to play a game of chess?”

  At Zaydan’s suggestion, Chazra thought for a moment, then nodded silently.

  He habitually took out the chessboard and pieces.

  Chazra liked chess.

  He enjoyed moving the pieces as he wished.

  Just as the two were setting up the pieces, their father’s shouting erupted from downstairs.

  “Damn it! You sons of bitches! How dare you!”

  The thunderous roar startled Zaydan, and he knocked over the chess pieces.

  But Chazra, as if he had expected it, simply placed his black pawn precisely on its square, unfazed.

  It was a frequent occurrence for his father to get angry.

  “What’s going on? Did we get caught for eating the pork cutlet? What did Ahmadi say? Ah, I’m dying of curiosity.”

  Zaydan fidgeted, glancing at his younger brother.

  But Chazra just looked down at the chessboard and said quietly.

  “My turn first, I’m black.”

  “Huh? Oh, right, right.”

  The commotion downstairs grew louder.

  The pleading voice of their mother, the desperate attempts of their brother Ahmadi to stop him, and even the cautious mediation of their guest Karida all mingled together.

  A moment later, the sharp voice of their grandmother, who had returned home, was added to the mix. Zaydan, looking scared, covered his ears with both hands.

  But Chazra, as if he had no interest in the stormy world of the adults unfolding downstairs, calmly moved his pawn one square forward.

  His eyes were fixed only on the war of black and white.

  Everything was clear there.

  The strong take the weak, and the one who sees further wins.

  There were no sides, no one to blame.

  There was only calculation and power.

  “Your turn.”