![](https://static.wixstatic.com/media/26e82c_5090610b39e84b73b72381334f32337df000.jpg/v1/fill/w_1920,h_1080,al_c,q_90,enc_auto/26e82c_5090610b39e84b73b72381334f32337df000.jpg)
Khalil Nazari
![Soura](https://static.wixstatic.com/media/26e82c_278debd53cd64d96b1724c1328d05c49~mv2.jpg/v1/fill/w_891,h_808,al_c,q_85,usm_0.66_1.00_0.01,enc_auto/Soura_MG_1174.jpg)
I don’t really count myself as a refugee any more. Maybe I am still 5% foreign. No, not even that. I have lived here for a long time and done my utmost in order not to feel like a foreigner. If you behave properly, abide by the rules, etc., then people will not point at you because of the colour of your skin.
I was 15 when I left Afghanistan. I am the eldest of the siblings, and I had to leave my family so as not to be forced into Taliban. I ended up in Denmark, made friends, found a girlfriend and a circle of people who eventually became a sort of family for me.
I have become an adult in Denmark. This is where I belong, this is where my future lies. But when I am on my own, I sometimes listen to music from my country of origin. It brings back memories of my life in Afghanistan and of who I once was. Although I am a bit out of practice with my mother tongue, there is still something strangely recognisable when I listen to it and sing along to the songs. I would like to hold onto the language so that one day I may be able to pass it on to my children. It is a part of me, and even if I must search for words and phrases, it is as if there is something in the language and the music that I understand 100%.
30 years / male / in a relationship / building engineer / project manager / Copenhagen N / from Afghanistan / came to Denmark in 2001 / residence permit same year