Iraqi Kurdistan

I kept coming back to Iraqi Kurdistan like a restless ghost, weaving friendships and laughter into the dust of towns scarred by decades of conflict. I walked streets where echoes of war are as persistent as the cries of kids at play — joy and despair writhing in the same breath.

Iraq is an open wound trying to heal, but damage races ahead of recovery; until the ground stops bleeding oil, peace will remain a distant, half-believed rumor.