I think that I find a lot of my healing out in the world.

In my version of paradise, the air was always cold and the rivers ran with candy.

I swung from one place to the next, sometimes backward, sometimes forward, capitalizing on my own momentum, knowing that at some point my arms—or, more accurately, my quivering bank balance, accessed through foreign ATMs—would give out, and I’d fall to the ground.

A little goes a long way in Somalia: $5 will feed a person there for about two weeks.

I used my captors names every chance I had. It was intentional, a way of reminding them that I saw them, of pegging them, of making them see me in return.

After being in captivity for so long, I can't begin to describe how wonderful it feels to be home in Canada.

Forgiving is not an easy thing to do.