1 An Intro and a Disclaimer…

The following personal essay is about boundary-crossing of a kind- for instance, the crossing of borders that exist between a past life and a current one; and the blending of stories about homes from another time, alive in memory, into new ones bursting with possibility. Significantly, it is also about the interdisciplinary borders I crossed, from literary studies to interdisciplinary social sciences- specifically, to peacebuilding and migration.

Part One of this essay is a long-ish preamble that provides some context to my research study and the rationale for situating here the extracted parts you will read in Part Two. Situating this story within a timeline: I completed my doctoral journey just before the pandemic began in 2020, and this mentioned excerpt (in Part Two) is extracted from the postscript chapter of my dissertation. In my doctoral dissertation, I use qualitative research methods-primarily interviews and focus groups- to understand the labor market experiences of racialised skilled immigrants in Canada, the specific case study geographically located in Winnipeg, Manitoba. The study also employs an autoethnographic approach where I mine my personal experiences of economic integration that were quite similar to those of my research participants. In addition to this last chapter written in a personal narrative style (the excerpted piece below), my thesis also included five brief autoethnographic vignettes, each in snapshot mode; they are all written in a creative writing style, and they serve as prologues to key chapters. Part Three is a brief summary that articulates how this intertwining of the past with the present in the context of my migration experience helps to connect the dots between who I was back then and who I believe I am today.

2 Part One: Preamble

It made sense to me to make space in this edited collection for the small but significant sliver from my doctoral study that you will read in Part Two below, for the following reasons. One, having so far been included in my dissertation only, the readership for this personal story has been limited to academic readers, i.e., graduate students and researchers with specific interest in the topic of my research study. Being situated in a hybrid collection like this one will make it accessible to a wider and more diverse readership, (including to interdisciplinary graduate students, many of whom may find it resonant). Two, written more in the style of creative nonfiction- blending the experiential with the analytic, while also bridging the autobiographical with the broader social and educational (political) contexts as it does- it could serve as an example of an autoethnographic approach that could be used to tell migration stories. Finally, as one of the objectives of this collection is to blur the boundaries between academic and non-academic writing-both in terms of the contexts that produce these texts as well as the writing style itself- it made sense to house this piece of writing within the pages of this collection.

The excerpted essay is titled “A Tribute to John Paul Lederach’s The Moral Imagination:” it is an ode to serendipity; and it expresses gratitude for the surprise appearance of happenstance (another way to describe serendipity) in our lives. To situate this discussion in a migration context, I might add that anybody who has `lived’ the migration experience knows only too well that what we `find’ along the way in our transition journeys is based as much on chance as what we might `miss.’ These hit and miss trajectories within the migration experience are so far less studied in the research; and these experiences could come in the form of key individuals-supporters from among networks of family, friends, community members, and mentors, employers, and others. They often appear also in the form of opportunities that pave our pathways into the future. Importantly, continuums between past, present and future often get disrupted when the unpredictable- or the serendipitous- enters our (migrant) lives, and we help or hinder its entrance too, based on who we are and how open we are to embracing new experiences.

To return to the original essay, a part of my doctoral dissertation, and titled, “A Tribute to John Paul Lederach’s The Moral Imagination”: “not only does it give voice to the wonder this author-I- experience at the splicing and blurring of time a phenomenon like serendipity can achieve; it is also a shout-out to my PhD journey as an international student at the time. This personal essay-autoethnographic actually- highlights the significance, and the specific opportunities as well as challenges, of this pursuit at a particular point of intellectual maturity and readiness in my life. It goes beyond the expression of purely autobiographical experience though, being as it is not only the story of my personal stressors and fears, but in it also highlighting many systemic travails and challenges implicit in the PhD journey generally faced by graduate students in Canada, as well as internationally, given the commonalities shared among academic environments globally.

Broadly, the experiences I went through, and that huge cohorts of international graduate students encounter, if they find themselves at a difficult juncture in their educational and professional journeys, are often overwhelming at multiple levels, and they could be experiences that stem from factors that are economic or social, emotional or psychological. More often than not, they are a complex concoction produced at the intersection of all these sites. As the pursuit of graduate studies at the PhD level can often remain evolving over the long haul-such is the nature of this beast - these pressures can be ongoing and impactful on several life stages for an individual, including causing identity disruptions in a fundamental sense. Any number of student networks and online platforms exist where graduate students share personal stories of their anxieties and their angst, relating not only to oppressive academic processes and rigid educational structures but also highlighting the absence of support systems; especially the lack of viable employment options after incurring huge financial loans and investing long years of their precious life in the PhD project; all this often leading to heavy psychological costs. Given the competition and the lack of economic and other infrastructural resources, most of these challenges are integral to graduate studies programs globally, and although these experiences are heterogenous, their systemic nature has the potential to impact graduate students irrespective of their ethnicity or specific visa status.

In the case of international students though, many of these stressors are exacerbated, experienced more intensely by this cohort due to the added pressures caused by migration; for instance, dealing with the unfamiliar study and work environment and with social isolation, as well as the long-term challenges of integration into the job market and also more holistically into the host country. The essay also points to interlocking and intersectional barriers that may appear in the shape of pressures in relation to deadlines and bureaucratic red tape, rigid hierarchies and a lack of inclusion within systems of higher education. All these factors can end up leading to individuals feeling trapped in systems that are oppressive, non-supportive, and punitive instead of being flexible, responsive and caring. Further, as I read this essay today, written nearly a decade ago, this storied version of those times I lived back then becomes starkly present to me, the trauma that had then emanated from the fear of a likely All But Dissertation (ABD) status suddenly becoming real once again, and in an embodied sense. My reflections are a vivid reminder of how I experienced those emotions and dilemmas when I feared that I might forever remain in that ABD limbo.

On the upside though, what stands out even more powerfully when I read this last chapter of my dissertation today is the rationale that kept me going, keeping me determined to complete the study and obtain my degree despite all odds. I am well aware that it was the same motivation that got me started on this journey in the first place that continued to fuel my passion all along. The reason that made me want to deeply understand the unique (and shared) lived experiences of economic integration that racialised skilled immigrants and newcomers were facing in Canada while digging deep into my own lived experience, using self-narrative and an autoethnographic approach, was that I wanted to employ my learnings- as a researcher and as a practitioner in the migration field- to work towards holistic transformative change. And this is exactly where John Paul Lederach enters this story too. Have patience, dear reader, you will soon learn more about the pivotal role this pioneer scholar and practitioner from the interdisciplinary Peace and Conflict Studies has played in my life.

Other important reasons for sharing this post-script chapter here relate to the alignment I note with the methodological underpinnings that guided the directions and the process of `workshopping’ the StOries Project, and for developing this edited collection, that I have discussed in Chapter Two. This last chapter of my dissertation came out of field notes, journal entries and sundry jottings, and it paints a picture of both difficult and exciting times during my doctoral journey when I suffered from writing blocks, as I often did; and although writing would come to me easily, it would not appear in the academic form I ordered it in. On one of those occasions when I agreed to succumb to my inner creative cravings, allowing the writing to choose its own favourite ways to be, the piece that follows below (in italics) is what appeared. I decided to simply learn to be grateful for the gift. This piece of writing then is, for me, an integral part of the messiness of the process that as a researcher I have learnt to respect and honor. Particularly as a part of ethnographic research methods, including in autoethnography, I believe a researcher’s field-notes can tell an important back story, although they too are a construction shaped by so many factors, like memory (which is often both selective and seductive), and hindsight too. The other reason for situating the italicised piece here is to acknowledge and give form to my intention-of giving back to my research participants, in a kind of quid pro quo gesture-in line with storywork methodologies that often guide collaborative and dialogical community-based methods in the context of indigenous research methods and practices (discussed in Chapter Two), as also other qualitative research approaches like Participatory Action Research (PAR). Similar ideologies and methodological imperatives, grounded in co-creation and reflexivity, helped create the theoretical framework that led to practices we used in workshopping and developing the chapters in the StOries collection.

So, returning to the excerpt below, in a similar spirit of reciprocity, now I share with the participants of my research study, and with all the valued readers of this collection, a small piece of my story. It is this circle of trust in which story sharing happens in indigenous traditions too, with courage that can amplify personal voice while sitting together in story sharing circles, listening with respect while waiting for your turn. When I moved to Canada from India nearly fifteen years ago, I created my first Canadian home in Winnipeg, and I experienced resonances between the cultural practices that were familiar to me and that I embodied as an immigrant; blending them as I did with cultures and practices that surrounded me in my new home.

3 Part Two: Backstory: A Tribute to John Paul Lederach’s The Moral Imagination

John Paul Lederach, for those not so familiar with the field of Conflict Resolution and Peacebuilding, is a pioneer and trailblazer in Peace Studies, and among his many books, The Moral Imagination: The Art and Soul of Building Peace (2005), is a resonant discussion about the coming together of story, serendipity, and the moral imagination as necessary pieces in the complex jigsaw world of conflict resolution and peacebuilding. As readers we are aware that we must see ourselves as truly blessed when a certain piece of writing seeks us out at that exact moment in our lives when we feel most ready to receive it. I do believe in fate, and this makes me certain that my serendipitous encounter with The Moral Imagination was meant to happen exactly when it did. I remember vividly that as part of a casual conversation, a friend mentioned she was reading this book for a course, and the topic of that particular seminar class interested me. In the middle of an already crazy schedule, I decided to do the extra reading so that auditing this class would be a meaningful experience for me. Well, long story short, I was hooked. The book triggered an epiphany, and it urged me to explore some of the confusions and dilemmas that I was experiencing at the time.

Allow me to digress, dear reader, so I may briefly share a couple of key ideas from Lederach’s seminal text, The Moral Imagination, that resonated so powerfully with me on the very first encounter. In the early phase of searching for a research method for my doctoral research study, I saw some of my struggles relating to foregrounding a personal lens in my research reflected in Lederach’s discussion in the preface of this book. He referred to the `the appearance of the personal:’ greater legitimacy, he said, was associated with the objectivity of `conclusion’ and `proposal’ in formal academic writing. Lederach’s argument validated some of the dilemmas I was experiencing but it also resolved them when he said, “When we attempt to eliminate the personal, we lose sight of ourselves, our deeper intuition, and the source of our understandings- who we are and how we are in the world. In so doing we arrive at a paradoxical destination: We believe in the knowledge we generate but not in the inherently messy and personal process by which we acquired it.” In giving voice to his own professional journey of finding a `vocational’ home in peace engineering, navigating the world of stories he lived and ideas that happened serendipitously while he experimented with innovative ways of building social change, he speaks to his own evolution as a peacebuilder, both as an academic and a practitioner.

Further, speaking of a `worldview shift,’ when referring to the conflict resolution and peacebuilding field, Lederach highlights two points. One, that the work we do in the field must be imagined in equal part being a “creative act, more akin to artistic endeavour than the technical process… while also never negating skill and technique.” Two, he goes on to explain as follows: the “the wellspring lies in our moral imagination, which I will define as the capacity to imagine something rooted in the challenges of the real world yet capable of giving birth to that which does not exist.”

I will return to Lederach later, but I seek now the permission of my patient reader to indulge me through this last ramble… As this dissertation has already stated, and demonstrated, one of the intersectional identity frames within which my life’s journey has been locked in the last few years is that of a graduate student pursuing an interdisciplinary PhD program. It is my second doctoral journey, no less, the first being in Literary Studies, I confess under my breath, almost ashamed and guilty. Further, my identity was additionally defined by my ABD (All But Dissertation) status for more years than considered reasonable by decision-making bodies like the Faculty of Graduate Studies; and this meant that I had to go through bureaucratic procedures time and again to request for additional time for completion. To be honest, for me too, this additional time-to-completion that this prolonged PhD journey was taking was no cake walk! I felt the weight continuously as I lugged this heavy burden for what seemed like a timeless forever; on unproductive (writing) days the challenges outweighed the joys of achievement.

“To be or not to be,” agonised the bard of Avon, and speaking through his Hamlet a few centuries ago, he spoke for all of us who live the human condition bit by bit every day. For me, more specifically I recall, I asked often, to do or not to do: do I bring this ever so relentless PhD journey to its logical completion, arriving at destination degree, or shall I quit before finish line? I asked this key question over and over, in the true spirit of ‘she loves me, she loves me not!’ (Repeating the refrain as I plucked out each petal off the stem). Do I love it, do I hate it? I know not! On difficult days, self-doubt assailed me. Do I have all it takes to rein in this monster so much bigger than myself? Indeed, the dilemma was alive and well, and these dark clouds traveled with me some distance. There was some clearing though and the following rumination came during those quiet moments of reflection, the kaleidoscope revealing another piece of my story.

I came to Canada as a `trailing spouse.’ Although I was the principal applicant for permanent residency, the process took so many years that eventually my partner got a job offer before our family application for permanent residence was approved; and we moved to Canada on his work permit. As it turned out, I switched categories, transitioning from trailing spouse to international student when I decided to go back to school, enrolling in a PhD program in Peace and Conflict Studies at University of Manitoba. Although immigration policies are structured pathways through which to streamline cross border ebbs and flows, they impact lives of individuals and families in different configurations. They play out in unique and specific ways in the lives of immigrants and are not always straightforward, just as integration is a non-linear process that does not follow the path of a straight line.

It seems now an impetuous and not-so-well-considered an act, when moving to Canada as part of a family move after working- and fully enjoying the gratifying experience as an educator and an academic with tenure in another part of the world- I made this bold career move as a way to define my second professional innings. I enrolled in an interdisciplinary PhD program with social justice and potential-for-real-action-oriented engagement at its core. Friends aggressively forbade such an unlikely choice, well-wishers shook their heads with dismay, professional colleagues said, oh just write a book instead, family members refused to bless the move, but free-spirit-me was defiant. Who was anybody to discourage me, I reiterated to myself as I dismissed all advice. I was sure I wanted nothing to do with nay-sayers; so convinced was I at the time that this was for me, that this indeed was the integral “me” I was born to pursue, that I threw all caution to the winds. I felt liberated by the heavy student backpack, perfectly satisfied with my life as a grad student the second time around, sitting on the other side of the room again, soaking in new pedagogies, pursuing my dreams, and fully enjoying this gift of new experiences my fortunate life had brought me. Life couldn’t get better, I thought to myself. Truth be told, it’s been an amazing and variegated roller coaster ride, one that helped me find not just new ways of thinking, new tools and methodologies to learn about life, but also different ways of being me through finding new work-related directions, and countless intellectual and emotional friendships.

It is the aspiration to go back to school with the gift of experiential maturity that can sometimes be the lure, and it may be the luxury of finally finding time in one’s life-odyssey to take stock of oneself in mid-life that may further urge an individual to push the bounds of self-discovery. I also thought I was taking a break from teaching, so, instead of educating others, I was circling back towards learning for myself the many things that I had no clue about. And all this at a stage in my adulthood when I knew I had more of the ingredients in me that would help me value and appreciate such a rare gift. Looking back, it may also have been the seductive power of pursuing intellectual challenges, seeking book-adventures and new ideas that made this such an attractive option. By the way, I also thought I was taking a wonderful break, pursuing guilty reading pleasures that so-far in my busy work life there was little in-built room for. Now, with better understanding I say, PhD a break? Hell, no! What was I thinking??

So, I ask myself, what’s the worst part of pursuing doctoral studies, for me at any rate, at this stage of my life? Perhaps others in a similar situation struggle with their own issues, and nurse their own grouses, which translate into reasons for procrastination for them. Without really getting into the specifics for a moment, I think it’s fair to point towards the time factor inherent in such a pursuit. How long a haul can this be? The problem is that for some, the bookends of this wonderful rites de passage, in other words, the time you start and when you finish, may have nothing to do with each other in terms of where you’re at in the trajectory of your bigger life! And the fact too is that the place where you `actually’ are at, in your life, is the real story! And this might include the family in which you are perhaps the primary care-giver and the provider, the cook and the cleaner, and this, and that; and all those multiple and multilayered roles you have no choice but to play while also researching for and writing what seems at this time like your magnum opus!

And there’s the aspect of life-stages too. As I mentioned earlier, since this study- and this doctoral journey- came for me at a somewhat later stage of my life, following a previous full career as an academic in another country, most friends and colleagues who were/still are a part of my previous-life are now relaxing, enjoying travels to exotic destinations as they have retirement pensions saved up. Many seem to have found new vocations in their grandchildren, living (seemingly) simple and stress-free lives reading them bedtime stories, or they may be busy just checking off long-left-undone items off their bucket list. As for me, I’m secretly hatching (also exploring and pursuing) plans for my next gig, thinking of what new (work) adventures I can have till one day I cannot…

Certainly, while I wander in these dreamy pastures I do also worry about real-life obstacles like ageism, another barrier to employment in addition to racism, sexism, both for me and many of my research participants. Other challenges to economic integration, part of the findings in my dissertation, for instance, are the usual suspects like underemployment and unemployment, slow credential recognition and licensing processes, as well as systemic barriers like the lack of Canadian experience, and other forms of discrimination in the job market.

Grad school aspirants, I have no advice for you as your life story I’m sure is different from mine, and you must indeed live and learn life lessons on your own terms. But if you’re considering embarking on such a journey, remember the difficulties that overlapping lives might cause. The PhD will live with you, hogging extra space amidst your everyday joys and sorrows as you live and work, among your families, communities, and the world at large. Besides, oftentimes I find it is the work we do outside PhD parameters that fuels fires that keeps the breath warm, adrenaline rushing, and the heart pulsating. And then, as life wears on, uncertainties of timelines; the aggressive nature of commitment this endeavour can demand with complete disregard for the passing on of seasons outside your window year after year; and all this at the exclusion of everything else called life may be only some factors that make it seem like an arduous journey. A rigid and pre-arranged finished tome in a certain pre-designed format, called a dissertation, that we as grad students sign up to produce by way of finished product can seem stifling. Oftentimes we may not consider how we may change and evolve as human beings and need different forms of self-expression.

Lederach is playing his part in my inward tussle, and so he must re-enter the conversation at this point. With kind clarity, honesty and openness, he asked me a question in The Moral Imagination, one of my favourite books ever. I must admit it was a question I had lost sight of, a question nearly buried under piles of data, the weight of deadlines, and the gravitas of having to string together, and coherently, hundreds of pages of academic writing. Lederach caught me unawares, as he asked, almost in a gentle whisper: ‘why is it we do this work and what sustains us’ (x)? His question helped another raise its ugly head inside of me: in dealing with the need to produce a well-researched finished product that must pass the rigour test, is the clock ticking away too fast for me, thereby pushing towards rigor mortis new ideas and transformative action plans that may inspire social change if implemented right away? Needless to add, if I continue to put my life on hold, and myself in abeyance, am I not missing out on meaningful opportunities that walk past me every day? If I don’t permit myself to take a walk on this beautiful summer day, life will indeed pass me by. It will forget me as I sit at my desk trying to make it to the final point on the finish line. Worse, that point may not be the endgame at all but just another turning point in the winding road or worse still, yet another mirage.

Lederach reasonably argues for the need to ‘hold (myself) close to the actual messiness of ideas, and processes, and then from such a vantage point, speculate about the nature of our work and the lessons learned’(x). Now that makes sense as such a view is respectful of authenticity, growth, and change. Such a statement rings true as it affirms the dynamism and dialectics inherent in life, and elementally during the pursuit of this research project too. It also acknowledges that our potential for self-actualization and our needs, both personal and professional, are contingent on other life-factors because these criss-cross in their intersectionality. In being so, they are subject to change not only because we cannot always decide who we will become when we “grow up,” but also because we have little control on the forces around us that impact this direction in which we grow. And so the forms in which our aspirations and goals may truly be realised and made authentic are bound to take new shapes. In fact, Lederach’s words in the above statement resonate simply because they acknowledge and legitimate everyday “messiness” at the heart of living as the only way to be; and dealing with this is perhaps about reflecting with absolute honesty on the logic of having fractured, provisional, and dynamic lives. We may then be more willing to think about really legitimate and good reasons for deciding to stop the PhD journey before arriving at the finish line if that’s what we want to do. Maybe the ABD milestone is a really important destination in and of itself, or if we re-calibrate the PhD journey, plotting it as on a continuum, at least it’s a valid point of arrival with no compromises that need be made to self-esteem. And then, if, as graduate students, some of us strugglers, though certainly not stragglers, are able to speak to this loud and clear, with good examples of what we do even as we end up not finding that holy grail, we may help move the ABD-point from a conversation tainted by deficit to one about strength, and then live it proudly as a badge of honour. Maybe that may help take away some of the structural shame, stigma and inadequacy associated with ABD status.

In other words, if living with a PhD seems akin to being in a long relationship that has outlived its place in your life, maybe it’s time to move on. If the relationship no longer provides you with the sustenance you deserve, at the least find the courage to ask yourself why you’re in it. I’m doing just that! Of late I have begun to tell myself: maybe the possibilities of finding that joy of nurture are endless, but they may not come to me while I chain myself to my desk. Besides, it is a sticky problem and indeed a real challenge to straddle contrary spaces, to be both thinkers and doers simultaneously and at once, as many today in academia, and indeed outside of it, may wish to be. We are aware that the ranks of scholar-practitioners and pracademics are growing every day, and the feedback loop between the two is becoming more fluid, seamless, and meaningful, at least in some fields of study. The rise of interdisciplinary studies in the last few years has much to do with this. This dialectical space is also being more valued and evidenced to be life-affirming for those who find their work and life’s purpose in that dual space. Policy makers are also proactively seeking out engaged research, and academics and others who believe in it; as they need good data to write policies that may be more likely to affect systemic change. Where does data and empirical evidence live if not in people’s lives, and so stories of grassroots work and of community networks and practices are of great interest to scholar-practitioners, as they are to academics and governments. However, in practical terms, given the pressures of a twenty-four-hour clock and other constraints, it is not always easy to multitask efficiently and be that trapeze-artist who doesn’t fall off the wire. And aren’t there dangers of something being lost in this everyday tug of war? In other words, what change do we need to see in the halls of academia so they may be nimble and more responsive to work being done by pracademics? But that perhaps is stuff that belongs in another conversation.

It is certainly true that Lederach has caught me in my tracks. He has insisted that while I write this dissertation, and especially on days when I struggle with it, I pause and I ask myself what it is that moves me forward, and what pulls me back. Also, he urges that I pay attention to the story, to the presence of serendipity, and of happenstance with which an idea can suddenly spring a surprise, and the need always for critical reflection in the work I do. His words nudge me on, albeit in a subtle manner, while they remind me too that as practitioners of conflict resolution, we are also social theorists and philosophers who continuously must ask “root” questions. My musings reiterate to me that many roads can take me to the destination I want to get to but that above all I must believe in the work I do, and know what drives me onwards. Most significantly, it is less about the avatar I take on in my life’s journey and more about being clear about the rationale I have for the work I do.

Well, thank you dear John Paul Lederach, for this opportunity for rumination, reflection, and rejuvenation. It is important to renew your vows, I figure, if they continue to mean something. And so, I return to my PhD project, reiterating once more my avowal of our love-hate relationship. But I also come back to a new page in my life, refreshed and centred once more, hoping the writing will come easier this time round!

4 Part Three: Revealing an Epilogue of Sorts

This section will be short, dear reader, as you have had enough, no doubt. Sharing the above reflections with you, though, especially through situating them simultaneously in the context of the past and of the present, helps me acknowledge and affirm John Paul Lederach’s critical message because it resonates with the peacebuilder that lives inside me. Perhaps the best way to conclude this personal essay is in Lederach’s own words. Writing The Moral Imagination in the shadow of 9/11, he talks of turning points as “moments pregnant with new life, which rise from what appear to be the barren grounds of destructive violence and relationships. This unexpected new life makes possible processes of constructive change in human affairs and constitutes the moral imagination without which peacebuilding cannot be understood or practiced. However, such pregnant moments do not emerge through the application of a technique or a recipe (but) must be explored and understood in the context of something that approximates the artistic process, imbued as it is with creativity, skill, serendipity, and craftsmanship.” (p. 29).

As a migration practitioner and researcher, this message fuels my imagination with energy and it makes me courageous. It also gives me permission to go beyond the known, the accepted and the established, and definitely against the grain of that which is assumed and entrenched. I aspire and I dream; I am curious- to explore and to innovate though always with respect, with heart and with humanity. Also, I see Lederach’s moral imagination as reflected in his book, as being integral, not just to the world of peacebuilding but to the everyday world which we inhabit-both personal and professional- and his message could illuminate a pathway towards the goal of continuously trying to be our authentic whole selves wherever we travel, for work or for play.

Finally, this vignette is a story of migration and of identity making. As a newcomer to Canada, I too made decisions without really knowing how they might define me and shape my destiny years later. As previously mentioned, I have told little autobiographical tales throughout my doctoral study, planting and interspersing them as snapshots in between stories of my participants, to create the narrative arc that holds together my research. I have done this to make “real,” both my unique migration trajectory, and the idea of autoethnography. The theme of my story is doubly relevant in this hybrid collection as it also aligns well with the content, focus, and contribution it aims to make, especially as it relates to the role and the potential of self-narrative, creative writing and other expressive modes like storytelling and autoethnography for exploring migration related themes.