Twenty years ago - I was 14 - my mother, sister, brother and I fled to Baghdad in the middle of the night. To the Netherlands, where my father was waiting for us. Since then we have never spoken about this. Now that I'm the father of a Dutch son, I'm confronted with the difficulty I still have with settling down in the Netherlands. That raises questions: Why did we have to flee? And why did we never discuss the flight? I visit my family, and particularly my father, to discuss this for the first time. I ask them how they succeeded or failed in finding their home in the Netherlands. Is this how I can let go of the past to embrace a Dutch future?