A loaf of bread. A stuffed giraffe. A mother’s love. A child’s concern.

Photographer Gregg Segal’s “Un-Daily Bread Project” with the United Nations Refugee Agency, launched in 2019, depicts Venezuelan refugees lying on the ground, surrounded by the totality of what they’re able to carry on long journeys of forced migration.

“Those images were powerful—they showed much more than could be seen at first glance,” says Argentine author and journalist Eugenia Perrella, who felt as though the people depicted were looking directly at her. “As I observed them, surrounded by water bottles, bread, cookies, photographs, and toys, I knew that the story I wanted to tell would be shaped by those images. They showed me that, in addition to everything visible, the intangible things that we cannot see or touch are the most powerful.”

Perella’s new children’s book, My Home Is in My Backpack (Floris, 2025) is narrated by a young girl whose family is forced to flee their home country, alongside many others, illuminating the importance of “the invisible things [we] carry in [our] hearts,” no matter where we go. In a starred review, Kirkus calls this powerful picture book, illustrated by Angela Salerno and translated by Sally Polson, “both poignant and buoyant: a touching tribute to love and the endurance of the human spirit.” Prior to the U.S. military operation in Venezuela, Perrella corresponded with Kirkus via email. Polson translated Perrella’s answers from Spanish, and the exchange has been edited for length and clarity.

My Home Is in My Backpack is inspired by real‑life stories of people forced to migrate from Venezuela. What’s forcing their migration?

In most cases, stories we hear of migration are driven by people’s desperate wish to find a better place to live. Whether it’s because of war, a climate disaster, or an economic or political crisis, migrants are always searching for a safe place to live with dignity. In the case of Venezuelans, I believe the political and economic crisis was, and continues to be, so severe that the number of migrants has reached record levels. The Venezuelan diaspora is among the largest in the world. According to estimates from 2025, almost 8 million Venezuelans are living outside their country as refugees, migrants, or people in need of protection.

The book is narrated by Clara, a girl whose family is forced to leave their home. Alongside other families, they walk in search of a safe place to live. What would you like readers to know about Clara?

Clara is a girl who, like any other child her age, has the right to a safe and happy childhood. But Clara’s life, like that of millions of children around the world, is forced to change from one day to the next as migration runs through it. The need to find a better place to live compels her to leave her birthplace, her land, her home. She doesn’t want to leave, and she’s afraid, but she faces it with great courage, along with a sense of innocence and hope that often only children are capable of. Clara understands that what she carries in her heart is the most precious treasure she can have. If she learns to recognize and value this, it will always stay with her, wherever she goes, even when the path ahead becomes more difficult.

Of the five members of Clara’s family, one is canine. Why did you choose to include a nonhuman family member?

I believe the presence of Clara’s dog throughout the story is essential. Coco seems to understand Clara, or at least she believes he does. She tells him her feelings. In a way, she projects and puts her own emotions into words through Coco. Her dog is her confidant, and through him she finds a way to express feelings that she otherwise couldn’t.

How did you and illustrator Angela Salerno work together to bring Clara’s story to life?

While I was writing this story, I kept adding images and documents to my archive about Latin American migrants. Each image enriched the story more, giving me opportunities to get closer to the characters I was creating. I tried to put myself in the migrants’ shoes; I felt they were very brave.

When I finished the story and spoke with Angela, I shared all this material with her so she could also draw inspiration from it. She did her own research as well, and together all that journalistic and artistic research gave life to the very real and endearing characters you see in the book.

The illustrations don’t just show people, they also depict very real settings. When I look at Clara, her family, and each of the people in the book, they remind me so much of those photographs I had looked at so many times. I can recall their gestures, their shapes, and the way they group together to feel protected.

I have a Venezuelan migrant friend who lives in Buenos Aires, and when I showed her some images from the book before it was published, she became very emotional when she saw one of the characters. She looked at me and said, “This man is exactly like my father.” I feel that this book creates those special connections that can’t be explained with words.

Where is home for you? What is home for you?

Buenos Aires, Argentina, is without a doubt my home. I love this place, and if I had to identify my land, my roots, it would be here. But I know that if I were ever forced to leave this place, without a doubt, I could carry my home with me. Because my home is my children, Mia, Valentín, and Lucía; Gastón, my life partner; my mom and dad; my sister and brother; my nephew and nieces; all my family and friends. But beyond people, I build my home with my memories: the stories my grandmother told me, the strength of my grandparents, my childhood games, the scents that at every step bring memories back to me. And then there are the things I love: books, writing stories and imagining new ideas; my favorite music, flamenco; collecting pointless things; and so much more.

I’d love your response to a question we asked author Leila Boukarim in our 2025 International Issue: “Why is it important that young people be exposed to international literature?”

I believe literature opens borders, blurs imposed boundaries, and transforms them into knowledge and imagination. It’s so necessary to immerse ourselves in new stories, to enter other worlds with the feeling that those worlds, which feel so distant, can be ours for a while. Diversity teaches, builds empathy, and helps bring our stories closer together, even unites them at times. When we bring stories together, we bring feelings closer, we learn about other cultures and customs, and our differences no longer feel so different. The idea of “the other” begins to fade, joining and blending into something better. That, at least, is my hope. I’m sure young people and new generations can make it happen.

Editor at large Megan Labrise hosts the Fully Booked podcast.