Murtadha al-Tameemi, 24, is a software engineer at Facebook based in Seattle. His family lives in Canada, but thanks to Trump’s executive order he can no longer visit them for fear of losing his visa.

Anybody who says that the US borders are insecure has no clue what the borders are like for people who aren’t American citizens. The vetting is already so extreme, particularly for people born in countries on watch lists.

I grew up in Iraq, but my family fled to Jordan as refugees before settling in Canada. Because of where I was born, every single time I come to the US border I am sent to a room in the back for secondary screening, a process that takes anywhere from half an hour to four hours.

Sometimes they take my phone and look through my photos, my Facebook and emails, and ask about the people contacting me, or where I took a photo, or why was I in a particular location. If you don’t give them your phone they don’t let you into the country.

Murtadha al-Tameemi with his family when they arrived in Canada. Photograph: Murtadha Al-Tameemi

To even arrive at the border, you need to get a visa. Many people don’t know how hard it is to get one. It took me 18 months. And that’s just the document that allows you to board a plane and ask a border officer if you can come in. The only thing that’s more strict than that is a ban.

When the concept of a Muslim ban was first introduced during Trump’s campaign, people were reassuring me and saying that there are checks and balances in the system that would prevent against something like this. That made it all the more shocking.

Last week I was visiting my mother and two brothers in Vancouver. I try to spend as many weekends as possible with them because we were separated after I left to study in America. I missed all of their birthdays for eight years. My little brother was four when I left and I was dying to see him go to school on his first day. I wanted that memory. I felt tremendous guilt not being there.

My immigration lawyer told me to come back to the US immediately or risk not being able to get back into the country. I was supposed to be travelling to Tanzania this week with work but had to cancel the trip.

Murtadha al-Tameemi and his younger brother Jaafar dressed as superheroes for the Vancouver Sun Run. Photograph: Murtadha Al-Tameemi

I wanted to find out what would happen if I did leave and try to get back into the US, so I called the public phone number for the US-Canada border. The officer I spoke to said, “Don’t come. If you come right now, not only are we going to send you back but we’re also going to cancel your visa.”

He wasn’t being unkind, he was just being honest and advised me to call back if I hear things changing in the news to verify the information before making the decision to cross the border.

If my visa is cancelled, I lose my job. I would have to start all over again to get my visa back. This is not about people just waiting at the border for 90 days. You are sending us back to square one.

This is not about people just waiting at the border for 90 days. You are sending us back to square one

Something like this is hard to swallow. It’s not a little thing, it’s not a glitch or disagreement. This is a big issue of values and principles.

My background and journey to the United States play into the irony of the situation.

Ten years ago I came here, aged 15, through the Youth Exchange and Study scholarship program offered by the state department. It was approved by Congress in 2002 in the aftermath of 9/11, when Islamophobia was starting to spread and people in majority-Muslim countries were developing misconceptions about the United States. It was designed to bring students from majority-Muslim countries to live in the United States for a year and act as cultural ambassadors for their countries.

Murtadha al-Tameemi had to cancel a work trip to Tanzania because of the travel ban. Photograph: Murtadha Al-Tameemi

I was placed in a small town in Minnesota and went to school in Duluth, where many people knew nothing about Iraq apart from what the media was reporting. There was such a big gap in understanding. I was invited to church groups and schools and universities to talk about my life in Iraq. I would show pictures of my country, what we eat, how we go to school. I remember one time when someone asked me: “So do you have Walmart over there?”

In Iraq, there was no shortage of conspiracy theories about the west. When I arrived in the US I realised how much of it was foolish. When I was 10 years old there was this rumour that the US army had glasses that could see through your clothes. Every time I walked by an American Humvee or soldiers I always felt so self-conscious that they could see me naked. It’s such a silly thing to think about now.

During my year in America I integrated and learned a great deal about the American people and their generosity and kindness. I don’t remember any discrimination. I was welcomed with open arms and hearts by the community, and some of them have become like family for me. We’ve spent Thanksgiving and Christmas and other holidays together.

At the end of my year, they asked me what my life was like in the US. I had just learned the meaning of the word awakening. It captured the experience so well: I had an awakening.

Murtadha al-Tameemi now works at Facebook as a software engineer. Photograph: Courtesy of Murtadha Al-Tameemi

The program was trying to bridge the gap between the United States and the Muslim world, and I can’t see how it was anything other than a success.

Now with this executive order, the very same entity that funded that program – the state department – is being instructed to ban people from majority-Muslim countries. It’s undoing so much of the progress.

It adds insult to injury when people talk about excluding people like me as if we are a threat to this country, when we have fled the very same things this country is fearing. Whether Isis or al-Qaida, we have been the victims of their actions. My father and eldest brother were killed by a suicide bomb in Baghdad and we were forced out of our home by al-Qaida. At first we couldn’t afford to leave, so we stayed and hoped things would get better with the next election, the next government, but it didn’t. We had to leave.

I consider the US my home. I don’t want it to be wrecked by the things that wrecked my country of birth

I consider the US my home. I don’t want it to be wrecked by the things that wrecked my country of birth. I take as much interest in the national security of this country as anyone else.

It’s easy to feel discouraged when you hear officials representing the country saying “we don’t want them here”. You start thinking ‘this is what the people want’, that people like me are not welcome here.

It would not be easy for me to pack and go. I love my job and I have great ties here. But it certainly comes to mind at a time like this.

But after I first spoke out about my experience, in a Facebook post, all of a sudden I have received a huge amount of support and kindness, love and compassion, from all sorts of people. Some I haven’t even met before.

Watching the news and seeing the protesters is a refreshing reminder that the people in this country are not going to turn their backs on the immigrants contributing to society and helping to build a bright future for this country. These are the American people, these are the American values.