Hassan al-Kontar has been living in Canada for just under a month. But the Syrian refugee – who made global headlines after becoming stranded in a Malaysian airport for more than eight months in 2018 – is so busy with media requests that he jokes he has only managed to get out into the snow a handful of times.

“It’s very much like living in the airport, all the interviews. But obviously you cannot compare the two of them,” says Kontar, 37. “Whistler is an amazing place. There is nothing but nature, fresh air, wonderful people and beautiful snow.”

Kontar was working in Dubai when war broke out in Syria in 2011. Knowing he would be forced to fight if he went back home, Kontar stayed in the UAE after his passport and work visa both expired, and was eventually deported to Malaysia. After being refused entry to Cambodia, Ecuador, Malaysia and Turkey, Kontar – a pacifist and minority Druze from Sweida province – found himself stranded in the arrivals section of Kuala Lumpur airport, a transit zone without restaurants or shops. For eight months, he slept under stairwells, showered in a disabled toilet and ate donated airline meals.

Facebook Twitter Pinterest Hassan al-Kontar in Kuala Lumpur airport. Photograph: courtesy of Hassan al-Kontar

He feels lucky to have been granted asylum – a status achieved with the help of a few Canadians he calls his “avenger team”, who sponsored him privately for resettlement. Yet he always carries the weight of knowing that though he has made it to safety, many others have not.

“The guilt. The guilt is always there,” he sighs. “I am still receiving hate comments, and that is very hard. … But the hate is strong, especially from Malaysia and the Arab world, even from Syria – they always find something to criticise. For some I betrayed my country, for others I’m a coward who ran away from his duties.”

He fights the negativity by trying to find solutions. He lobbies on behalf of detainees in Manus Island, Australia’s offshore detention centre, speaks in Canadian schools about his experience and is using his story to push wider knowledge about what is happening back at home in Syria. But he also recognises his own limitations.

“The more I learn [about how to help], the more confused I get. What can I do? I am limited in my power,” he says. “But I need to be positive, for me and my family, and for other refugees. We learn from our mistakes and we find strength in ourselves. I try to tell everyone there’s a hero inside each of us … you need to believe in what you are doing.”

Kontar is now living with one of own his real-life heroes, Laurie Cooper, a media relations consultant from Whistler who, along with some friends, organised Kontar’s resettlement. Kontar even got his own version of a Hollywood ending to a story that has drawn multiple comparisons to Steven Spielberg’s The Terminal: his asylum papers came through just in time for Christmas.

He lives in a log cabin on the edge of the woods with Cooper, her family and their pets, and is treated as a minor celebrity whenever they go into town. “He’s been very warmly welcomed by the community here,” says Cooper. “We cannot walk around the village without people coming up to say hello, give him a hug, welcome him to Whistler, buy him a coffee or give him a high five.”

Kontar believes it is people like Cooper, who has helped with more than 30 refugee resettlements to Canada, who will turn things around in a world increasingly hostile to migrants and refugees. “When it comes to organisations, or the United Nations, or global systems, they have failed us – not only us as Syrians but the Yemeni, Iraqi, Rohingya, everyone who needs help,” Kontar says. “I’m trying to focus on the normal people who enjoy their normal lives from their normal living rooms. They can make a difference if they decide to: all we have to do is educate them, enlighten them about what is happening, and show them how they can help.”

Kontar points to his own story: despite his many international interviews from Kuala Lumpur airport, only one refugee lawyer volunteered to help with his case; in the end, it was the only one he needed. “If there’s anyone who’s willing to help anyone anywhere, please try to volunteer, try to help, try to do something,” he urges. “People read these stories [about migrants] and feel sad and then hesitate, but it’s not that difficult. You can do it. You can help.”

Facebook Twitter Pinterest Hassan al-Kontar with Laurie Cooper, who helped organise his resettlement, after arriving in Vancouver, in November 2018. Photograph: Canadian Press/REX/Shutterstock

Kontar has not seen his family for a decade. He watched from afar as friends and family in Syria married and had children. War broke out. His father died. His city came under attack from Isis. And all the while, he was thinking, “I am not there,” he says.

“I could not be there. That is a sadness that makes you feel it will never leave you, it will break you or leave you damaged. I feel now like I’m running out of time, like I need to make them happy, like I want them to taste what I’m tasting right now.”

The hope is that one day, maybe they will join him in Canada. But for the moment, Kontar is happy to have been adopted into the Cooper family – and the Coopers are glad to have him.

“We’d been in almost daily contact for seven months before he was detained and I felt I really knew him, even though we’d never met,” says Cooper. “When I finally gave him a hug, it felt like my son had come home.”

“You can feel the love in this house,” agrees Kontar. “Everyone is very supportive and they are all wonderful people. So I feel 100% like I am at home.”