Born in Malaysia, Bosnian by blood: Meet the brothers winning hearts online [WATCH]

WHAT makes a place feel like home? Is it the soil where one's ancestors are buried, or the ground where one finally feels safe enough to dream?

I find my answer inside the living room of the Hodzic family — the household of social media content creator Fehim Hodzic, widely known online as @fehimhodziccc.

A former corporate worker turned full-time creator, he has built a following of hundreds of thousands on TikTok and Instagram with his fluent Malay, viral videos and light-hearted cultural banter alongside his younger brother, Hamza.

On TikTok alone, the brothers have nearly 700,000 followers and more than 16.1 million likes.

From the moment I step across the threshold, the hospitality is warm, generous and seemingly boundless. Before long, the living room table is laden with Bosnian delicacies.

"Do you want to eat first? My mother made baklava and burek for you," is the first question I hear after sitting down. I laugh, because that's precisely how Malaysian parents treat a guest: food first, conversation later.

The comforting aromas and rich flavours of the delicacies, along with the easy laughter filling the living room, quickly wash away any lingering awkwardness. I feel thoroughly welcome, as though I'm sitting in my own home.

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Yet, as the conversation moves from traditional delicacies to personal histories, something deeper begins to emerge.

It's not only the taste of their heritage that leaves an impression on me, but the way they speak about Malaysia. When Fehim, his brother, Hamza, and their father, Nermin, talk about the country, they do not speak of it merely as a place where they live. They call Malaysia home.

Hearing a family that survived the dark horrors of the 1990s Balkan War speak of this land with such deep-rooted affection strikes a powerful chord.

It sparks a sudden realisation: home is far more than a geographical coordinate or the country listed on a birth certificate. It's a much wider, more fluid concept, shaped by safety, gratitude and community — a place where the soul finds peace.

More than that, listening to them makes me pause and reflect. As they recount the everyday details of life in Malaysia, I realise how much we, as Malaysians, take for granted simply because we've grown up with it, lived with it and become accustomed to it.

FROM THE SHADOW OF WAR

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In the early 1990s, Nermin was a fourth-year veterinary student living in Croatia when war broke out across the former Yugoslavia.

Driven by a sense of duty to his homeland and family, Nermin returned to Bosnia in 1992 as the conflict escalates.

"We tried to organise ourselves," recalls Nermin, his voice dropping slightly as he looks back on those heavy years. "But we didn't have any arms, just some hunting rifles, shotguns and a few guns. On the other side, the army had tanks and transporters. You cannot fight against tanks when you have nothing."

By late 1992, during a major offensive by opposing forces, Nermin and his comrades were ambushed and captured.

He spent months as a prisoner in a concentration camp, surviving only after the International Red Cross discovered the camp's existence — a twist of fate that spared his life when so many others were executed.

After his release, Nermin was offered the opportunity to pursue higher education abroad through a humanitarian initiative supported by the Malaysian government. He took it, seeing Malaysia as a chance for safety, stability and a new life.

But convincing his young wife to make the journey halfway across the world came with its own light-hearted misunderstanding, even amid the tragedy.

"I remember telling her, 'I'm going to Malaysia and if you're okay, come with me. We'll start a new life there'," recalls Nermin, chuckling softly, before adding: "She didn't hear me properly. She replied, 'No, I don't want to go to Somalia!' I had to tell her, 'No, no, not Somalia… Malaysia!'"

In late 1993, the couple arrived in Kuala Lumpur with little more than a couple of suitcases and a firm determination to rebuild their lives.

Nermin enrolled at the International Islamic University Malaysia (IIUM), beginning at its Petaling Jaya campus before moving to the main campus in Gombak. He earned a Bachelor's degree in Communications, specialising in Public Relations, followed by a Master's in Organisational Communication in 2001.

Though trained in communication, Nermin eventually found himself in logistics and supply chain management.

Over the next 2½ decades, he worked briefly as a lecturer before spending most of his career in the corporate world, including stints with Watsons Malaysia, 7-Eleven Malaysia and Al-Ikhsan Sports.

Of these, he speaks most passionately about his years with Watsons and 7-Eleven. Today, he's a senior supply chain consultant with LCAS.

Over the years, Nermin took his family to live in several other countries, but his heart remained firmly rooted in Malaysia.

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Says Nermin: "For me, Malaysia was a developing country that had a voice for those facing injustice. It has maintained that stance throughout the time I've been here. I was always amazed by how Malaysia continued to develop steadily and keep moving forward. I saw how Malaysia stood with Palestine, and I still remember how vocal Tun Dr Mahathir Mohamad was during the war in Bosnia. He was so outspoken for us!"

He adds: "I worked at Carrefour for almost eight or nine years, and during that time, I often found myself thinking about Malaysia. Perhaps it was the diversity, the peacefulness and, especially, the tolerance Malaysians have for people of different religions, cultures and races. That sense of unity and mutual understanding was something I rarely found anywhere else in the world."

It was during this time in Malaysia that their first daughter was born, followed by Fehim, another sister and, finally, Hamza. All the siblings were born and raised in Malaysia.

GROWING UP BETWEEN WORLDS

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Born in Kajang and raised in the bustling town of Serdang, Fehim's childhood could easily belong to any local child.

"I grew up as what people call orang kampung," he jokes, slipping effortlessly into fluent Malay, complete with a distinctly Selangor accent.

He recalls: "When we were small, my friends were Malay, Chinese and Indian. We'd go out at 9am, play by the drains, catch tadpoles and only come home just before Maghrib prayers. It was a safe, special environment."

Fehim attended local schools, immersing himself in Malaysian culture from an early age. His fluency in Malay eventually became so natural that anyone hearing him speak over the phone, without seeing his face, would assume he was a native Malay speaker.

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For 14-year-old Hamza, however, the experience is quite different. Born 16 years after Fehim, he's growing up in a different era and attends an international school.

Raised primarily in an English-speaking environment, Hamza understands Malay well, but speaking it fluently remains a work in progress — a difference that has become a source of endless banter between the brothers.

As Fehim chats away in fluent Malay, he jokingly asks Hamza if he understands everything being said. "He understands half of it," Fehim chuckles, looking at Hamza. "Not bad!"

"In school, we learn basic Malay, such as colours, weather and time," Hamza explains, adding: "I have Malay friends, but when we play games or hang out, everyone speaks English. So, it's hard to practise saying long sentences."

BIRTH OF A VIRAL BROTHERHOOD

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That linguistic contrast between Fehim and Hamza eventually became the unlikely foundation of Fehim's social media career.

Fehim's journey as a content creator began while he was working gruelling 11-hour shifts in customer service.

From 11pm to 8am, he worked his corporate job. Then, instead of sleeping, he spent the hours between 8am and 2pm recording videos for Omegle and OmeTV, pranking strangers by starting conversations in perfect English before suddenly switching to Malay. The bewildered and often hilarious reactions quickly went viral.

Seeing the potential in his comedic timing, Fehim left his job to become a full-time content creator. But his videos took on a new dimension when he brought his younger brother into the frame.

The dynamic is simple: Fehim, the intense, fast-talking older brother, tries to teach — or force — the quieter, English-speaking Hamza to navigate everyday Malaysian life in Malay. Their natural sibling rivalry strikes a chord with millions across TikTok and Instagram.

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Beaming, Fehim shares: "People ask me, 'Bang, why are you always angry at Hamza in the videos?' Because I have to repeat the same sentence 10 times for him! But honestly, making content with him isn't just about views. It's about sibling reality. In Malaysia, nobody is really showcasing the raw, unfiltered relationship between brothers like this."

For Hamza, despite the occasional "scolding" on camera, the experience has brought him closer to his older brother.

Smiling shyly, Hamza concedes: "It is fun. It builds our connection because we spend more time together making videos instead of just staring at our phones all day. And when he scolds me, it actually helps me learn the words better."

Balancing an 11-hour work shift with content creation is exhausting, but the reason he perseveres is simple. His face brightens as he shares: "There are followers who message me saying my videos make their hard days a little lighter. That's what truly keeps me going."

WHAT WE FORGET TO NOTICE

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As the conversation deepens, the Hodzic family begins describing the everyday things about Malaysia that make them love the country, and it is here that my own realisation hits hardest.

We, as Malaysians, move through our daily lives surrounded by blessings we rarely stop to appreciate simply because they have always been there.

We complain about the traffic and the heat, or scroll past familiar local scenery without a second thought. But through the eyes of a family that has lived through so much, Malaysia looks entirely different.

"If you go outside here, anywhere you go, if you ask something or talk to someone, everyone is going to smile at you," Nermin observes, adding: "If you go to Europe or elsewhere, the way people talk and move can feel harsh. But here, you just feel welcome."

Nodding, Fehim chips in: "People born here sometimes don't realise how blessed this country is. You can go out at 1am or 2am to a mamak stall, sit down with your friends, order a teh tarik and just talk freely without worrying about safety or war. You can go to sleep at night without fear of bombs dropping. That freedom, that peace, we take it for granted, but it is a massive blessing."

LOOKING TO THE FUTURE

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From Nermin's quiet corporate career spanning three decades to Fehim and Hamza's social media stardom, their lives have unfolded alongside a changing Malaysia — a country that, for this family, has come to mean far more than a place to live.

As the afternoon draws to a close and I prepare to leave, the warmth of their hospitality lingers.

Nermin, Fehim, Hamza and their mother, who has poured her love into the homemade dishes filling the table, have given me more than Bosnian food and funny stories. They've given me a different way of looking at home.

For a moment, my own country feels newly familiar. The traffic, the heat, the everyday frustrations fade into the background, replaced by an awareness of the small freedoms and quiet blessings we so easily overlook.

And perhaps that's the greatest gift of meeting people who chose Malaysia as home: they remind those of us who were born here to see what we have through fresh eyes.

"Malaysia gave us a second life," Nermin tells me, words that stay with me long after I leave.