No one prepares you for leaving. They tell you about the homesickness that will plague you upon arrival, the culture shock that you think youâve gotten over until one day you find yourself confused once again, the infuriating nature of international bureaucracy that is made all the worse by a language barrier. But no-body tells you what itâs like to leave, how to deal with the cocktail of emotions running through you, and over which you have no control. On one side you welcome it, wishing with all your might that you were in own country, where you not constantly checking your grammar or your cultural interactions, where no-body mocks you for your funny accent, where no one bats an eyelid at your appearance, where youâre not made to feel like an outsider. You long for the comforts of home. Yet at the same time you cannot escape the inevitable sense of dread, the dread that once there you wonât fit in, that whilst speaking English youâll suddenly throw in a Mexican slang term, youâll introduce yourself a la mexicana, hugging and kissing anyone and everyone, and immediately out yourself as âthe one that got awayâ yet came back. Youâre stressed and begin to overthink: how will I get everything home? What if my flight is delayed? Does my insurance cover me for this? What if Iâm not allowed back in the country? What if Iâm not allowed to leave? But the worst is yet to come: you are overwhelmed with sadness at the thought of leaving those you have become so close to and whose friendships have crossed all cultural divides. What do you mean I only have two weeks left with these amazing people to whom I have become so close and without I canât imagine my life? Of course I have wonderful friendships waiting for me back in the UK, friendships full of love and endless chats catching up on everyoneâs adventures. But that doesnât stop the unbelievable emptiness you feel at having to say goodbye, even if it is only temporary. Youâve made this your home, and now you must say goodbye again to yet another piece of your heart which remains there.
Thatâs what being an immigrant is: leaving a little of your heart behind in every place you live. Although your heart is growing with every new experience, every new friendship gained, it is also constantly breaking when the time comes to bid these experiences and friendships adieu. It is a frankenstein heart if you will, make up of fragments each showing a new love and heartbreak youâve experienced during your nomadic existence. It doesnât belong here nor there, it is in a constant state of limbo, much like you. But thatâs the life of an immigrant I suppose, and although the most rewarding experience in the world, it’s not without its trials and tribulations. I just didnât think leaving would be the biggest one yet.
