I left my home because it couldn’t sustain my life for much longer. Being in that place was killing me. So I left, I went far away and now I’m pursuing the deepest desire of my soul. It’s a beautiful life in a beautiful city. I’m free, I’m healing, I’m learning to love again.
Yet not a day goes by that part of me doesn’t regret leaving like that. I left my known world and that safety. I lost so much when I stepped onto that plane, more than I was even aware of. I betrayed the hearts of those I loved most, and I lost them. Distance stretched the bonds I spent years desperately clinging to, and I think they’re about to snap. But as I was harshly reminded, I chose this. I fought through hell and back to get here. Every step I made was intentional and calculated, and brought me exactly where I intended. Every bit of suffering I’ve endured in this new life is part of the deal.
Do I have the right to mourn the loss that I created?
It feels like I’ve traded one thing for a worse thing, that I was surrounded by love and care. That I did have a happy life, a successful life. I have to remind myself that my parents didn’t show me love like they do now. My friends weren’t that attached, they don’t mourn a loss. They had each other before and they still do now. I was an outlier there as I feel I am here, the only difference now is there I had a decade to create an illusion that I wasn’t. I want to believe so badly that I was loved and wanted there in the way I convince myself of now. But it’s not true, those memories aren’t real, only false hopes covering the truth.
My biggest fear is when I go back, I’ll have been forgotten.
But I chose this, didn’t I?
-grievings of an international student
