The “Happy” Migrant

I remember looking into their tear filled eyes for the last time and walking away. My whole family were all there to watch my mum and I join my dad in what we termed our soon to be “paradise”.  I remember hugging each person tight, it was at that moment when I hugged my nan, when my arms wrapped around her frail frame I realised I didn’t actually know whether I would see her again. Pulling away and looking at her face, my eyes traced the wrinkles around her eyes and mouth that each had their own story to tell. I could see from the fear creeping into her eyes we were both thinking the same thing, I pulled her in tight again and hugged her for what seemed an eternity. Walking down the line my brother was next; his brown coffee stain eyes were darker than usual as he looked down at me trying to resist the lump that was forming in his throat. He was the one I was worried about leaving the most, though older than me I couldn’t help but wonder if he had gained enough autonomy in his teenage years to know how to handle this sudden change in circumstances. He had held my hand the entire way to the airport, and had spoken the words that still today make me cry, even as I’m writing them now. “You’re so brave what you’re about to do, I could never do this on my own like what you’re doing, we’ll see each other again soon.”

Pulling him close enough so I could reach his ears, I whispered “Please stay safe, I need to know I’m going to see you again.” So many more family members were there, all of whom I remember saying my final goodbyes to, by those two goodbyes have always stuck with me, because it was those goodbyes that I feared to be the final ones. And no my brother isn’t dying; he just has a rather carefree attitude that in the past hasn’t served him well.

So standing there, in the middle of a group of people I truly loved I said goodbye, moving through the line to the front of the desk, we gave over our passports and were told to carry on walking, and that’s what we did. But I couldn’t resist the temptation of taking one last look at the past I was leaving behind me. Each one of them had the same exact smile on their face, a smile that said it’s going to be fine, but really we have no idea.

So that was the beginning of what I like to call “The make or break move.” After reading this through again it almost sounds like I’m walking to my death, I assure you I am not, but what I am doing is walking blind into a new world so overthought about, so over imagined that disappointment could be its only outcome. I moved country. Which I understand to be the dreams of many people, even the start of something incredibly worthwhile, it just didn’t turn out that way for my family.

Now I promise to you I do not write this as a rage towards people, or to complain about my life, but to simply share the experiences I have had in the hope that someone either going through or about to go through what I have, will see some similarities in our stories and be able to relate to something that can only be experienced and endured to truly understand. This blog is here to give to you a look into my journey of moving country and the hardships it entails.


3 thoughts on “The “Happy” Migrant

  1. Hi Mazie! Love the design on your page. I could so closely relate to this post. I am a migrant myself. I moved from Mexico City where I had lived all my life to the United States 8 years ago, leaving everything behind to start a new life with my husband. It’s been an incredible journey. I miss my family and friends, but being in a new world has shown me a million possibilities of who I can become. Keep writing, you’re great!

    • Aww thank you so much! Thats what i was hoping for, really would like people to be able to relate to different parts of my journey! Wow that sounds amazing! So glad everything worked out for you guys! 🙂

  2. yep, you and me both. it’s strange the magical thinking that happens – I didn’t hug my dad because I was scared that if I did it’d be the last time, but now what if I missed that last hug?

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