It’s been almost two decades now, but the memory of waving a teary goodbye to my friends and family at the airport still feels as vivid as if it happened yesterday. As I walked through those departure gates hugging each of my family members, it felt like the end of one chapter and the beginning of an entirely new life.
When the plane finally took off, I pressed my face against the tiny window, watching my city become smaller and smaller as I waved a silent goodbye to it. Ahmedabad was the city where I grew up, where I made lifelong friends, where I worked so hard for my degrees and landed that first dream job. And, of course, where my family was still waiting for me.
Seeing it from above, it felt like I was leaving behind a part of myself. That’s when it all started to hit me—the weight of the unknown. When will I come back? Will my people still be here the way I left them? Will I still feel the same connection to this place after all this time? Will the city still welcome me if and when I return?
I don’t know how long I sat there in that seat, weeping, staring out of the window and wrestling with the thoughts of departure and a new life, but somewhere between the sky and the earth, I fell asleep and woke up in a new country and a new continent, where my new life was awaiting me.
While the decision to move to Sydney came with excitement and new opportunities, it also involved a significant emotional and professional reset. The comfort of knowing my community, having long-standing friendships, and being part of a professional circle suddenly disappeared.
I had to navigate a different job market, adjust to new norms, and even re-establish qualifications. It was me and my husband for each other for any festivals, celebrating milestones and for sickness and health. But from there, we grew! We built a little community of our own, developed friendships that can be categorised under family now and made numerous professional connections along the way.
Back home, the very family and friends I used to boast about to my new friends had learnt to move on. They found new ways of doing things, new routines, new memories—without me. It was a strange feeling, knowing I’d become a distant memory, tucked away in a subconscious corner of their lives. But I hadn’t forgotten anything.
When I left, I left a part of myself behind. I left the spaces I once filled, the people who once depended on me. But I didn’t leave the memories. They came with me, like invisible luggage that I kept holding as tightly as I held my passport and belongings.
It’s these memories that kept pulling me back home year after year. Whenever we’d visit, everyone back home made themselves available for us. Everything seemed idyllic. There was that warm hospitality, the laughter, the comfort of home. It all felt like a reminder of what I had left behind. Those fleeting moments screamed, “I could come back. I could live here again. Everything feels so right when I’m here.”
But then after years, you make the leap. You move back after years away, and suddenly, the scenario has changed in ways you didn’t expect. The people are busy, their lives filled with routines that don’t revolve around you. They have their own commitments and you’re not as central to their world as you once imagined. It’s not that they don’t care, or they’ve forgotten you; it’s just that life has moved forward without you. Your place in it has shifted, and the gaps between who you were and who they are now seem wider than you expected.
The city, too, feels different. New buildings, new stores, new ways of doing things – that comfort of a familiar place suddenly disappears, and I once again find myself in a ‘foreign’ land!
But adjusting to a new country wasn’t a new concept for me, and I quickly got the lay of the land here. Helping other migrants returning from Australia and other parts of the globe, answering their questions about my experience, work, schooling, and culture, led to us becoming friends who could relate to each other in so many ways.
Additionally, thanks to my son being the social butterfly he is, I’ve been introduced to many moms, some of whom I now share meaningful friendships with. We’ve even rekindled some old school and college connections. And lastly, I can’t help but boast about our vibrant, tight-knit community, where my son freely hops between houses and playgrounds, and the one where we come together to celebrate occasions as one big, happy family. Not only have I found my tribe here once again, but it’s also made our move back truly worthwhile.
Read more: Homecoming: When in Rome, do as Romans do!
