Tag: moving

Moonlighting as an Extrovert

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When I was younger, I had difficulty making friends because I lacked many skills, such as communication and confidence when approaching new people. It got a little easier in high school when I started developing more hobbies and had classes with a more consistent group of individuals. By college, I had more confidence in myself, so I was able to engage in more small talk and exchange contact information much more quickly, whether it was for classes or extracurricular activities. However, as an adult, the only way I could meet new people was gradually limited mainly to the workplace, where each new company brought a fresh group of faces for me to bumble my way through into friendships.

As much as I seemed to be friendly and engaging, I was actually an introvert, and going out all the time turned out to be exhausting.

Starting a new career: extrovert

Whether online or in person, having some sort of confidence to initiate a conversation always seemed to be a necessity, no matter where I went. 

Do I have my Rolodex of formal niceties and social platitudes ready? How do I know when to talk to them? What should my energy level be? Are there any mutual topics or hobbies we can talk about? Where and when should we talk in case I need an escape route if the conversation starts to peter out? Why does it seem like my conversation partner is an interviewer? Or maybe even vice versa, that I’m vetting them to see if we are a good match?

That’s because it actually kind of was. We’re interviewing each other to see if we were a good match. Or, you know, sometimes if they had any malicious intent. Your girl was not in the mood to get into any trouble at any time or wherever I went.

So we’re a fit, now what?

It might not be an issue most people want to acknowledge, but there is that slight fear or anxiety when you start a new friendship and want to solidify it. What task should you take on? When should you voice your opinions? How do you continue to climb the ranks from acquaintance to friend? Maybe even a good or best friend? 

A natural progression of many friendships is going out together, or spending time in more intimate settings or group hangs. That’s when the next challenge comes through: what activity should you do? Do you play it safe or adventurous? Stay local or explore? Is it a food outing or a physical activity?

When I moved to Japan, I had to force myself to be social and interact in order to make friends. Luckily, my company had a great, engaging volunteer community that hosted many events and activities to help everyone get to know each other. Whether it was going to a restaurant as a big group, exploring nature, or experiencing culture, I signed up for as many things as I could financially to meet a variety of people to befriend. Luckily, the people I gravitated toward started standing out to me, and I began seeing them more often at activities I had signed up for. At least we had similar interests that we could riff off of.

A work in process, but in smaller spurts

My social battery was working overtime, and I had a dossier of friendship applicants I could sift through to find my new group. For about two years, my weekends and holidays were spent going on multiple trips, stayed out many nights exploring bars and restaurants, and attended a ton of gatherings and parties. However, during the work week, I stayed home and binged Netflix with either leftovers or store-bought dinners. I like to think these moments alone helped me be a better social butterfly.

Multiple individuals, behind frosted glass, stand together chatting. They are on the other side of the pane from an office desk with pencils, paper, and other tools sitting on it.
(Image courtesy of Maria Varshavskaya via Pexels)

Eventually, I started aligning with people I would call good friends. Better yet, many of them were introverts like me. So, I would go to the bars less and to each other’s places more. We would go shopping together or plan our own trips outside the company-oriented ones. Sometimes we would meet up just to gripe about work or watch mindless media together — I feel like these moments were essential to keeping me, us all maybe, sane while living away from home. 

Before I knew it, I became a volunteer myself to help my community enjoy their time in a foreign country. I had to stretch my comfort zone here and there to make the most of my time in Japan, and I felt a sense of accomplishment helping others make connections, just like how my predecessors helped me when I first arrived.

Leaving the company, now not in each other’s company

I eventually left Japan and moved back home, and the distance really affected the relationships I made. I’ve kept in touch with some, touched base with others, but have largely grown distant from many of them. The distance and time differences really didn’t help the situation.

Looking back, we were in relationships of convenience; we were thrown together in a foreign country and had to make a few friends to mitigate the loneliness in a sea of unfamiliar faces. Not to mention the language barrier, that was another struggle. I was able to communicate with some of my Japanese coworkers and friends, but I had to switch between English and Japanese often because my proficiency wasn’t that high — and I had a better grasp of the language than many who moved to my area.

Luckily for me though, some of the friendships I made have survived until now. I may not be talking to as many people as I did when I lived in Japan, but it’s been a real blessing to still be in touch with those who wanted to stay connected, whether it’s a trip to see one another or an invitation to a wedding or occasion.

A group of friends, embracing one another, stare out a window together at green trees. They are thinking of other friends, who live far and wide, across the world.
(Image courtesy of cottonbro studio via Pexels)

The exit interview

For me, I wholeheartedly recommend that people move away to a new place. Not only to experience a shock to your system, but to force you out of your comfort zone and make lasting memories. I had a blast meeting new people, going on solo adventures, and making mistakes that I learned from along the way. Would I have preferred to stay holed up on my bed, binging House while eating a cold bento and a slice of melon I bought from a convenience store on my way home? Absolutely. But would I have regretted doing that every single weekend? One hundred percent.

A dear friend of mine is now in Australia, and I do my best to check in once in a while, but I know she’s living her best life right now. At first, I was concerned about her mental well-being while in a new country, but, after persistent encouragement and a nudge to explore here and there, I eased off and let her do her own thing. Now, I’m just waiting for her latest tales of adventure to get me itching for another one of my own.

Of What Then Could Become

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Of What Then Could Become

Faux brown siding lined the one-level home,
predating my existence. My parents
were newlyweds when they moved in.

Once I was born,
the good plates were hidden from
my butter fingers– too short to reach.
The kitchen, where I slipped;
a near concussion.

Dining room blinds
shielded the sun’s rays;
the living room magnified
the television’s speech.

Down the narrow hallway,
I heard the shriek
of my mother’s hairdryer.
The walls were a museum–
baby pictures,
“old-timey” photos.

The carpet, that brown-blue shag,
was where my grandparents
witnessed my first steps.
Look at you!
Oh, sweetie pie.

I was too young
to remember.

My bedroom’s visage was everchanging;
growing like my own,
reflecting my interests,
the changes within me.

The closet door, half-open,
was where my best friend and I
kissed boyband posters,
vandalizing them with autographs, fan mail.

At one point, the door was plastered
with calligraphy,
cranes chased by cats,
when I tried to
teach myself hieroglyphics.

A young girl wears a blonde wig and sings into a microphone. Her room is themed after Hannah Montana.
(Image courtesy of the writer)

I watched my
mother’s rituals of femininity
in the bathroom.
I saw her practice
shaving her legs;
my father gave himself haircuts
over the sink.

Downstairs,
the smells of
dust and vintage motor oil–
mechanical equipment was stored
with deer heads on the wall;
the wood stove;
the basement door that never fully closed.

Outside, dogs broke the silence,
Barking in the distance at street lights, stars.

The gravel driveway,
pebbles always in my shoes.
Grit against tires,
The grey clouds from rock dust.
A long country road that stretched towards the dogs.

The pine tree where piñatas were hung;
The creaking metal porch swing.

My swing set and the dug path
where my house met with my
neighbors; my best friend
just beyond.

A 6-year-old girl smiles at the camera; she is ecstatic to take a turn at hitting a piñata at her birthday party.
(Image courtesy of the writer)

When I wasn’t launching snowballs at
The windows, the wooden deck was my stage–
my realm where
I could play pretend.
The lead roles were chosen
without auditions;
It made sense to us.

Spell books, born of computer paper and staples,
Tree branches, our magic wands–
We repeated lines from Wizards of Waverly Place.

Imaginary games continued
when I was alone.
I was convinced that
I lived in a log cabin
after noticing one on a local trail.

I enjoyed imagining
what it would be like to exist
in the days when light bulbs
were only above people’s heads.

Before I knew it, the lights went out;
it was time to move.
She said it was
to be closer to work.

A new beginning;
a chance
to make new friends.
At a new school
where I barely knew anyone.

I didn’t have a chance to tell
my friend goodbye.
She practically jumped off
of the bus
when she saw
the moving van.
She refused to
get off the back of it,
telling my dad that I couldn’t move away.

I cried,
feeling ripped apart
from everything.
Terrified,
unsure of what
my life would be now.
Of what
it would become.
Of the people
I would meet.
The friends
I would have to lose.

Deep-seeded, like the pines
I watched grow smaller,
As we drove away,

Anxiety manifested, festered…

It was the opposite of a new beginning.

An old-fashioned log cabin sits, out-of-focus, in the background. The ground is covered in snow and pine trees.
(Image courtesy of SpencerGurleyFilms via Pexels)

Starting Anew Within the Old

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The move

Growing up, I always thought I would get an apartment near the city. Something bigger but cozy, and not a pain to clean. It would ideally be on the cheaper side, so I could leave it every so often to go traveling, embark on big adventures, and create amazing memories.

That opportunity came soon after I finished college when I got to move to Japan as part of a cultural exchange program and live on my own for the very first time. I was excited to start my new life somewhere so far away — in a land that created the media that shaped my childhood to adulthood, abundant with delicious food, and home to so many cultural sites. I had been studying Japanese in college, so I was extra excited to interact with people and really surround myself within a new environment.

A three-year arc

Living abroad allowed me to immerse myself in the language and culture. My Japanese proficiency improved the more I applied my studies, and my confidence grew as I continued to interact and make Japanese friends. I think what really helped me become more comfortable in a foreign country were the friends I made who were also immigrants with whom I could talk and reminisce.

There were some things I missed about being in the U.S., and some more things that irked me while living in a foreign country, but all in all, I loved my life in Japan. Three years was plenty of time for me to get a feel for living on my own, become my own person, and amass a load of amazing travel experiences to think fondly of. So, when my visa expired, I decided it was time to close that chapter of my life and return to where I left my American story.

So, do I really need to be responsible?

As soon as I moved back home, I immediately moved out to live with my friend. I missed my family, don’t get me wrong, but my learned independence was too hard to give up, and I wanted to continue that lifestyle. 

After having worked consistently for about eight years by then, I wanted to take my time finding a job again. At first, I wanted a break for a few months. But who knew it would take ten months to find another stable job?

Not only that, but I had to get new legal documents: my driver’s license had expired, my physical address had changed, my bank accounts had to be updated, and my passport and Global Entry also needed to be renewed.

A MacBook, a smartwatch, two iPhones, and a credit card laid out on a dark table.
(Image Courtesy of Nico Indii via Unsplash)

And let’s not forget: getting a phone plus a new number, a car now that I can’t rely on trains or my trusty bike anymore, another laptop now that my faithful one of six years was on its last legs, and a slew of furniture to go into my new abode. Mostly everything had to be used, of course, because I was quickly racking up credit card debt to enjoy my new solo living.

Health insurance, dental insurance, an optometrist, and new medications didn’t exactly make reintegrating back into American life any easier, either.

On top of everything else, I had to figure out my tax situation now that I was back on American soil. While living in Japan, I was also part of the mandatory pension program, so working out how to get my money transferred over, how much the fees were to take care of it in Japan, and how much taxes were going to be in California made me seriously contemplate leaving the $2,000-ish amount with the Japanese government.

My social life

Setting my life back up was an overwhelming challenge. There were so many things that needed to be accomplished in order for me to enjoy myself again. But once I was back on my own two feet, I was excited to go back out and meet up with familiar faces. I had made a couple of trips back home throughout the years, but it was never enough time to do everything I had wanted to do before I had to get back on that 12-hour flight.

It was great to be able to talk face-to-face, in real time, and to physically hold my friends and family. Re-visiting my old haunts and finding new restaurants was also an exciting adventure as I re-familiarized myself with the area. 

The sad thing was that some of the friends that I thought I had close relationships with ended up fizzling out. I did my best to keep in touch with the friends I made abroad, but much of our conversations were hard to maintain due to the different countries, let alone the time zone differences. So, when I realized that some of my friends had either moved on or moved away, it felt like I missed out on the opportunity to keep our relationship intact. Not to mention finding my favorite places either closed down or changed beyond familiarity — I’ll never be able to enjoy fro-yo on my way back home from a jog ever again.

A person wearing a boxing glove punching into a focus mitt.
(Image Courtesy of engin akyurt via Unsplash)

But on the brighter side

Life happens. Even if I did stay in my hometown, friends would’ve moved away, I would’ve changed careers, and that corner restaurant I went to every month would’ve closed its doors eventually. The “fear of missing out” makes one try to take life on and tackle new challenges. But it can also be applied to not wanting to change, too. 

What if I leave, and I end up missing these life events? I was just here last month, how is it gone already? Why should I move to somewhere I don’t know anybody?

I’ve dealt with some hard life events while in the States and living abroad in Japan. However, I don’t regret starting that new journey because it consisted of multiple smaller trips and adventures that I feel truly helped establish my character and outlook. Re-integrating myself back into my old life was challenging, but it wasn’t impossible. The experiences I gained helped me cultivate new relationships, which then led to even more exciting adventures.

Rolling with the punches is a life skill I try to maintain, and I wholeheartedly encourage anybody to try taking that leap of faith. Because more often than not, you can go back to that starting point and try again.

From Azerbaijan to Poland: How I Created A Home Away From Home

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I am Nargiz Mammadzada, a young woman who moved from Azerbaijan to Poland at the age of 23 during the COVID pandemic’s most frightening period. 

I left my family, friends and loved ones behind. In short, my whole life.

Almost two years ago, in April, I started my life from scratch. As difficult as it was, I am just as happy and proud that I did it, mainly because I did it alone. 

But why did I do this? What is my story? For this, I will have to take you to the 2000s.

When I was a young child, even before I was in school, I watched TV shows for kids. In one of these shows, two people showed different cities, countries and continents to children by traveling to them. I watched with such admiration that I vividly remember sitting closer to the TV each time and watching with a big smile on my face. And then, when I was just four or five years old, I made a huge decision: I would travel the world, choose all the countries I want to see, and live in each of them for a while.

As I grew older, I did not forget this resolution. I always reminded myself and told my family about my dream. I admired the Eiffel Tower so much that my friends and family always bought me Eiffel Tower accessories. I still admire the Eiffel Tower, but unfortunately, I have not yet had the opportunity to travel to Paris.

Then I started school, and of course, one of my favorite subjects was geography. I have read and researched so much that I have already visited numerous destinations in my dreams, where I have seen different countries and met new people. I scoured encyclopedias about different cultures to prepare myself for my great journey one day.

However, the turning point in my life took place when I was just 13 years old, when I decided to study in another country.

Naturally, the thought of living in another country has always excited me. In my opinion, being born in one country does not mean we have to live in that country for the rest of our lives. Our world, as a whole, is our big home—every inch of it, not just one country. But many other factors led me to make this decision. I was not comfortable with the society in which I lived in and its standards, and I did not feel relevant or that I fit in. One of the driving factors in my decision was that the standard of living was not as high as I wanted it to be.

From early adolescence onwards, I started working harder to build my future the way I wanted it. At first, no one, including my family, believed me because they thought the decision I made in childhood would change. But little did they know that I had remained on that path since that day.

I graduated as an “Honorary Graduate” and pursued a bachelor’s degree. From the very beginning, I planned to study for a master’s degree in another country because I wanted to get my degree, gain some experience by working a little, and take this big step after I had become more confident.

Fortifying my dream while at uni

By the time I was an undergraduate, I had already started to develop my English skills. Learning this language to perfection was one of my biggest goals. I read many articles about different countries and universities. I never stopped researching, I never stopped dreaming, and most importantly, I never lost my passion and desire.

Seeing this determination, my family did their best to support me and help me grow as a more educated young woman. They were the ones who encouraged me to do more research and learn more languages. My peers and colleagues often criticized me and tried to dissuade me from my chosen path because not only was I the only daughter of my family, I was also the only child.

Whenever this happened, whenever people did not understand me and judged me, I always had the same response ready: “No matter what, we are given only one chance to live our lives, and when I will look back in the future, I do not want to start my words with ‘I wish I had done things differently.’ I do not want to regret the life I could not live or blame anyone for that.”

And I would also proudly add: “I am not the only one who thinks so; my mother always tells me that, too. She is my biggest supporter.” 

My mom always says, “If you want this so badly, I cannot stop you. It is your right to go and live your life the way you want. In the future, I do not want to be the reason you regret that you did not do it, and I do not want to be the one who got in your way.”

For me, these were the words of a parent who treated their child as an individual, not as a dependent person. Nothing could stop me from following my thoughts and dreams, but of course, the support of my family meant a lot to me.

A Polish street during a sunny day.
(Image courtesy of Nargiz Mammadzada)

I didn’t let rejection clip my wings

This hasn’t been easy. First, I applied to universities to study in Italy, which was my dream, and I got accepted to five of the world’s top-ranked universities. However, the joy of admission was overshadowed by the rejection of my visa application. Suddenly, my dream of studying in Italy ended before it began. 

But this cloud had a silver lining. 

In 2021, I moved to one of the most beautiful cities in Poland, Gdansk, where I started my master’s degree. Shortly after moving, I began working alongside my studies. It was very important for me to be a strong and independent young woman, so standing on my own two feet without needing anyone’s financial support was my main goal. 

I overcame culture shock and loneliness to love my adopted city

Of course, the difficulties I experienced in the process of adapting, the culture shock, and the struggle I waged within myself due to being far away from all my loved ones were difficult at first.

At the start, I felt so alone. It was the very first time in my life that I had come so far away from the place where I had lived my whole life. In this country, where I did not even know the language, even doing grocery shopping was a very difficult task for me.

There have been many moments when I have asked myself, “What am I doing here? I want to go back to my country, to my family!” However, despite my initial reservations, I always managed to pick myself up and continue from where I left off.

I didn’t even know how to maintain a healthy relationship with my family and friends on my own, but I am grateful to them that, during these two years, they never once made me feel that I was far away. Hours of phone and video calls with family and friends were sometimes the only things I looked forward to during the day. When I had a problem or when I was looking for someone to share my experiences with, or just to talk to, they were there for me. My phone is full of photos and videos my friends have sent me in the last two years. There was nothing they would not do just to put a smile on my face. And I am so grateful for them and will always be. The first time I had to spend my birthday far away and without anyone, they were once again there for me.

I have to say that since I moved during the height of the COVID pandemic, it was not easy to socialize and make new friends. This, of course, made the situation even more difficult. It was only after the restrictions were lifted did I have the opportunity to meet new people.

But over time, Gdansk started to become my second hometown. Now I can say with all my heart that, in the future, even when I will live in another city or another country, I will remember this city as my second home. It’s where I spent the best years of my youth, a city where I built my independent life with more confidence, and it will always be difficult to do justice to its importance to me with mere words.

Finding My Way Home: A Journey of Self-Reflection and Acceptance

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#ILIVEON

My childhood was broken up into pieces, with parts of me left in different countries around the world.  These memories are blurry, like faded pictures in my head.

I see faint echoes of my younger self in my mind but many events and memories are dull. But the feelings that I experienced still linger; there was discomfort, embarrassment, and this overwhelming feeling of loneliness. 

I remember crying. I remember the fear.

The younger years

My family lived together in Australia for six years until we had to go back home to the Philippines. The family split apart three years later when my dad’s job took us away again. My parents, my older sister and I went to Belgium. My two other older siblings, who were about to enter college, decided to stay home to pursue their studies in the Philippines rather than start from scratch in a new place. Since they were much older, they were allowed to make this choice and live away from us.  At the time, I didn’t understand the friction and tension that this decision brought upon us. It was hard for everyone involved, but being as young as I was, I felt like an outsider to it all. Plus, I didn’t realize how much this separation would impact my relationship with my siblings as we got older. 

Looking back now, I wondered if this unstable family situation was the catalyst for many of the anxieties and doubts I felt growing up, and it was only recently that things finally clicked. This sense of displacement, of never belonging somewhere, is a feeling that followed me my whole life. To add to that, I’ve always been shy and full of nervous energy. I never felt comfortable with my own existence but I never understood why. 

My growing pains morphed into a cocktail of self-doubt, unease, and later on, depression, unknowingly due to the difficult relationships in my family and our overall living situation. 

It seemed pointless to connect with other people because we would be leaving them sooner or later. This belief bled into my friendships at school and even into the relationships I formed in adulthood.

We would always end up moving away, so I never understood the point of social interactions. Why would I open up my fragile little heart to these friendships if I had to let them go at the end? If I had a hard time making friends in one place, how could I guarantee that I would have friends in the next? 

I couldn’t believe that I was worthy of being loved. 

This negative outlook made up a significant portion of my teen years and even my early twenties. Even now, I’m still learning to move past this mindset. 

When I did decide to open my heart to people, I loved intensely and the thought of losing their friendship, especially in moments of self-doubt, scared me.

A new place, a new outlook?

It wasn’t until my family moved to Canada that I finally started to see a change in my mindset. I started to crave human connections. I reached a point where I knew for certain that I wanted to stay here for good. We found a community and for once, I could see myself having a future with these people. I met most of these people in a youth group at my local church, and while I didn’t have high hopes about making any connections, these people eventually felt like home. It wasn’t just because we had similar views or beliefs, it was because they were so welcoming. I felt I was accepted, and even wanted. 

This strong community that kept building me up no matter how much I broke down is what helped me the most. Even if I tried to shut people out, they kept coming back and didn’t give up on me; they checked up on me and invited me out and truly wanted to get to know me. I felt safe sharing the broken parts of myself because they continued to show me that they loved me. It wasn’t that they saved me or anything. Rather, they helped me see that I am worthy of love and that it’s okay to love people back. 

This is what gave me the courage to keep working on myself. 

Knowing that I am loved and believing that I am more than what I used to be is still a struggle, but I am proud to finally have the courage to face these doubts head on. 

Growing up, I could barely look at myself in the mirror because I was so uncomfortable with my own existence, but now, I am fighting these negative thoughts and truly living. 

It is my hope that people find a place that they can call home and receive the love and encouragement that they deserve. Everyone should be given a chance to grow, be loved, and have a community to support them. 

By sharing this part of my story I hope that people will know that there will be a safe space for them too where they can heal and grow at their own pace. Your healing might look different from mine, and that’s okay. Whatever it looks like, I hope that you find the kind of community you are looking for.  

As for me, I will keep working on taking care of my mental health and my friendships because I deserve it.

Image of a person holding a dandelion. Behind the dandelion, the sun appears to be setting.
Image courtesy of Aleksandr Ledogorov on Unsplash