The moment we entered the car heading to San Francisco International airport was surreal- the end of a beautiful dream that lasted 6 years, but with a reality that I looked forward to. It was hard to comprehend that it was our final departure from California.
Of the three-part-series, this was the hardest post to write. Not for lack of content- the past three months have been nothing but eventful, and this is a reason why it took so long to put this post together. I had underestimated the toll that a big transition like this can take on the mind. I found it hard to focus on even the smallest tasks. But another reason for the delay is that it is difficult to describe the process of settling back home after living abroad for 6 years, and the intensity of the emotions that accompany that process.
In many ways, the transition has been much easier than expected, perhaps because I’ve done this in the past after I finished my undergraduate studies in the US, and also because the whole world had changed dramatically during the pandemic that our transition felt less significant.
There’s beauty in returning to your home country after an absence of over half a decade. You almost feel like a tourist in your own country, noticing the little things that in the distant past had felt mundane, like the small produce shops and stands around every corner, the proximity to the Persian/Arabian gulf where we’ve enjoyed long walks and fishing a handful of times, and the taste of spices in all of our favorite dishes. There’s also beauty in being part of a community, in seeing people who look like you, and hearing your mother tongue spoken everywhere. It filled my heart with joy to see my son quickly pick up the language he’d been reluctant to speak in the US. And above all, nothing beats being surrounded by family and having a support network right around the corner.
As with almost everything in life, there are two sides to the same coin, and there are challenges that arise when you resettle in your home. There’s an inclination to return to the old “you” that had existed before your departure, and your old habits and social connections that may not serve you anymore. And while resisting this inclination, you’re also trying to figure out how to exist in your country as a different person. It’s a strange feeling, like you somehow expect to return and fit right into your old life even though everyone else has moved on, and the two pieces of the puzzle don’t fit together anymore. And even though you no longer want them to fit, you still miss the comfort of knowing your place as you search for the new puzzle to which your current self belongs.
Three months in, we are settled down, and often times it feels like we never left. Nostalgia sometimes hits me unexpectedly, like when I receive texts from my friends abroad, or when my phone features photos from our life in Stanford. Suddenly I’m transported back in time and I can breathe in the fresh scent of the pine trees in our courtyard, and can feel the warmth of the late afternoon sun on my face as I push my son on the swing. It’s hard not to miss Stanford at those moments. But for the most part, I feel content. I’ve missed being surrounded by family, belonging to a community, and not having the majority of my income go towards rent.
One idea I often wrote about is increasing our capacity to hold two conflicting feelings at once. This transition has been a good practice of that ability – allowing myself to miss Stanford while enjoying this new, long-awaited chapter of my life.