Does moving to another country change everything? Does a new place reset your life or simply teach you new habits? These were some of the questions I asked myself as I closed my suitcase and got into a taxi alone. I watched the streets pass by in silence, thinking about the life I was leaving behind. I knew I was still me, but I also knew I’d soon be surrounded by new streets, a different kind of air, and a new kind of quiet, the kind that follows you until you find your place again.
For a while, I tried to act like I belonged here. I went on walks, joined local events, said hello to strangers, tried to blend in. What I noticed most was how different my days felt. I’ve kept my current job, so for now I still work to my country’s time zone, 3 hours ahead of everyone here. I start early and finish early. While the city keeps moving, I’ve already wrapped up my day.
That gives me hours to think, to breathe, to quietly take in everything unfamiliar around me. Before coming here, I used to believe happiness had nothing to do with where you lived. I thought if I fixed my mind, I could find peace anywhere. I still partly believe that. But living here has shown me that peace and place are more connected than I once thought.
I used to think belonging meant being surrounded by people who spoke your language. Now I think it’s about being understood without apologising for who you are.
At first everything felt foreign, yet full of possibility. Slowly I began to settle in. I went to local festivals, workshops, football matches, and some girls picnics. Most of them were free. All I paid for were the bus or train fares. Sometimes I travelled for hours, but it never felt like a waste.
I still smile when I hear my mother tongue. When I speak English, I notice a different version of myself. I’m calmer, more direct. My words carry less emotion but more intent. Maybe language is another kind of mirror. It shows you how you adapt. There is also a quiet comfort in knowing no one cares about my pauses or my accent.
I used to think belonging meant being surrounded by people who spoke your language. Now I think it’s about being understood without apologising for who you are.
Moving here changed more than I expected. There’s a sense of perfection to this place, though I didn’t come here to find it. I just found myself trying to become perfect instead. Whatever that means. Maybe that’s what happens when life finally gives you a fair start. You want to prove you deserve it.
Back home, fear was ordinary. The government decided who could speak. The news was full of chaos. When I first arrived, the silence here felt strange – almost like emptiness. But then I realised it wasn’t emptiness. It was safety.
Back home, fear was ordinary. The government decided who could speak. The news was full of chaos, and I think I got addicted to it. The fear still lingers. When I first arrived the silence here felt strange, almost like emptiness. But then I realised it wasn’t emptiness. It was safety. Living here has changed how I see the world. From this distance, global chaos looks both closer and clearer. I used to think everyone was watching my life. I was wrong. We all live in our own small worlds. Being here has made me appreciate the people who use their comfort and stability to help those who have neither.
This year, at 27, I started playing football. Most people around me have played since they were children. Their bodies remember what mine is still learning. I can see it in their eyes, in the way they take the ball and pass it on. I still laugh when I remember how I couldn’t even lift the ball off the ground. But that’s fine. There’s something freeing about starting late. Maybe that’s what matters, that I’m still in the game.
So when people ask me what I’ve found here, I don’t say happiness. I say space. Space to breathe, to try, to think, to belong a little more each day.
Language changes how you relate to others, and that led me to think more broadly about fairness too. How it exists differently everywhere. Some people are born into systems that give them confidence without them even realising. Others spend years convincing themselves they deserve to take up space. Moving here didn’t make my life perfect. But it made it clearer. It taught me that peace isn’t only in your mind. Even in places where silence promises safety, there’s still sadness. So when people ask me what I’ve found here, I don’t say happiness. I say space. Space to breathe, to try, to think, to belong a little more each day.
And to anyone searching for belonging in new countries, new people, or new versions of themselves, maybe the better version isn’t waiting somewhere else. Maybe it begins the moment you stop running and start to grow roots right where you are. Maybe I finally understood what the quiet belonged to. Who knows.