Since I left Iran, a haunting question kept following me: Where do I truly belong? It’s not a matter of geographic relocation;  it’s a search inside me for that feeling of connection. In my first year in Italy, my room felt like just a place to sleep. Nothing felt like mine. I often felt like a stranger. Homesickness became my regular visitor, and everything around me, people, places, even new experiences, seemed to lose their color. I daydreamed about finding a new place that felt like home, anywhere but where I was. I was in a tiny city north of Italy, but my soul seemed to wander elsewhere. I was so disconnected, so sad and depressed. This was more than just a feeling, I deliberately avoided decorating my room, convinced it wasn’t my home but merely a place to stay, so why bother?

At first, I thought I’d find that sense of belonging among the people I knew. The ones you think would make everything better just by being there. But when I finally went back to my parents’ place in Tehran after a whole year away, it hit me hard. Everything had changed. My dad wasn’t around anymore; he found a job in another city. My mom stayed in Tehran, just for me. The first night back in my old room felt overly strange. My sister, with whom I used to share my room, wasn’t there either; she moved out with her husband. My stuff was all packed away in boxes on top of the wardrobe, clothes I didn’t even recognize anymore. My bookshelf was empty, and my paintings were gathering dust in the closet. Some of my papers and posters were still clung to the walls, untouched since I left. It was my old university schedule and a calendar tracking my study hours to do IELTS exam that were still hanging there. Now my own room felt like just a place to sleep.

Throughout my year and a half in Italy, I was chasing a sense of belonging in the people around me—my friends in Padua who eventually moved away, my loved ones back in Iran, or in friends scattered across the globe. I was searching for it anywhere but Italy. Little did I know that my home wasn’t a place but a feeling within myself. Maybe I caught a glimpse of that feeling when I relocated to Sweden, in my tiny dorm room in Stockholm. Decorating it with scented candles and family photos that made it feel like home, even though my true home wasn’t physically present. I realised if home truly resides within me, then it follows me wherever I go—from a small dorm room in Stockholm to destinations yet to be discovered.

After Sweden, my study abroad journey led me to Germany, where I continued my search for that feeling of belonging. Today I know that home isn’t a destination on a map but a place within my heart. It’s a sense of comfort, security, and peace. 

Leaving Iran wasn’t a decision I made lightly. It wasn’t because I didn’t love my country or cherish the deep bonds I shared with my family and friends. In fact, it was precisely because of them that the decision weighed so heavily on my heart. I left in pursuit of a better, more stable future, driven by my passion for astrophysics and a desire to create a life where I could thrive. The political and economical situation in Iran put a shadow of uncertainty over my goals, and I believed that going elsewhere would offer opportunities for my growth and fulfillment.

But stepping into this new chapter of my life wasn’t without its challenges. While I hoped to make new connections and build a life in my new surroundings, the pain of missing my loved ones grew more every day. It felt as though my heart was scattered across different corners of the globe, with me navigating the spaces in between, never quite feeling like I fully belonged anywhere.

For those fortunate enough to have stability in their homeland, the journey of leaving may seem less daunting. But for me, the decision to leave was very difficult. I missed birthdays, watching my nephews grow up, being there for my parents as they aged, missing the last goodbye with my aunt before she passed away, and not being able to attend her funeral. These absences were challenging for my soul to bear. Knowing that things are not good back home due to protests, political and economic instability always makes me worrried. It’s a constant pressure that I carry with me all the times.

Initially, I thought I could test the waters, perhaps pursue my master’s degree abroad and reassess the situation from there. The thought of leaving permanently was terrifying, and I hold on to the hope of a possible return to my homeland.

Yet, as time passed and circumstances shifted, I found myself building a life here that I never imagined. I’ve achieved dreams I once thought were out of reach, such as pursuing a Ph.D. in astrophysics. However, sometimes I find myself not entirely fulfilled because I cannot share these moments of joy with the people who mean the most to me. Returning home would mean letting go of the life I’ve built here, and staying here means always having a part of my heart absent. It’s a constant war between longing for the comforting embrace of home and embracing the opportunities that await me in this new chapter.

Ultimately, it feels like I can’t have everything. Nevertheless, I persist in this journey with hope in my heart, that one day, I’ll discover a way to reconcile the pieces of my scattered heart and cultivate a sense of belonging that goes beyond geographical boundaries and physical distances.

I know many people who have left Iran, with the intention of never returning. The challenging circumstances in our homeland have led many to question whether it still feels like home, pushing them to search for that sense of belonging elsewhere. Initially, I believed this to be a unique phenomenon primarily in Iran. However, the Russia-Ukraine war brought me a big realization—we share more similarities than differences. Each of my Russian friends now thinks of never coming back to their home country or seeking refuge in another country. It seems that when circumstances turn unfavorable in one place, the idea of searching for a new home takes place in our minds. It doesn’t depend on our nationality.

My heart aches for those struggling with this profound decision, individuals packing their bags, and going on a journey from one place to another. It aches for all of us, who searches for a place that feels like home in the chaos and uncertainty of the world around us. Here I am going to share a diary from when the war started and how I have seen it has affected people around me.

February 24th 2022:

In dorm’s kitchen, I saw my Russian neighbor, Dani. It was clear that something was going on with him. “This morning, I woke up to news of war. I couldn’t bring myself to study today, and tomorrow, I have an exam. We’re planning to gather in front of the Russian embassy tomorrow to protest.” He said.

February 26th 2022:

Dani, now participating in a televised interview in Sweden, shares his perspective as a Russian student abroad. The Swedish government seems eager to portray the absence of discrimination or racism against Russian students in their country.

February 28th 2022:

There’s no news from Addi, my only Ukrainian friend whom I met in Padua. After hearing the news of war, I sent him a message, asking about his well-being, but I haven’t received a response. I am worried about him.

Valentin, my other Russian friend, is currently studying in Scotland and has been profoundly affected by the war news. I decided to reach out, saying, “Hey, just checking in on you because last time we spoke, you weren’t doing well. I’ve never seen you like this. If you feel like it, let me know how you’re doing.”

He responds, “Hi, honestly, I can’t say everything is fine, and maybe it’s the first time I’ve felt this way. Usually, I can say I’m fine, and everything will be okay. But if someone asks me now, ‘How are you?’ I can’t say I’m fine because it’s not true. Everything won’t be okay. Everything is getting worse. I’m stressed. The entire atmosphere around me is filled with stress. Many of my friends are the same. No one knows what to do. I don’t know how to cope with the situation. I can’t focus on anything. I can’t go to university, study or do my work. Today, I had a class, and I taught my student (online in Russia) English. Usually, when he deposited money into my account, it would convert to about twenty euros per session, but this time, it became ten euros. And this is just one stupid issue that shows how much people have become poorer in a very short time. My best friend is Russia is still in jail, and last night, I had a dream, or maybe a nightmare, where I was trying to set him free, and he came out of prison, and we went to see him. Tomorrow, he gets released from prison. Tomorrow is the first day of spring in Russia, and maybe spring can change something. Usually, spring is one of the best times of the year. The situation is really tough. Thank you for asking about my well-being, and I’m sorry that I can’t be optimistic. I feel like my mind is constantly searching for a solution, always looking for a defensive way out. Every time I open Instagram or Twitter, it’s all about the war, and I don’t know how long this situation will last. I’m sorry that I’m like this. Tell me about yourself.”

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If you want to read more of my thoughts, check out Diary category!