Moving to Germany: A little girl who doesn’t know how to face the world.

I am sitting on a chair in a massive, unfamiliar airport, right in front of the boarding gate, waiting for my flight to Frankfurt. It is the very first moment I begin to truly grasp what I’m doing. On one hand, I can’t believe it; it feels like “I made it”—what I had been dreaming of for years is finally coming true. On the other hand, tears stream down uncontrollably and loneliness takes over, making me feel like a little girl who doesn't know how to face the world.

Emigrating is far too romanticized. I mean, I love it, I don't regret it at all, but people rarely talk about that moment when you walk through the airport security doors without looking back at your parents because you don't want them to see you cry. Or maybe it was me who didn’t want to see my parents cry… Nobody warns you about the knot in the pit of your stomach accompanied by the lingering doubt: “Am I doing the right thing?”. In that boarding lounge, I realized for the first time that the migratory grief doesn't start when you land; it begins the exact second you stop belonging to your present while the future is still completely uncertain. You are no longer in your house, but you don't have a home to arrive yet. The contradiction is brutal: feeling like you are fulfilling your greatest dream while feeling completely shattered on the inside.

When I landed in Frankfurt after more than 18 hours of travel, I had a brief moment of rest, but it didn't last long. I decided to grab a bite to eat at an airport Starbucks while waiting for my train to Leipzig. Right as I sat down at the table to eat, my phone buzzed. It was a notification from Deutsche Bahn (the German railway company) letting me know that the train I had booked months in advance had been canceled. In that moment, I felt profoundly frustrated: I was exhausted, sleep-deprived, my back and head were aching, all on top of the emotional cocktail I had been carrying for hours. Everything had been going smoothly, exactly as planned, and at the very last minute, for no apparent reason, the final step of my journey was canceled.

Unsure of what to do, I grabbed my things and, dragging a 23-kilo suitcase (by that point, I was utterly fed up with how heavy it was), I headed to the information desk in search of a solution. That was the first time I realized how efficient the German system actually is. Thousands of hypothetical worst-case scenarios rushed through my mind, the “worst” being having to spend a night in Frankfurt and buy an entirely new ticket. However, at the counter, they simply told me to take a local train to Frankfurt Central Station and that they would assign me another connection to Leipzig there. And that’s exactly what happened. I arrived at the central station, and minutes later, I was on another train heading toward my new destination.

Looking out the window as the train sped forward, I felt the adrenaline and stress begin to fade, making room for a different kind of quiet. I had navigated the first hurdle in a language and a country I didn't understand yet. The system had worked seamlessly; the schedule had fallen into place, and my suitcase was still with me. Everything on the outside was under control, and even though I still felt internally insecure and fragile, that little girl who didn’t know how to face the world was beginning to become a young adult who is truly capable of taking on this challenge.