When Devi from Never Have I Ever said,
“How am I supposed to pack my whole life into one stupid suitcase?”
—God, I felt that.

I had dreamed of moving to a new country for the longest time.
I was excited—truly excited—by the idea of building a life from scratch, of chasing something bigger than comfort.
The universe seemed to agree; every step along the way checked green. My paperwork went through. My visa got approved. The dream was happening.

And then, the day I booked my ticket, it hit me like a wave:
“Oh shit. You’ve never traveled anywhere alone. How are you going to move across the world… by yourself?”

I tried to silence the fear. I told myself it wouldn’t be that bad.
But 16 hours on a plane didn’t sound thrilling—it sounded terrifying.
What if there was turbulence?
What if I got sick?
What if they lost my bags?
What if… everything?

But nothing shook me more than the moment I started packing.

That same question echoed in my mind—
How was I supposed to leave my entire world behind and squeeze it into two suitcases?

It wasn’t just the goodbye to my family.
It wasn’t just my friends, or my room, or my favorite local spots.
It was the goodbye to every little thing that had made me… me.

The streets I grew up walking on.
The scent of home-cooked food in the kitchen.
The walls that held my secrets.
My messy wardrobe.
My favorite mug.

Was there any way to carry it all with me, like a snow globe in my palm?
Could I hold it close and still move on?

I didn’t know.

Moving to a new country—leaving everything I’d ever known—was a beautiful kind of heartbreak.
It was thrilling. And terrifying.
And necessary.

But even two years later, I still carry that ache.
The quiet emptiness of missing family dinners, late-night drives, voices I used to hear every day.

And then… I went back home.
I thought it would feel like slipping into my old skin.
But it didn’t.

I had changed.
Everything had.

Suddenly, even the streets I missed so much felt unfamiliar.
And I realized—I didn’t belong there anymore.

But I don’t fully belong here either.
And maybe I never will.

Because when you leave a piece of yourself behind in one place,
and plant new roots in another…

You end up with your heart in two places.
And it never fully stops aching for either.

Maybe this is what it means to grow up—
to feel like home is nowhere and everywhere,
all at once.

Now, I live in-between.

Rooted in a new place that’s slowly becoming home.
Still aching for the one I left behind.

And this is the thing they never tell you about growth —
it costs you something.
Sometimes everything.

But you grow anyway.

Because no matter how far you go,
your heart stretches.
It learns to live in more than one place.

And in that ache… there is love.
In that longing… there is life.

You would think it might have been easier to leave when you’re younger —
when your attachments are still tender, not yet tangled into the deepest parts of you.
Or maybe you’d believe the opposite — that if you’d only stayed a little longer,
collected more moments, soaked up more love, it would somehow soften the leaving,
make it feel like you’d had your fair share.

But the truth is: it hurts either way

Leave too soon, and you ache because you never had enough time.
Leave later, and it’s even harder, because your roots have run so deep into that soil
that to pull them up is to tear pieces of yourself away.

So here’s to all the brave souls — young and old — who move beyond borders
for happiness, dreams, freedom, money, life, adventure, perspective.

You had to sacrifice something inside you to make that leap.
You had to break your own heart in quiet, unspoken ways.

So kudos to you —
for taking that painful step and embracing it so beautifully.
For shining like a new penny, even with old scars underneath.
For doing everything it takes to keep your spirit warm, to keep your joy alive,
and for simply… keeping on.

Because that, too, is its own kind of heroism.

-daisiesinmysoul