A Nomad's Journey Never Ends

My first memories of life abroad (i.e. outside of Bulgaria) involve feeding squirrels and birds in the park and watching the daily outings of two rabbits on the lawn outside our apartment building. I was 3 or 4 years old. Later, I also remember getting lost a few times and crying while searching desperately for my parents. I remember getting bitten (or should I say pecked) by a swan. I remember eating french fries with mayonnaise and not being allowed to own a helium Mickey-Mouse-shaped balloon (which I wanted so badly since we didn't have those in Bulgaria at the time). I remember trying to stay awake to meet Santa Claus and getting angry at my parents for letting me fall asleep and then not waking me up when he did come by. Of course, these things could have happened anywhere. There is nothing about the place that defined these moments. But they were my first explorations outside my home country's borders (this first time, in Amsterdam) and little did I know at that time that these explorations would more or less turn into my way of life.

I have not always considered travel and exploration to be a blessing. At 15 and back in Bulgaria after five years in Zimbabwe and travels to other countries during that time, I almost felt ashamed for having seen "so much" of the world outside my own country. I tried to downplay the fact that I spoke fluent English and wanted the ground to swallow me whole any time an English teacher would allude to this fact in front of the entire class. I used to hide the fact that I had lived abroad for fear of seeming stuck-up, too privileged or different. (I had simply been lucky that my father worked for the Bulgarian Airlines.) At a time, when many people at home had very little and had barely ventured outside Bulgaria's borders, it felt wrong for a 15-year old to have done so and not only to have ventured, but to actually have lived abroad. I had missed the fall of Communism and the hunger years of the early 90s. I was behind on the grunge and heavy-metal phases that many of my classmates were in. Many people reminded me of this. So instead of opening other people's eyes to what I had experienced, I shut my own and tried to mask these differences.

I am not sure what exactly made me apply to colleges in the U.S. I just remember feeling that if I had the chance to study somewhere else and experience something different, then I should go for it. At that point, I hadn't even been thinking about better opportunities after university or a higher-quality education. Neither had my parents tried to convince me to do it. It had been my idea. I had just wanted to see a new world. Landing in the U.S. in a college with many other international students, many of whom had lived outside their home countries or at least yearned to (which was their reason for ending up in the U.S.), made me open up about my experiences for the first time. I stood on even ground with many of these girls. I was no longer "different".

Since then, I have ventured near and far, both literally and metaphorically. At the beginning, I would constantly ask myself the question of which side of the ocean I actually belonged on, until I realized that question was irrelevant. I have felt at home in many places. And it is part of human nature to adapt no matter what. Frequently, I have followed my wanderlust and packed up and moved more times than many people (especially my parents) would probably have liked me to. But over time I have also learned to stay put when it mattered. I guess I can't really imagine my life any other way. It's not easy starting from zero (or close to zero) but when a new place starts feeling like home, the feeling is indescribable. And when you leave and return to that place years later, the familiarity of it is extremely heart-warming. It's like coming home over and over again, in different locations.

Many people claim that it is hard to build a life if you are constantly moving. Well, I guess my response to that would be that it is not always about building a life, but about living it. And I am not ashamed to say that now.