PhD Candidate in International Development Harshita Sinha writes a thoughtful reflection on the emotional journey of migration and highlights the personal and political dimensions of the migrant experience. 

“I am just a phone call away”

In my first few years of moving away from home, I seemed to take pride in the sentiment that I was okay not missing home. The feeling of home, a mobile place, somewhere between there and here, seemed palatable. As years have passed, this feeling has too. 

Yesterday, during a call with my friend, seeing them break down and consoling them saying, “I am always here for you”. 

I Felt Shallow

A few months ago, hearing the news about the loss of a relative and telling my family, “I am here whenever you need me”

I Felt heavy

A few days ago, I told my sibling, “I am always there” for them as she grows up and grows through life. 

I Felt incomplete 

A few days ago, missing my cousin’s wedding and attending it over a video call and saying “I am so happy for you”

I Felt hollow

Beautifully written academic texts and books tell us a lot about Migration and people moving. But off let thinking about those who move and the emotional costs of it seem jarring. This is not a story of the big picture of migration and nor is it an isolated story of the one off. 

It is a personal story of what it is to be a migrant. Other’s stories may be more exhilarating and others might be more challenging. 

Being from somewhere and making a new place your home is a lot of things. For some it is the silicon valley story of new jobs, new cars, new opportunities. For some it is a tale of hope, the hope of something better. While for others it is what they need to do. 

Migration is the story of “moving to” and hope. But more often than not, it is about what is left behind. And lately, the emotional cost of what is left behind feels too heavy to bear. 

Having your family on the other side of the world, leaves you looking for home in the new places you visit, and the community you want to create. There is always a feeling of trying to find that small piece of home in the new cities, be it through food, people, language, clothes or finding a local vendor who smiles and gives you free “dhania and mirchi” (coriander and chillies) when you buy vegetables. 

In all these small moments and big, we are looking for a moment to feel home. Home is an ode of memories of love, joy and sorrow. But it is also the feeling of being a “a part of”. 

Lately, talking to everyone at home brings the fear of always feeling left out. Not intentionally, but just the mere lack of physical presence. Not being “there” (physically)  in some conversations comes with guilt of seeing loved ones age, of younger ones growing up, of life there changing… but across the phone screen. I hope things are the same, when I visit the next time, and I see the same warmth. 

But as seasons change here, the hope of familiarity there seems to always be in a state of longing. 

Maybe this is a personal story, maybe you connect to some part of it. But for now, I am making sense of a chapter in life, of what the cost of migration is. Reports, politicians and policy makers can give you the numbers of people coming in and going out and the value they may or may not bring. Today I am just thinking of the gutsy moves and resilience migrants have.

The emotional costs of moving and trying to build a new home is far beyond what anyone from the outside can imagine it to be, it is personal but more often than not it is political. In the contentious politics of what defines a “good migrant” lately…the joy, fear, guilt of moving to and moving away from, calls for an ode to resilience and hope. 

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The “I” is a sum of many stories and people.

The views expressed in this post are those of the author and do not reflect those of the International Development LSE blog or the London School of Economics and Political Science.

Featured image credit: Harshita Sinha