In Between Worlds

Hello! It has been a tough spot past months to make difficult decisions, leave work (a life I loved to live professionally), and complete a Ph.D., also to move out of a rented house and leave for my hometown to make a House - "Home". Eventually, later, I flew abroad to catch up with my life partner and hold hands to face life together. I know, it has been a while, but here- I have made it.  While I had no time to process happiness, loneliness, tiredness, fatigue, or anything else...I have finally made time to write - 'How I feel, jumping to Canada'. 

Enjoy reading ;)

I am fumbling. Yes, fumbling quite like a poet who has misplaced her metaphors. Words which are usually my most faithful companions now scatter like autumn leaves in a breeze of strange feelings. I’m holding a voice that’s still finding its rhythm, a voice shaped by courage, curiosity, and quiet observations of how life unfolds its most tender gifts in subtle sprays of blessings.

And yet, I stand-smiling, polite, nodding at the right moments-while internally I’m somewhere between joy and grief, like someone who boarded a train but isn’t sure if it’s going home or away.

Who am I? A question too existential to ponder, but here it goes: I am a woman who left behind the familiar i.e. a career, a comforting culture, blooming relationships, family, and a tightly scheduled map of everyday routines. Now, I find myself in the gentle chaos of Canadian life following my husband’s footsteps (he is a wonderful lead, though).

I’ve become a silent observer in coffee shops (yes, that’s me judging latte art), a wanderer of multicultural grocery aisles where I get lost between cumin and quinoa, and a reader who haunts Indigo not just for books but for the promise of belonging between the shelves. I’m someone hungry—not just for education, but for the chance to unlearn, to relearn, and to redefine what it means to ‘belong,’ or better yet, what it means to live fully.

The other day, I was caught off guard while I stepped down from a metro by beautiful Serah and had a heart-to-heart conversation with her about the war-struck world and the survivors. Serah worked at an NGO here supporting refugee kids and looking after indigenous tribes. She sweetly asked me in naivety, “How long have you been in Calgary?, “Do you belong?” A perfectly innocent question, until she followed it up with: Are you South Asian or… part of any other visible minority?” I blinked. I panicked. And in true introvert fashion, I excused myself for being late while my husband was waiting at the office and made a theatrical stage exit- I left, Bravo! However, honestly, I downed two full coffees and still couldn’t construct a socially acceptable answer. 

Meanwhile, well relatives and colleagues back home have been asking, “How exciting it must be to live abroad, no?” And I... nod. Politely. Because two weeks in, I’ve realized that “abroad” is not a vacation. It's an emotional rollercoaster with unpredictable weather patterns. 

Literally.

Canada’s weather has a mind of its own. It wakes up sunny, has a hormonal meltdown by noon, cries a little by evening, and freezes its feelings by night. The sun over here has serious commitment issues and thus, it stays out until 10 p.m. like a rebellious teen, leaving only four hours of real darkness and a very confused circadian rhythm. My sleep cycle is ruined, my diet is a mess, and though I cook fresh, my taste buds are staging a silent protest by going dead.

Professionally? Let’s just say I feel like an educated, unemployed philosopher who is existentially unemployed until my husband gets home and reassures me that I’m not, in fact, wasting my life. I recently visited the official Alberta teaching licensure website, and let me tell you, if Kafka ever wrote a sequel to The Trial, it would be called The Certification. Months of waiting, endless paperwork, and more bureaucracy than a Tolstoy novel.

Everything here is new, from the friendly smiles of strangers to the occasional "sorry" when someone bumps into you at Sephora or Costco (because apparently in Canada, even your mistakes are forgiven before you make them). There’s wonder, yes. But also the angst of missing late-night conversations, old friends, and warm tea and samosas. Time zones don’t just separate countries; they divide hearts. I now live in the liminal space between IST and Mountain Daylight Time(MDT)/ Mountain Standard Time (MST), where WhatsApp calls become philosophical exchanges with delay-induced awkwardness.

Among the new transit etiquette to adapt to multicultural neighborhoods, or try flavors of new friendships, I feel the silence and mostly pause to observe the goodness around. Somewhere, walking on the riverbank, I could resonate with the calmness of it. I let the breeze remind me of the newness.  Newness always has fresh to offer and thus shines ‘Hope’. Not the certainty of success, but the possibilities still seem beautiful. 

For now, I aim to read more, to evolve, and maybe, to dominate life- if not in competition, then in understanding and grace. I am still fumbling, yes—but maybe, just maybe, I'm learning to fumble forward.