What began as a simple Google search for my master's dissertation topic became an unexpected moment of self-reflection. Six months after completing my MSc with distinction, I found myself confronting a quiet paralysis that had emerged alongside my pursuit of a second citizenship. In this essay, I explore the intersection of identity, belonging, uncertainty, and the subtle ways fear can convince us to place our lives on hold while waiting for certainty that may never come.

Unsplash Image by Morgan Harper Nichols

I wanted this trip to be about new places, about adventure, about the lightness of movement and discovery. A travel journal, filled with café stops and charming streets, salty sea air and sunsets over unfamiliar horizons. But the truth is, we don’t always get to decide what takes up space in our hearts.

Because here I am, standing at an airport gate, unable to shake the image of a young woman leaning into the man beside her, fragile but determined, taking step after step toward something unknown. And here I am, once again, feeling the weight of a battle I fought nearly a decade ago, a battle I have spent years healing from, releasing, making peace with. Yet, no matter how much time passes, some moments pull me right back.

This journey has been a series of reminders—not of where I’m going, but of where I’ve been. And no matter how much I try to keep this journal lighthearted, the truth insists on being written. Because sometimes, travel isn’t just about places. Sometimes, it’s about what we carry with us, even when we think we’ve left it behind.

In the glow of daylight, I fought back. I invented stories on Mama Jean’s typewriter—stories where the monsters were defeated, where the lonely girl found her place. I typed until my fingers ached, until the room felt less dark, until the monsters went silent. For a while.

Years later, I realized the monsters were never gone; they simply changed form. As a child, they took shape in the shadows of a new bedroom. As an adult, they hid in the recesses of my memory, emerging during moments of doubt or fear. But back then, the typewriter gave me a tool to face them. Every clack of its keys was an act of defiance, a small victory against the unseen forces trying to pull me down.