The Truth About Moving: It’s Never Easy
- briskliv
- Jun 19
- 3 min read
Suitcases. Clothes folded in ten layers. Stacks of documents and passports.
Since childhood, I’ve watched people move. And for many years, I thought this was just how life worked for everyone.
My parents left for Russia decades ago — fleeing war, hunger, and cold after the collapse of what once seemed like a great empire, which abandoned its people to survive on their own.
I was born in Russia, became part of it, and grew up there.
All my life, I saw countless relatives coming and going, scattered across cities.
So, for me, moving felt normal.
After finishing my bachelor’s degree, I decided — it was my turn to go.
I left to pursue my master’s degree abroad.
And that was the first time my illusions shattered.
Moving isn’t fun. And as it turned out, it’s far from easy.
A foreign country where you don’t know a single person. A culture gap. The endless uncertainty of where you belong — that was my first experience of relocation.
I still remember sitting for hours, endlessly scrolling through thousands of housing websites, trying to find a place to live.
Thinking, over and over: “I can’t do this. I should just fly back.”
Now I know for sure: every migration has several stages.
The first I call functional despair — when you’re simply trying to assemble the technical puzzle of your life in a way that somehow works.
Once you manage that, there’s a brief stage of enjoyment and relief.
But after that, the hardest part hits.
The loneliness. The feeling of disconnection. That you don’t belong anywhere around you.
Those who survive that stage usually manage to pull themselves together. And stay.
I planned to move to Dubai after my master’s.
And I thought: I’m grown now. I’ve been through fire, water, and everything in between — nothing can scare me anymore.
I prepared in advance: budgeted everything, researched apartments, and figured out the documentation process.
And I flew.
I even had a couple of friends already living in Dubai.
But as soon as I arrived, I realized: strong, confident Karina had deceived herself with her own illusions.
There was no smooth integration this time either.
I cried — in the mornings, in the afternoons, in the evenings, on sidewalks and in the lobby of my building.
I had to start everything from scratch again.
I had to rebuild myself in a new world — without losing who I was.
To become part of something new while holding onto my identity.
To accept new rules, new homes, a new social structure, new documents, a new way of life.
And I think... I made it.
Would I move again if I had to?
Definitely, yes.
Do I believe it would be easy?
Absolutely not.
Migration is a deep and enduring stress — its echoes can follow you for years.
And if you ever have the chance to help yourself — even through one outstretched hand — take it.
Reach out to the people who can support you, even a little.
Don’t be afraid to ask. Don’t be afraid to receive.
We’re all a little bit like migrants on this earth — even if we never left our homes.
Karina Mkhitarian
Founder-LikeMinded Ed
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