I am too foreign in my own country,
A foreigner here,
Between two shores,
Between two silences.
Over there, my name resonates like a distant echo,
Here, it stumbles on hesitant lips.
Over there, they say I’m gone, absent,
Here, they say I’m other, different.
I left behind a language,
A sun, a childhood clinging to the walls.
I found another sky here,
Other streets, other walls to tame.
But where can I plant my roots
When the earth beneath my feet gives way?
Where can I put my words
When none of them seem truly mine?
I’m not from here,
I’m no longer from there.
I am a bridge between two worlds,
A woman with a thousand faces,
A story that no one can confine
As an immigrant woman, I know what it means to have to find one’s place, to navigate between two cultures, to carry within oneself an identity shaped by elsewhere and the present.
Being an immigrant woman isn’t just about crossing geographical borders. It’s also about facing gazes, deconstructing prejudices, fighting to be heard and recognized. But it’s also a richness, an incredible strength, that of reinventing one’s own path despite obstacles.
Building a home here, in a new, unfamiliar environment, begins with a small garden, baking traditional bread, a simple but meaningful gesture. It’s about sowing a little of my past in this new land, rediscovering roots that, though distant, remain alive within me.
Learning to master a language that wasn’t part of my childhood, to absorb codes that weren’t intended for me. Finding my bearings on streets where my name sounds foreign, in spaces where people question my place, my accent, my presence.
But little by little, I’m weaving my roots, I’m carving my story into this new land. My identity isn’t reduced to a choice between here and there. I’m made of both, and much more. I carry within me the memory of my past and the promise of my future.
Being an immigrant woman means learning to transform exile into rebirth, distance into enrichment, and making each step an affirmation of self. Here too, I build, I exist, I live.
On the other side of the sea, I was at home. Here, everything is different. Every day is a learning experience, a search for bearings in an environment I don’t know. It’s an experience of solitude at times, of doubts, but also of discovery.
Arriving here is like starting from scratch, leaving behind the job I loved so much, the friends, the habits that formed my daily life. It’s finding myself facing the unknown, with the hope of a new life but also nostalgia for what was lost.
But immigration also gives me the strength to rebuild, to plant roots in this new soil. It’s growing a new version of myself, nourished by everything I’ve been through. It’s learning to walk between two worlds, while remaining faithful to the history I carry within me.
Immigration is the promise of reinvention.
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