I left home seven years ago...

Seven years ago, I moved to Australia. It’s only been a little over a year that I’ve truly felt that this is home too.

Like everything that is complex in life, migration has many layers and nuances. That’s what the migration journey is like. I call it a journey because I’m not sure it ever truly ends.

For a long time, I found it difficult to focus on my present and on everything that lay ahead of me to discover and create. For years, I grieved what I had left behind, living in a constant state of nostalgia. I think that, unconsciously, I believed that if I looked ahead, all the memories of my life in Argentina would slowly fade away.

I didn’t leave because I was running away from anything, nor because I was searching for a better future. I left simply by following my heart… Yet even though it was entirely my own choice, the pain was immense.

Whenever I think about what it means to migrate, I think of my paternal grandfather, who never had the opportunity to choose. After the war, he boarded a ship with his mother and his siblings. His father had travelled to Argentina seven years earlier to prepare a life there and welcome them.

Whenever I feel sad or when things don’t go as planned, I think of him and his family, and of the incredible strength they had to keep moving forward with so little, knowing no one and not even speaking the language. I can only imagine what must have been going through their hearts and minds as they departed from the Port of Naples for Argentina, not knowing what awaited them on the other side, or whether they would ever see their homeland again.

I remember the day I flew here as if it were yesterday. I was originally meant to fly on April 30, 2019, but because there were concerns about a strike on May 1st, I was offered the choice of flying the following day or three days later. I chose the second option. And when my boarding pass arrived by email, it said "Business Class." I took it as a good omen, as though the Universe were sending me a message: "Yes… this is the right path."

During my first year here, I remember waking up some mornings and hearing people outside my window walking by and speaking English, and genuinely not knowing whether I was dreaming or whether it was real.

For a long time, I felt deeply lost, going through a long process of rebuilding my identity that lasted much longer than I would have liked. I would walk through the streets feeling like they didn't belong to me. I found refuge in nature and in the parks, where I would lie on the grass and cry. I don't know why, but it was there, close to the earth, that I found comfort.

It broke my heart not to be able to call my mum and say, "I'm just dropping by for lunch."

And I often wonder... what was it that finally helped me anchor myself in the present again?

I don't think it was one single thing, but rather a constellation of experiences, moments, inner shifts, encounters, and realizations. What I do know is that the first step was recognizing a growing sense of unease that had been building over the years. There came a point when I grew tired of listening to myself—complaining, slipping into victimhood, living with constant frustration, anger, and exhaustion.

Then physical exercise became a huge part of my healing, especially strength training.

When we live in the past, our energy slowly drains away, and we find ourselves leaning more towards Thanatos—the death drive—than Eros, the life drive. I believe the key is to move towards whatever reconnects us with what makes us feel alive, whatever reignites our inner spark, whatever brings us a deep sense of joy.

For me, going to the gym shifted my attention towards what I could do and what I did have, rather than what I lacked. It helped me reconnect with my inner strength and vitality. Watching myself improve week after week

lifting heavier weights or building greater cardiovascular endurance became a very tangible, embodied reminder that I was slowly climbing out of that place of stagnation, of inertia, where life had once felt too heavy to carry.

Today, seven years later, I can say that I've expanded. I feel a little more like I belong to the world. My home is wherever my feet are, but also wherever my heart is.