Getting lost and found abroad
“Moving abroad will solve all of my problems, I finally get to run away and escape everything!”
This is exactly what I believed and imagined moving abroad to be like. The idea that I would land in an unknown city, where no one knows me and I know no one, and I’d be free from all that I was desperately trying to run away from customs: families, unwanted memories, my past self, regrets, and more. Whilst moving abroad to Istanbul at the age of 19 from Kenya did allow me this space to start anew, it brought along with it all of the insecurities that I thought would magically disappear with the changing of locations. I realised along the lines of these new, uncomfortable and incredible moments that I was having, that I could not keep running. I realised that my feet ached, my heart was tired and my lungs longed for a moment to be quenched by insurmountable breaths. My spirit was burdened with all of the weight of fear that I had been carrying everywhere with me. I realised that I needed to drop the bags and drop everything that no longer served my highest good. Most of all, I had to face myself. I couldn’t keep running away from me no matter how much I sometimes wished I could.
I would compare myself a lot in the first month (and still occasionally do) to the impression people gave. Everyone here seemed to be so cool. They would dress and carry themselves with an air of style. I had to understand that I’d come to a city with a completely different culture and with people who have grown up living and behaving in different ways than me. Coolness, at that time, to me meant presenting oneself as carefree and strictly individualistic — that ties in with the clothes someone wears and their body language. I am a naturally curious person, at times too curious, and I have always lived in places where everyone is so involved in each other’s lives, at times too involved. Whereas in Istanbul, I witnessed people sticking to themselves and not really paying such close attention to anyone else, which was strange to me.
Around that time, I recall listening to a podcast episode by Emma Chamberlin where she spoke about the concept of people being cool. I vividly remember her saying people are not actually as cool as they present themselves to be. Everyone has quirks and unique things that make them different, and people just get good at hiding them. She also mentioned how she often puts people on a pedestal and makes them way cooler in her head than they actually are. This is exactly what I have always done, for as long as I can remember. Just by analysing the facial expressions and actions of people, I would give them so much importance as to put myself down. I would raise them to a level that completely diminished myself, without even knowing them. A stranger, a simple stranger walking by, who is probably busy thinking about themselves, and here I was worrying what they would think of me, if I looked weird, and so on and so forth.
“Even when the entire pathway is completely dark and dreary, even if voices cloud the mind and fear does not leave your side, if things are meant to work out, nothing can stop them from working out.”
Simultaneously, I had to learn that coolness is not necessarily represented by how you dress or how you look. It is easy to purchase clothes that can make you look a certain way or feel a certain way for some time. The real question is: Would you still feel cool without them? Would you still feel cool with no makeup and “uncool” clothing? I had to really sit with these thoughts and understand that people are really not as cool as I think they are, they are just good at creating the impression that they are. Also, people are truly not thinking about anyone but themselves — maybe simply for a second, and then they return back to their thoughts. It feels so freeing to think that actually no one is really bothered by you, and you can do and think anything you want. This is something I still forget, but I have to remind myself every day in order to feel safe with myself.
As if this crisis of self and questions of my identity weren’t enough, I was faced with the ample amount of documents and procedures that moving abroad comes with. After two months in Istanbul, I came to find out that a document that is essential for my university admission needed to have more stamps from the Kenyan Embassy in Ankara, a city about one hour away by flight from Istanbul. I had never experienced difficult government officials and procedures. And though I managed to go to Ankara, the endless swarms of procedures did not conclude, and after about two more months, I received the final certificate that I needed. Throughout this experience, I was terribly scared, beyond humanly possible. The fact that all of this effort, courage, time and money that was invested to create a new beginning for me could just go away was terrifying. Amidst this, I somehow realized that I did not trust the procedure to work out, and I actually had never trusted anything to work out unless it was instant, which is what the ego does. I began to realize this was my ego that was wanting to control how things go. I could almost hear the universe say, “Who do you think you are?” in moments of sheer desperation and control. When things slowly began to work out, I slowly began to understand that things do work out. They do. Even when the entire pathway is completely dark and dreary, even if voices cloud the mind and fear does not leave your side, if things are meant to work out, nothing can stop them from working out. For the first time, I experienced so much fear, and the intensity of it now makes me see that so many of my other fears are miniature. The fear of another person, the fear of something not working out, the fear of getting hurt. These fears do not stand together with the fear I experienced, and the more I fear, the more experiences of fear I attract into my life, and that is certainly something I do not want.
“Getting lost has its magic and allure to it. You get to go in a direction you never would have. Somehow you carry yourself in a different direction, a path you shouldn’t have taken, a path that you are afraid would lead the wrong way. Yet somehow, if you trust your feet, if you trust the movements of your legs, you will always find your way.”
On a lighter note, being in a new country also brings so many unbelievably small and meaningful moments and experiences. Going to the bakery and buying fresh warm bread, petting cats everywhere I go, going to the park and watching the waves of the lake hit the shore, going on walks and witnessing the sky turn purple and pink at dusk. These moments are sacred and so beautiful and so freeing. These moments are forever mine to cherish and forever mine to keep. I am not one for material possessions, but adventures and thrills are something I long for, always. I recall going to the park near where I live and sitting down on the grass, looking out at the lake in the distance. Opening the voice recording application on my phone, I recorded a voice note to myself expressing my fears and tying them to my childhood experiences. I did this for a week by picking and truly understanding my past experiences, coming to terms with them, and seeing things for what they truly were — whilst also acknowledging that none of it was my fault, I was simply young. I also felt safe that there was no one around me that could potentially physically, mentally or emotionally hurt me as I unraveled these experiences and emotions. My feet were finally able to stop and rest, my heart was finally at ease, and my lungs were ecstatic about the breaths they received. I wrote in my journal that everything was going to be okay and that it was all going to work out, and soon enough I began to witness positive changes occurring everywhere. I could not believe that simply changing my thoughts and the way I approached situations truly transformed everything — made everything so much calmer and easier.
Alongside these moments of discovering myself, I was getting lost while trying to navigate the bus stations, trams and trains, and getting lost in my own neighborhood because every street looked identical. These are moments I can never forget. Crazy to say, I’d never known navigation could be so challenging yet awakening. I still recall telling my grandmother I got lost and hearing the panic and concern in her voice. For many people, getting truly lost never really happens. This was me before my move to Istanbul. We live our lives protected, sheltered, and safe. Everything around us is familiar and normal. Looking back, I was really stressed and fearful when I would get lost, especially with no knowledge of Turkish and barely any confidence to ask people. Now, somehow, I know that wherever I go, I am definitely going to get lost. It is inevitable, especially with my obviously poor navigation skills. There is no point getting upset over it; I simply have to accept the fact that it is unavoidable: I am going to get lost and that is okay. Getting lost has its magic and allure to it. You get to go in a direction you never would have. Somehow you carry yourself in a different direction, a path you shouldn’t have taken, a path that you are afraid would lead the wrong way. Yet somehow, if you trust your feet, if you trust the movements of your legs, you will always find your way. If you cherish the journey to where it is you are going, on the way, you discover other paths you never knew existed, because nothing ever is truly lost. Even if it seems like you're lost, you're just taking a detour, you’ll get where you're going in no time. It will just take a few more moments, so embrace the feeling of being lost while it lasts, hold your own hand as you walk, and you’ll get yourself to where you're going, always.
“Sometimes, just sometimes, I have to face the things that I am running from, without fear, and that will free me from them.”
I once wrote about how I was afraid of love and afraid of being vulnerable. I am proud of addressing these shadows. However, being abroad and surrounded by newness brought out these shadows and fears to such immense heights. I began to revert back to my old self and to fear my shadows again, these parts of me that I have been running away from. Somewhere along the lines, voices in my head began to say “You don’t deserve to be happy; you have to always be scared and afraid of everything. That is who Shayna is, right? That is who she has always been?” Whose voices are these? Not mine, certainly, but they have been disguised, so I believe they are mine. Why don’t I deserve to be happy? Why don’t you? Don’t we all? Don’t I deserve to treat myself with respect, no matter how uncomfortable it might feel sometimes? I have to understand myself the way I might hope someone would. I tend to get slightly anxious whilst in immensely crowded spaces, and instead of being kind and loving towards myself, I would get angry and upset at why I couldn’t be “normal” or “not be affected” by the crowds. Where does all of this pressure and control come from? Why can’t I instead say “It’s okay Shayna, I understand you don’t like crowded places. You’re okay and it will be over soon.” I had never thought in such a way, and I still find it odd to do so because I have been so conditioned to be angry at myself. However, I am willing to give myself the space and understanding I need because no one else can do that for me, and no one should be expected to.
“I packed my suitcases and moved abroad, full of my baggage of fears and worries.”
This is exactly what I unknowingly did. Fears of my family members, fears of strangers, fears of not being good enough, fears of guilt, and of being misused and hurt. I thought moving somewhere would mean I would escape everything. That would be it — the move would solve all my problems, but I soon realized that that was not the case. I have always found running to be easy: putting on your shoes and taking off, hiding in corners where no one can find you, and if you hear voices come close, slowly creep away and hide again before they find you. That has always been my strategy, and so far, it seemed to always work, but not anymore. As scary as it sounds, even as I type this: I cannot run forever. I can protect myself and be careful of people and situations, but I cannot avoid everything. Sometimes, just sometimes, I have to face the things that I am running from, without fear, and that will free me from them. Sometimes I just have to look fear in the eyes and know that I am more powerful.
As I navigate this beautiful and alluring city of Istanbul, whilst choosing to not run, I choose to be kind and loving to myself and others. I’m embracing the art of being lost, letting the wind guide my footsteps to unknown paths, gloriously painted under the sun, with my shadows following behind as I walk with my feet forward, unafraid to taste every whiff of sweet breeze that passes my way. I hope you allow yourself to do the same.
