A few years ago, I had a dream. I dreamed of new cities, new cultures, and taking that giant leap in my professional career. I prepared for it, I fought for it, and eventually, I achieved it. I got the acceptance letter. I moved. And now I’m here.
But there is a side to this dream that doesn’t make it onto social media. While I am incredibly grateful for this opportunity, the truth is that not every day feels like a dream. Some days, the “emotional tax” of being an international student feels almost too high to pay.
This blog is about those days. It is for the moments when you want to run home and hug your childhood friends, and for the times when you realize that your success comes at an invisible cost, one that no one warned you about, or perhaps, one that you chose to ignore in the excitement of the journey.
The Invisible Curriculum
When I was back home, my professors and peers knew me. I had a history. They knew I was an excellent student, like so many international students who make the journey here. If I made a mistake back then, it didn’t define me because I had already proven myself.
But when you move to a new country, especially one with a different language, your history feels like it resets to zero. You find yourself sitting in a classroom or an office, thinking,“If only they knew how smart I am in my own language.” You find yourself wanting to repeat what Sofia Vergara in Modern Family once famously said: “Do you even know how smart I am in Spanish?”
In a second language, there is often no margin for error. You worry that every stutter or misplaced word will define your intelligence. It’s an exhausting weight to carry, the feeling that you are constantly auditioning for a status you already earned years ago back home.
The Time That Doesn’t Freeze
One of the most challenging realizations of being abroad is that life back home doesn’t pause just because you aren’t there. I used to wish I could freeze time for my family, keep them exactly as they were until I returned. Honestly, I wish time here would also freeze, because my research takes forever! But no, the clock keeps ticking, both here and there.
I’ve had to watch my nephews grow up through photos, hoping they’ll recognize me the next time we meet. I’ve received news about family illnesses late because they “didn’t want to worry me.” And I’ve felt the devastating silence of a phone call telling me a grandparent had passed away while I was abroad, and I never got to say goodbye.
The Weight of a Map
But the powerlessness doesn’t stop at the front door of my family home. Sometimes, it’s your entire country that is suffering, and you are forced to watch it through a screen.
When your country faces a crisis, be it political, economic, security-related, or a natural disaster, you carry a specific type of frustration. While your classmates are stressed about an exam, you are refreshing the news with your heart in your throat. You feel like a spectator to your own life's background, unable to help, unable to scream loud enough to be heard across the border. You might be physically safe, but your spirit is in the middle of a fire.
Neither From Here, Nor From There
As you adapt and continue accomplishing your dream, a strange thing happens: you begin to transform. You learn the local slang, your English improves, you adjust to the pace of the city, and you find a way to navigate this new world. But sometimes, this evolution comes with a side effect, a loss of “belonging” in both places.
When I return to Mexico, I return as a tourist. I sometimes get comments like, “You can’t have an opinion because you don’t live here anymore,” or “you are very Americanized now.” But then, when I return to Houston, I am still a guest, noticeable by my accent and marked by the fact that I am only here temporarily. Sometimes, I don’t care, and all I want is to be someone who can buy street corn like the ones from my hometown. Your words change, your customs change, and while you have expanded your world, you have also lost the simplicity of belonging to just one. There are wins for sure, but the losses still hurt.
An Act of Bravery
Moving to another country is a battle. It is a constant negotiation with loneliness, frustration, and the feeling of being misunderstood. However, we must remember why we started.
To follow a dream is not just a career move; it is an act of bravery. To get up every day and try again, despite the language barriers, the news from home, and the Instagram stories of the lives we left behind, is an act of courage.
If you are feeling this weight today, know that you are not failing at your dream. You are simply paying the price for it. And you are not paying for it alone. The truth is that the days of struggle are what make the joy even bigger when we get a perfect grade, when an experiment works, when we publish a paper, or when we finally graduate.
The price of a dream is sometimes high, but it is a price we pay to grow. Your struggle isn’t a sign of weakness; it’s a sign of your strength. We are all here, in our different cities and different universities, being brave together.
What do you miss most from home? (For me, it’s definitely the street corn from my hometown!) What is the one thing you wish people understood about the “extras” you handled every day? And how are you staying brave today?