Words by: Esbe
Art by: Gizelle Sakr

As I stuffed the last piece of clothing into my suitcase and pushed the lid down, my heart felt as heavy as the 40 kilograms of luggage I was now carrying with weak wrists. 

As I walked out the door and left behind intimate faces and the ever-so-familiar scent of my grandma’s freshly made mango pickle, I had no idea what to expect. 

I have moved twice in the last three years — once, at 18, when I started studying at Monash’s Malaysian campus in 2022, and again, at 20, when I moved to Melbourne to complete my degree. I shifted alone then, partly because my parents trusted me and partly because, by that time, I understood the sheer burden of finances.

Moving has always been akin to opening up Pandora’s box for me. The very act of packing my entire life into a couple of suitcases is daunting, yet the realisation that there’s no one to rely on haunts me even more. There’s no safe space, no comfort – just an aching pain throbbing in the back of my head and a lump in my throat as I go to sleep, thinking, “I don’t know anything about this city. Hell, I don’t even know the best place to buy milk.”

And then, as the days pass, you meet someone and you have an amazing conversation with them. Then another. Then one more. You go to a club event, a pub, and the nearest grocery store with a massive tote bag, eyes gleaming at the discounts. Before you know it, the city that once felt foreign becomes as familiar as the palm of your hand. Perhaps you never quite get used to the things that once scared you — bills, small talk, loneliness — but you start being comfortable with them. And one morning, as the sun hits your desk just right, you realise how far you’ve come and how much you’ve grown.

Yet with growth comes change. When I first moved to Kuala Lumpur, I called my parents more times than I could count. As an only child, I saw my parents growing softer and kinder as the months went by. I started calling less, while they started trusting me more. I told them white lies to keep them from worrying, and they began caring more for my well-being than my grades. Three years later, my relationship with my parents has improved significantly. Now, while I don’t talk to them as much as I used to, they remain in my thoughts as I plan a future for myself — something I never considered amidst all the shouting and screaming back in 2021.

The lack of a safety net has changed me in more ways than I can count. As I walk down the street, I feel comfortable in my own skin. I look forward to conversations with a barista amidst a very busy morning and heading to the library to get some work done. I used to be very dependent, seeking encouragement from others to take action. Fast forward a couple of years, and now I attend networking dinners and pilates lessons with people I’ve never met before. The freedom that comes with complete and utter independence is beautiful, and it took me years to internalise the fact that I can be alone without feeling lonely. Growth comes with change, and while the process is filled with pain and lessons, the ultimate reward is enjoying ice cream for dinner with your found family and embracing uncertainty as it comes.

Some days, as I sob in the quietness of my room after a horrible day, I wish my grandma could be there. She’d bring me a plate of freshly cut fruit, and a warm meal would be waiting on the dinner table, filled with laughter and the comfort of being loved unconditionally.

Yet I know that love remains no matter how far I wander or how much I grow.