Chasing happiness through country-hopping

Here we go again.

I’m the type of person who believes I’ll find what I’m looking for by moving to another country, eager to unlock some untapped part of myself and find my tribe by upending my life and starting from scratch elsewhere.

Having been in Turkey for almost two years, I’ve been feeling the itch to move again. Don’t get me wrong, I love my lifestyle here: long beach walks, late-night coffee stops, and the fight-or-flight rush that kicks in whenever I make eye contact with a Turkish man have been thrilling staples of my daily routine.

But I still don’t feel like I belong.

You’d think moving to the country where your dad’s from, where you’d spend summers growing up basking in the sun and collecting seashells, would make you feel at home. And while I look around and see different iterations of me—olive skin, long dark brown hair, piercing (if I do say so myself) brown eyes—there’s still a disconnect; a them and me in a place I thought there’d be a collective us.

Sure, I wasn’t born and raised here, so expecting an immediate click would’ve been naive. But I have been trying.

My Turkish is now significantly better than it was when I first arrived—I can actually string a sentence together without it feeling like I’m pulling teeth. But my accent and mispronunciations are a dead giveaway that I am not from here, despite my full name being as Turkish as they come.

But then again, I think back to my childhood growing up in international schools in Romania. Despite speaking Romanian fluently, my accent was never quite right there either, with people assuming I was from the countryside.

My time in Amsterdam is an entirely different story. I never wanted to belong. Standing out and refusing to learn the language was my act of defiance against a country I deemed too sanitized for my liking. I always knew I would get my degree and evacuate the first chance I got.

What I’ve been looking for over the past few years is a sense of community, which has been an ongoing struggle given that most of my university years and entire career have been entirely online.

I don’t feel like I have roots anywhere because my roots have been portable, tethered by an internet connection and the act of cafe hopping.

And while I once was okay with being a “citizen of the world” (eugh), I’m no longer satisfied. All the places I’ve lived in have felt easy to leave—a mere pitstop on my quest to find home.

My many moves meant I’ve been able to detach from people and places very quickly. I’ve always sensed an impending move coming, being one foot in and one foot out, luggage left ajar just in case I have to pack up and leave again.

I want to live in a place that feels impossible to walk away from, one I’d resist leaving with everything I have. And I haven’t found that yet.

I’ve discussed the topic with my friends, other international school kids, and they’ve expressed a similar unease. One of my best friends suggested that I might be approaching things the wrong way.

Instead of expecting to fit right into the puzzle that is the country I'm in, I should see myself as a lone piece, building my own puzzle by connecting with like-minded people—people who’ve grown up between countries and have picked up, left, and honed parts of themselves in each country they’ve left behind.

But that feels masochistic and unattainable.

It would mean I’m seeking stability in people like myself, those who are used to never staying in one place for too long, always ready to leave at any moment.

At times, I fear that the subversive driving force behind my wild goose chase is the craving for something that’s out of reach. Perhaps consistently searching for a place to call home feels safer than facing a potential painful truth—that the lack of fulfillment stems from within.

If I stop and realize that I’m the common denominator—the one carrying this deep void everywhere I go—then what?

Well, there’s only one way to find out: by giving the country that’s held my heart for eight years a real and conclusive chance.

This summer, I’m giving Portugal a solid go, with a one-way ticket and a willingness to venture into the semi-unknown. I figure this will be enough country-hopping to diagnose the root of the problem. Fourth time’s a charm, right?