It all started on my 31st birthday in Paris. Standing proudly in front of the Arc de Triomphe, I shared a joyful selfie on social media with the caption, “Paris suits me!” The Eiffel Tower loomed in the background, casting a magical spell over the day. Little did I know that the comment I’d receive later that evening would linger in my mind for years to come. A stranger, an elderly gentleman with a white beard, remarked, “If you like it so much, then move there!” His words struck a chord, foreshadowing the turbulent times ahead for my family and others like us — families that believed they belonged in America but soon found themselves questioning that very notion.
As political tensions escalated in the U.S., it became impossible to ignore the growing tide of hatred and division. In 2016, we weren’t just faced with a candidate whose policies were questionable; we confronted someone who openly espoused racism, xenophobia, and sexism. The most disheartening part? Many of his supporters were people I once considered friends and neighbors. I found myself grappling with the reality that people I cared about held such damaging beliefs.
In the midst of my frustration, I turned to social media to voice my discontent. For every article I shared criticizing the political climate, I received comments like, “If you don’t like it, then leave!” or “Go back to your country.” I was born in upstate New York to Italian and Polish immigrant parents. I’m a third-generation American whose first language is English. I’ve always identified as American, yet suddenly, that identity felt in jeopardy.
My husband, Amir, is also from a multi-ethnic background, being first-generation Iranian. Our daughters, Bella and Sophia, embrace their diverse heritage, celebrating both Italian and Persian traditions. Yet, in today’s divided America, it seems like we’re forced to choose sides, leading to an impossible dilemma for those of us who cherish our blended identities.
Maya Angelou once said that belonging nowhere can be liberating, but so far, I’ve only felt the weight of that price. The messages I received, filled with vitriol, created anxiety and sadness within me. I’ve cried over the rejection from fellow Americans, feeling like I no longer belonged.
A month before the 2020 election, Amir and I sat on our back patio, discussing the state of the nation. With neighbors shouting slurs at us and our children facing discrimination in school, I felt overwhelmed. “If Trump wins, we’re leaving,” I declared, half-serious. Many people echoed similar sentiments, but I realized that my words carried weight.
When Trump’s presidency began, the situation only got worse. He signed an executive order banning travelers from majority-Muslim countries, affecting Amir’s family directly. Their dreams of retirement in the U.S. were dashed, and the fear began to seep into our lives. One day, Bella came home from school terrified, asking if we could pretend to be someone else to avoid being targeted.
As time went on, the sense of urgency grew. My rights as a woman were being threatened, and the healthcare system was crumbling. The constant barrage of negativity made it clear that we needed a change. Amir was presented with a job opportunity in India, and though it felt surreal, it became our potential escape.
Eventually, we made the leap. I found myself on an overnight flight to New Delhi with our daughters, filled with excitement and trepidation. Upon arrival, however, the harsh reality of our new environment settled in. The vibrant but chaotic city was a far cry from the comfort of the U.S., and doubts crept in. What if we had made the wrong choice?
Returning to the U.S. after a brief visit to India, I felt a pang of sadness. My family and friends checked in excitedly, eager to hear about our experience. I put on a brave face, praising the kindness of the Indian people, even as I wrestled with my own insecurities.
I’m not under any illusions that moving to India will erase all my frustrations with political and societal issues. Every place has its flaws, but perhaps we’ll find a more welcoming environment for our family. As I packed up our home in Atlanta, I reflected on the simple comforts I’d miss — Target runs, seamless internet, and safe sidewalks.
Ultimately, my journey is about more than just escaping a political climate; it’s about seeking belonging. With a heavy heart and a strong sense of purpose, my family and I are taking this unconventional leap into the unknown. We desire a place where our daughters can thrive and embrace their identities without fear.
In the end, it’s important to recognize the privilege that allows us to make such a bold move. Not everyone has the means to relocate, and that reality weighs heavily on me. But for my family, this leap represents a chance at new beginnings and a search for a place we can truly call home.