I don’t know how to begin this, but I’ll try my best. For most of my childhood, everything felt normal. I was born in 2007 and lived in India with my uncle and maternal grandparents, whom I lovingly called Mom and Dad. My life was simple, surrounded by the warmth of a family that made me feel safe.
Every year, on my birthday, my biological mother would visit from Melbourne, bringing gifts and surprises. To me, she felt more like a special guest than a parent, someone who came with love and presents, but never stayed long enough to become part of my everyday life. Then came 2020. I was 13, and everything began to change. The once-happy home started to fill with tension. There were constant arguments and stress over things I couldn’t understand.
By 2021, I found out the painful truth: my father had filed a legal case against my grandfather and uncle. All the chaos was over money and property. My mother had decided she would no longer provide financial support, which ignited everything. I learned more than I ever wanted to know about the cracks in my family. My parents had been living in separate countries—my mom in Australia, my dad in a different Indian state, while I was raised by my maternal family.
And then, by mid-2022, my parents finalized their divorce. That period was one of the most difficult times of my life. It wasn’t just about legal battles or financial issues, it was about watching the people I loved break under the weight of betrayal and pain. My mother came to India personally to sign the divorce papers. A few days before she was set to return to Melbourne, everyone decided it would be best for my future if I went with her. But I wasn’t ready. How could I be? I was a child being asked to leave everything I knew, my home, my country, my friends, my school, and the only family I truly felt connected to; to live with someone who, despite being my mother, was practically a stranger. I didn’t have time to process the divorce, the fights, or the idea of leaving.
I had just a week to say goodbye to everything and everyone. I packed my belongings, but I couldn’t pack the memories. If it didn’t fit in the suitcase, it felt like I had to forget it, maybe forever. The emotional toll was unbearable. I cried in secret, locked away in the toilet, sometimes three times a day, overcome by fear and confusion. Learning the truth about my father was another shock that made me feel even more lost.
When I moved to Melbourne, it felt like I had been ripped out of my world. I had hallucinations and dreams of my family back home. The emptiness inside me was overwhelming. I had never even changed schools before, and now I had changed countries. Everything was unfamiliar, the culture, the language, the people. The first six months were hell. School offered little support, and cultural differences made it hard to make friends. I had no real support system, and my relationship with my mother was distant.
I was alone in every sense of the word. But somehow, I made it through. I focused on my studies, even though my heart was still stuck in the past. Year 11 and 12 were emotionally draining. I constantly thought about going back. I wanted to return to the life I knew, to the people I loved. Eventually, I decided to stay, not because I felt at home, but because everyone believed it was better for my future. It was the hardest decision I’ve ever made. Loneliness became a silent companion through it all. But so did resilience. I still miss my family and i know they miss me too, and my only dream is that one day we all are together again, it doesn’t matter where as long as we are together.
