This Monday marks seven years since we took the leap and moved to Australia. Seven whole years. It’s hard to put into words what this journey has meant — but it’s been nothing short of life-changing. As I sit with that thought, I can’t help but reflect on everything we’ve been through since that first day.
Here’s the thing: nothing truly prepares you for a move like this.
Back then, I genuinely thought I had it all figured out. Research is my thing — my not-so-secret superpower. I’d done my homework, every checklist ticked, every article read. I thought I was ready.
Looking back now… how sweet. How naive.
Because no amount of preparation equips you for the emotional whirlwind of leaving behind everything familiar — or the courage it takes to rebuild your world from the ground up.
But somehow, here we are. Stronger. Wiser. Grateful.
You don’t truly realize the comfort you once lived in until it’s gone. It’s only after you move that those everyday conveniences you took for granted reveal themselves for what they really were—luxuries.
Simple things like having a cook prepare your meals, a cleaner tidy up the house, a gardener tend the plants, clothes ironed without lifting a finger, a car washed daily on schedule, someone to ferry the kids around, or even medicines and groceries delivered straight to your door—these were once just part of the routine. Looking back, it almost feels surreal. Like a dream.
Make no mistake, this country has given me far more than I ever knew to ask for. It has tested me, transformed me, and helped me grow into a version of myself I never imagined.
With time, you learn to stand tall on your own—to become self-reliant—not because you want to, but because life demands it. And that shift? It takes everything you’ve got.
It takes grit to rise above moments of self-pity, to quiet the doubts, and to rebuild a sense of stability from the ground up.
For me, that reckoning came early — those first three months alone with the girls were a crash course in survival. It was overwhelming, exhausting, and deeply humbling. But it shaped me. It built a resilience I now carry with pride, and a quiet confidence that I can face whatever life decides to throw my way.
And true to form, I’ve gone off on a tangent and haven’t even touched on what I actually meant to talk about today — adult friendships.
When you move to a new country in your late thirties, like I did, friendships aren’t really at the top of your priority list. You’re focused on finding a job that pays the bills, settling your kids into a whole new world, and simply surviving day-to-day. Making new friends just… doesn’t feel urgent.
But once the dust settles, you realize something quietly painful — not only have you left your family behind, but in many ways, you’ve also drifted away from your closest friends.
Now, I’m not saying those friendships vanish — far from it. The bond is still there, woven through years of shared memories, laughter, tears, and moments that shaped us. That connection never truly fades. But life… life gets overwhelming. The endless balancing act of work, parenting, and the weight of adulthood slowly pushes those friendships to the edges of our hearts. They don’t disappear, but they quietly slip into the background, waiting for the rare moments when time and energy allow us to reach out again.
And once you’ve finally found your footing, you begin to take those tentative, baby steps toward building new friendships. And let me tell you — that’s when the real surprises begin.
You slowly realize that not everyone who moved here came chasing a better life — many came purely to chase better income. And to be clear, there’s absolutely nothing wrong with wanting financial stability or success. We all want that.
The challenge, though, lies in what happens when people choose not to adapt to the culture or values of the country they now call home. Instead of integrating, some try to recreate a bubble — a mini version of the India they left behind, complete with the baggage of caste labels, rigid social hierarchies, and that familiar middle-class syndrome we thought we’d outgrown.
It’s disheartening, especially when you’re trying to embrace change and build something new, only to find yourself navigating the same old mindsets in a brand new setting.
And then there are the people you think you’ll click with — those who seem to share your values, your worldview. Maybe they’ve lived in other Indian metros, maybe they’ve spent time abroad. You assume that kind of exposure brings openness, understanding, and a willingness to connect on a deeper level. But again, you’re left stunned. Because surface-level similarity doesn’t always translate to emotional alignment.
Through these experiences, you start to learn some hard truths about adult friendships. Some people will take advantage of your kindness. Some will mistake your warmth for weakness. Others are all talk — full of promises and flowery words. But like they say, words are just wind.
Friendship, like anything meaningful, needs effort — from both sides. You can’t always be the giver, the one making space, initiating, and showing up. Because eventually, even the most generous heart runs out of steam. And when that happens, the quiet distance that follows isn’t anger… it’s self-preservation.
As a giver, once I hit rock bottom, there’s no dramatic fallout — just a quiet retreat. I begin to pull back, slowly but surely, one layer at a time. Because the reality is, even those who give endlessly need to be replenished. Even givers need to feel acknowledged, appreciated, and genuinely cared for — every now and then.
You can’t keep showing up for others when your own cup is empty. And when that realization hits, self-protection becomes necessary, not selfish.
So, ladies and gentlemen, here’s the takeaway: If you have even a handful of people you can truly call home in a foreign land, consider yourself incredibly lucky. Because at the end of the day, that’s all that really matters.
It’s not about the number of people in your circle or the superficial connections we so often chase. It’s not about the ones who just smile and wave as you pass by. It’s about those rare souls who see you — all of you, in your most vulnerable, imperfect moments. The ones who make you feel heard, understood, and accepted, even when the world feels like a stranger.
I’ve learned that true friendship isn’t about keeping score or exchanging pleasantries; it’s about standing by each other in silence, offering a hand when needed, and sometimes, just being a quiet presence in a moment of uncertainty.
And to those friends — you know who you are — thank you. Thank you for being my safe harbor when the seas were rough, for lighting up the darkest corners of my life, and for reminding me that no matter how far we are from home, we are never truly alone.
So hold your friendships close, because it’s these bonds, no matter how few, that make all the difference. They are the thread that weaves us through the toughest days, the laughter that lightens the hardest moments, and the warmth that keeps us going when everything else feels cold.
In the end, these are the people who make the distance feel smaller, the world feel a little less vast, and remind us that even in the most foreign of places, we can find pieces of home.
Cherish them, nurture them, love them. They are the gift, the blessing, and the very heart of this incredible journey. And without them, none of it would be as beautiful or as worthwhile.
