This morning, I learned that my grandad in Ethiopia passed away. It hit me harder than I expected. I am in the United States, working toward my PhD, and somehow life keeps moving here even while a part of my heart is breaking thousands of miles away.
His death made me face something I have been trying to ignore. What if it had been my parents? What if something happened to them while I am here chasing this dream? I am not ready for that. I do not think I ever will be. The distance feels cruel. It feels unfair.
I remembered something today. A few years ago, I used to proudly tell my friends that all four of my grandparents were alive. It felt special, like I was carrying a blessing others did not have. Now I am down to my two grandmas. It happened so fast. I was not there for most of it. I did not get to say goodbye.
Being away from my family has been the hardest part of this journey. I am trying to build a better life, but the cost is high. I barely get to spend time with the people I love most. Even when I do visit, it is not simple. The last time I went home, I could not relax. I felt anxious about whether I would get my visa renewed and whether I would be allowed to return to continue my studies. That constant fear makes it hard to breathe. It steals the joy from moments that are supposed to give me strength.
Now I am here, grieving in silence, alone in a place that does not pause for pain. I keep asking myself if it is all worth it. What is the point of building a future if it means losing pieces of my present? How long will this cycle of sacrifice, fear, and longing continue?
I am tired.