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Illustration by Catherine Chan
Imagine living in two worlds at the same time and not even in the same time zone. It feels like living a double-life. Ever since I came to Canada in 2021, I have felt like I am waking up in two different places every day. It took me a while to realize that distance isn’t changing and I have to get used to it.
When I left Iran 14 years ago to study abroad in Halifax, the idea of immigrating never even occurred to me. The plan was to get a degree and go back like my dad did when he was my age. Things changed. Success was, and still is, so appealing to a young woman like me who knew that if she went back home, her potential would be suppressed by society.
So, I stayed in Canada for the graduation ceremony, then my first job, and volunteering. A second job, then my dream job and, finally, I stayed for love. This was the beginning of rooting myself in my second home.
But after all these years, I still cannot manage to be present in just one place.
I wake up at 7:30 a.m. in Vancouver and it is 7:30 at night in Tehran. I check my phone for local news, and I check my WhatsApp for the daily news of Iran, that my dad sends me. I make breakfast while video chatting with my sister, who is preparing my nephew for bedtime. Then I start working, at noon I realize that it is my parents’ bedtime and I need my daily dose of their voices and reach out. It is a ritual — having lunch while talking to my parents with my mouth full. My mom will say in Farsi, “Eat your lunch at ease. We will stay awake for you to call back.” But she doesn’t know how much I enjoy talking to them while having lunch. It reminds me of our kitchen back home where we used to have lunch together as a family on Fridays.
When my parents sleep, my day starts. I try to focus, be present and catch up with my life, with less distraction from the second world that I live in.
When I am getting prepared for bedtime, my family wakes up in Iran. Before closing my eyes at night, I imagine myself being with them, beside them. I imagine watching my dad eating breakfast and my mom packing his lunch bag. I imagine looking at my sister waking up and doing her makeup. I imagine lecturing my nephew, now a teenager. If I were there, I probably could encourage my mom to go for a walk and care more about her health or I would have hidden my dad’s cigarettes, although I know he would go out to buy a new pack. Sometimes I remember that I once wanted to return home and buy a farmhouse in northern Iran and learn pottery. After so much thinking about what I would, could or should have done, I fall asleep. I sometimes have dreams about being with family in Tehran or being excited because they are coming to visit me.
When I met my partner and decided that he was “the one” a few years ago, I had to have a strict self-talk. I told myself: ”You are rooted here enough that you are now in love, and you know that going back will no longer be an option!” And that was it. My inner-parent instructed my inner-child and I accepted the fact that Canada was my second home, staying to live with the love of my life. This will be the only place for me to remain rooted, to grow and be fruitful.
One day, I will tell my story to my kids and let them choose where they want to root, grow, love and make a life.
Until then or forever (whichever it might be), I will continue living in two worlds. The sweetest thing that keeps me going is knowing that there are people in both worlds who love me unconditionally and whom I love in return.
Mahkia Eybagi lives in Vancouver.
