I Feel Like a Foreigner at Home

The unexpected alienation of moving back “home” for college

“És mesmo estrangeira…” was the anthem that resounded every time a new cultural reference I was unfamiliar with came up.

“You’re such a foreigner…”

The dull voices came with a curious icky flavor, as though my ignorance was both fascinating and gross.

How did I not know that song? How did I not know that cartoon? Did I live under some sort of rock?

After two decades of living out and about, I returned “home” for university. I use the term home loosely here because it didn’t quite feel like home.

You would think that the usual signals of homecoming would stretch out and embrace the academic life too, but no. That was not the case at all. At least for me.

The truth is, my concept of home had become a complex web of experiences and emotions over the years. Portugal, with its lazy sun, wild oceans, and pale “underwear” pink, blue, and yellow houses was undoubtedly a part of that tapestry. But my sense of belonging had evolved into something more intricate and difficult to name.

Not a country, not a place. Maybe a collection of feelings? Maybe a sense of promise?

So as I stepped into what would be my new routine, I felt strangely out of place. It is relevant to note that my whole life hitherto had been an accumulation of new routines, which inevitably feel strange at first, but in an exciting way.

In fact, one of my favorite feelings is approaching a new environment and thinking, “in just a few days, weeks, or even next year, all of this will be entirely familiar to me.”

The unknown becomes a funny illusion when you consider the effects of time.

Anyway, I digress. This particular new routine felt strange in a different way. It was both alien and familiar. A kind of familiar I had outgrown or never wanted to be a part of in the first place.

The Portuguese culture that I had always cherished suddenly felt foreign to me. Social norms and customs I had only ever experienced with my close-knit family in an international environment now required a conscious effort to understand.

• Why does a person’s last name matter?
• Why does a last name mean something about who you are and how you live your life?
• Why is being foreign considered fancy but also something you are bragging about?
• Why do people complain all the time at the prospect of having to do some work? “Eishhh…”
• Why are people weirded out by different customs and ways of living?

I noticed I didn’t actually like these things. In fact, I have never really known them.

It was as if I had lost touch with my own roots. Or maybe, I was never really rooted to begin with?

The academic environment at my university was the main challenge for me. While I was eager to start a new chapter in my life, and psychology seemed interesting to learn about, I found myself grappling with a new academic system and a different approach to education altogether.

The students around me had grown up within this system, and I felt like an outsider trying to catch up. But actually, I didn’t want to catch up. I found the system backward and ineffective.

Why would memorizing slides to regurgitate onto an exam paper make me a good therapist? Why weren’t more people curious and eager to ask out-of-the-box questions? Why did people give minimal effort?

For starters, in Portugal, psychology is an easy course to get into. You don’t need a high GPA to get in. I feel like that alone speaks volumes about the importance we place on mental health and the ever-present stigma around needing or asking for help.

I digress again.

Academically, I did not feel inspired in the environment I was in, and I felt the eye-rolling action every time I tried to get engaged in class discussion, or God forbid, had to say a word in English because I couldn’t remember what it was in Portuguese.

Yes, because I studied in English my whole life but did my bachelor's degree entirely in Portuguese. That was fun.

I felt like a very large fish out of water. Still, I swam on and ended up doing quite well academically. But what does that really mean in the end? The whole experience made me feel quite sad and disconnected.

From my studies. From others. From my country. From myself.

But amidst the struggles and moments of self-doubt, I began to realize something profound. Being a foreigner in my own country was not a weakness; it was an opportunity for growth.

It allowed me to see Portugal with fresh eyes, appreciating its beauty and intricacies in a new light. It made me grateful for my time abroad and my chance to see the world and all its variations. It made me more empathetic and understanding of others who experienced the challenges of living in a foreign land.

As time went on, I started to bridge the gap between the Portugal of my memories and the Portugal I had returned to. I rekindled connections with old friends, made new ones, and sought out experiences that would help me integrate into this familiar-yet-unfamiliar world.

I embraced my identity as a global citizen and later, in my Masters, picked an international course in English which allowed me to express both my intercultural and Portuguese identity with pride and acceptance.

While I may still occasionally feel like a foreigner at home, I’ve come to rectify that home is not a place or a state of mind. It’s the sum of our experiences, the people we meet, and the growth we undergo.

I believe that there is something very valuable to be learned when we are taken out of our comfort zones and faced with many different realities and perspectives of life. We grow more tolerant, more open, more compassionate, and more curious.

It’s funny though, that outlook is all spun off its axis when you return to your home country. The discomfort zone becomes your own roots, and you are forced to face where you come from on a deeper level.

It becomes a journey of self-discovery, a reconnection with your roots, and a testament to the ever-evolving concept of home. The struggles of not being rooted become one of the biggest catalysts to our growth and connection with the world.

So now, almost 10 years later, as I navigate through the heart of Lisbon, I do so with a newfound appreciation for the complexities of home. I may feel like a foreigner at times, but I also feel like a citizen of the world, and that, I’ve come to realize, is a beautiful thing.

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