After three years of living in Europe, I returned to Colombia to reconnect with my family. The moment I landed, my whole body shuddered. My eyes watered as I saw the breathtaking mountains of my beautiful country.
I felt happy, but as the days passed, I experienced intense culture shock. The place I once called home felt different. After so long away, I did not realize how much my country had changed.
I constantly questioned myself: Was the country different, or was it me? Did I still belong to Colombia? What does ‘home’ truly mean after living abroad for so long?
I have struggled with the concept of belonging all my life. I am a girl from Bogotá who grew up in Medellín. Now, I am a Colombian living abroad. Living in two different places brings both connection and conflict—you share many values and behaviors, yet feel detached at times. You belong everywhere and nowhere at once.
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Colombia: The Only Risk is That You Want to Stay
When we refer to home, we often think of our emotional and physical experiences. Colombia smells like forest and peach to me. It feels like a warm hug from my mother. It tastes like fresh fruit; visually, it’s a collective sum of memories of where I was happiest.
According to Sarah Niblock, CEO of the UK Council for Psychotherapy, home often reflects our identity. Our household is shaped by our culture, family, and experiences. For many, home is the place where you feel secure and happy. However, this concept does not apply to everyone. For some people, home reminds traumas and negative experiences.
I remember feeling afraid of not fitting in with my country. I had changed while living abroad. But I forgot that our bodies have memory, and in my case, the place I belong was a secure space for me. Suddenly, I saw myself driving through Medellín as if I’d never left.
Crossing the streets felt natural, even though in South America, nobody stops at crosswalks. Talking with every Colombian was interesting; I felt hope in every conversation. My Uber rides were eye-opening. I met a driver who, back in the ‘90s, was a drug dealer in The United States of America, and another who had been a hitman when he was 18. Now, they were working in peace, sharing their stories of resilience.
I was so proud of feeling part of my country because I saw how people were still happy and positive, even though they had more than 50 years of internal war. Experiencing Colombia through the eyes of others, gave me a sensation of hope.
On top of that, speaking my mother tongue after three years was liberating. I expressed myself fully, shared my humor, and embraced my loud personality.
Yet, not everything was perfect. Cultural shocks surfaced, like disagreements with my mom about punctuality. “We are in Colombia, not The Netherlands,” she reminded me, making me understand how much I had changed while living abroad.
Another issue was the social problems like prostitution and xenophobia. I cannot remember how many times I heard people speak derogatorily about prostitutes and Venezuelans. Those comments were all around me.
As a migrant myself I know what it means to receive negative comments related to your race or the place you belong. I could not understand why people treated Venezuelans in that way.
Returning home offers a new perspective on your birthplace. Despite the positives and negatives of my time in Colombia, I can say it was a safe and energizing experience. I felt grateful to be back and close a chapter in my life of suffering from Imposter Syndrome (check my blog about IS here).
Before leaving, I told my partner I did not want to return to The Netherlands, but I knew I had built a home in another country too.
The Netherlands: Landing to Reality
What I once thought would be the easiest thing became the hardest: coming back to The Netherlands.
I did not realize how much resentment I had built toward the person I became while living abroad. I transformed into the version of myself, rushing all the time and constantly caring about what others thought of me. I discovered I was quite negative about the country that opened its doors to me. And yes, I felt completely lost.
The horror movie started when I left Colombia. I could not stop crying. After two months of warm weather, I landed on a cloudy and rainy winter day in Amsterdam.
I felt emotionally drained. My husband (Dutch) was so excited to start this new chapter in our life. However, for me, even watering the plants felt like a monumental task. Was I depressed? I had never felt like this before. I was heartbroken.
These negative feelings lasted almost two weeks. But then I realized: you can choose how to view the glass—half-full or empty. It takes time to get encouraged. It hurts to accept that you are no longer in your country. It’s tricky to think… Is this place my home now? What is the meaning of home then?
How did I get out of the victim role? The answer: my new community. In 2024, I put a lot of effort into building friendships and relationships. When I came back to The Netherlands, I felt a warm hug from my friends and in-laws. I was so grateful. Also, my husband did everything to make me feel at home.
Through this process, I realized my new friends were not equivalent to my childhood friends from Colombia. My first mistake was comparing apples to pears. Making friends takes time, and getting to know a place does too.
Another problem was my Dutch. Last year, I set barriers and forced myself to speak only Dutch. This limited communication made me believe I was a “quiet person,” which I am not. The Netherlands has been a clear invitation to let go of expectations of being perfect from the start. Learning a language and integrating takes effort, time, and consistency.
I might sound negative when talking about coming back to The Netherlands, but it was not easy. It hurt, and I cried a lot, but everything changed when I started to appreciate small details. The social order, biking everywhere, my friends, and routine. My house and my husband. Being here is worth it.
My New Meaning of Home
“Wherever he laid his hat was his home” said a song by The Temptations. This phrase hit me hard. Home does not mean a place; it is where I feel like myself. The meaning of home changed when I felt part of The Netherlands and Colombia.
I grew up feeling like an outsider in my own country. I was born in Bogotá and grew up in Medellín, but I never felt fully connected to either place. While developing between two cultures, I abstracted the positives and negatives of both. It took me 28 years to realize it was okay to be multicultural. I do not need another 20 years of feeling like an outsider in both countries.
It is a big thing to accept that I come from two places. Once I was a Colombian from two cities, why could I not be a “Colombian-Dutch”? I realized that my most powerful conversations in Colombia started when I said I lived in The Netherlands. What makes me authentic is both.
In my last months, I learned that the meaning of home is the place where you feel happy. It is beautiful to make peace with the idea that I am part of both places. I love the warmth of my Colombian roots, the kindness of the people, and the joy in every corner. I also love the structure in The Netherlands, the time-oriented drive to make things happen, and yes, the open society that makes me feel as if I am in the future.
For me is so fascinating that what is taboo in Colombia is legal in The Netherlands. For example, prostitution is still an issue in Colombia, but it has been legal in The Netherlands since 2000. The same goes for cannabis and mushrooms. I believe The Netherlands has managed a way to control all those topics that can be a problem for society.
Like other migrants, I decided to move abroad to expand my knowledge and perspective. But I also believe that being negative about Colombia and complaining about its persistent issues won’t change anything.
I have spoken with many other Colombian migrants, and our goals are often similar: get some money and skills, then return to your country in the future. For now, I accept that my home will always be divided. Instead of focusing on why I do not fit in, I choose to embrace the fact that I am multicultural—and always will be.
Do you feel related? Please share your thoughts in the comments.
