How I Adjusted to Life in Canada After Leaving Croatia at Eighteen
I was only eighteen when I left Croatia with my family.
My late father realized that in our small village, my sister and I might never have the kind of life he dreamed for us.
My mother felt the same — sometimes her eyes filled with quiet sadness when she couldn’t afford the simple things we needed.
Still, my childhood was beautiful. I grew up surrounded by flowers, fruit trees, and the laughter of summer.
I loved the old home where I was born — the same one where I learned to read, to write, and to dream.
When we left for Canada, I thought of it as hope.
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But when I arrived, I discovered how heavy nostalgia can be.
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In the beginning, Canada felt like a bright dream.
I made new friends, we went for coffee and small treats, and we shared excitement over learning French together.
But at night, when the noise faded and I sat between my four apartment walls, I often felt lost — as if a piece of me had stayed behind.
I dreamt about my little old home, my garden, and the big cherry tree that I climbed every summer as a child.
I missed the scent of the earth after rain, and the simple joy of planting flowers beside my mother.
Nostalgia can be a tender ache — a reminder of where our heart once lived.
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As the years passed, something changed in me.
I started to see the beauty of where I was.
Canada taught me acceptance. Here, people care about their families, their work, and their own quiet lives.
I realized that no one judged me for my accent or for who I was. The idea of multiculturalism — of belonging to a world made of many stories — became something I deeply loved.
At the learning center where I studied French, I found warmth again. Our teacher was kind and witty.
We laughed at our own mistakes, shared stories about our countries, and sometimes prepared lunches for everyone.
Those moments felt like home, even far away from the one I left.
I even studied in the same class as my parents — three new beginnings sitting side by side.
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The Cherry Tree Inside Me
I still think about my cherry tree.
But instead of missing it, I now carry it within me — a symbol of my roots and resilience.
Nostalgia hasn’t disappeared, but it’s softer now.
It no longer hurts; it holds me.
It reminds me that it’s possible to love more than one place — to grow from both where we came from and where we are now.
FAQ: Life Between Two Worlds — Immigration, Homesickness, and Healing
1. What inspired you to write about leaving Croatia?
I wanted to share the emotional side of immigration — not only the practical journey.
My story carries both hope and nostalgia, and I believe many gentle souls will recognize themselves in it.
Writing it helped me give meaning to change and distance.
2. How do you deal with homesickness?
Writing, walking, and connecting with kind people helped me cope with nostalgia.
I also focus on gratitude — noticing small, beautiful moments that remind me I belong here too.
Sometimes homesickness softens when we let it exist without judgment.
3. What does “home” mean to you now?
Home is no longer a single place.
It’s every person, memory, and peaceful moment that makes me feel safe and loved.
It’s in the language I speak, the food I share, and the people who make me feel seen.
4. How did learning French change your experience in Canada?
It opened doors to friendship, laughter, and community.
Learning a new language helped me rebuild confidence and feel like I was part of something again.
5. Why do you write letters on Gumroad?
Because letters allow me to hold emotions softly — for myself and for others.
Through my Letters That Hold You, I offer gentle comfort for quiet hearts who seek healing through words.
It’s my way of turning pain into presence, and distance into connection.
6. What message would you give to someone starting over in a new country?
Be patient with yourself.
Belonging takes time, and every moment — even the lonely ones — is part of becoming.
Your story will grow roots in new soil, even if it takes a while for them to bloom.


