An opinionated breakdown of money’s meaning, role in society, and how it influences our decisions, habits, and lives.
Imagine Creep by Radiohead playing in the background. It helps set the mood. The whole context is about not belonging—the battle of finding oneself and the courage to approach something you desire. Every letter typed is filled with heavy emotions. Being in self-imposed exile is hard to explain, so I asked AI for help.
The AI explained:
“To a person, being exiled means being forcibly separated from their home, country, or community, often as a punishment or consequence of conflict. It is a profound experience of isolation, displacement, and loss. Exile can strip someone of their sense of belonging and identity, as they are cut off from familiar places, people, and culture. For many, exile brings a sense of betrayal, loneliness, and longing for what was left behind. Others might find it a transformative experience, leading to personal growth or the development of a new identity. It often involves carrying the weight of a divided self: one tied to the past and another struggling to adapt to an unfamiliar present.”
These words capture the essence of what exile represents, but they cannot fully encompass the personal weight of the experience. What follows is my attempt to give context and meaning to what it means to live in self-exile—a choice not made lightly and one that has shaped every facet of my life.
Self-exile, to me, is a paradox—a choice made to escape but one that leads to new forms of entrapment. It is not a single moment but a series of realizations that unravel over time. The weight of displacement seeps into the everyday, from unfamiliar routines to the aching disconnect from what once felt certain. Yet within this chaos lies a search for meaning, for stability, for the hope that this journey, however painful, might offer some redemption. These moments, each marked by struggle and reflection, define what it means to live with one foot in the past and the other hesitantly stepping into the unknown.
I try not to stare into the abysmal void of space. What is to come, I question it. Finding your ground is hard. Finding your footing in new ground is even harder. You can’t help but look back at what was and where it all went wrong. What decisions should have been made to make a difference today? Keep looking back and you’ll trip going forward. But the now is affected by the past, isn’t it?
The times I spent money on that useless soda or the food I bought—was it worth it? It gave me a momentary sense of relaxation, but did it help my situation? Even the smallest choice can profoundly affect the future. It reminds me of the butterfly effect. I wonder if it’s true. I will never know.
Being in self-exile is not good. It’s not a choice made lightly. Something good has to come of it. A language unknown. A culture of misunderstanding.
These distractions keep me from my purpose. They are small, almost inconsequential on their own, but together they create a pattern, a web of delay and doubt. It almost seems as though the universe has a disdain for my efforts to reclaim my life. A little something here, a little something there—each one adding weight to the already heavy burden I carry. It feels as though every step forward is met with resistance, as if the world itself questions my right to move ahead.
I was once alive, full of hope, even in the most downtrodden times. Now, what can I do to step up? Life has continually pushed me down. I feel responsible for all of it, but where did I go wrong? At the time, I thought I was doing what was right. Leaving a country I served and loved. My mother’s faith pushed her through the most trying times. Where does my faith stand?
Self-exile has stripped away the comforts I once knew, even if they were few, leaving me exposed to my deepest fears and regrets. It is a journey of questioning—of every decision, every action, every missed opportunity. Yet, within this relentless introspection lies the possibility for growth, even if it is born from pain. While the path forward feels uncertain and the weight of the past ever-present, I remind myself that exile does not have to mean an end. It can also be a beginning.
The challenge is finding purpose in the chaos, rediscovering the strength to move forward despite everything that pulls me back. This is not easy. The scars of displacement and self-doubt do not fade overnight, and sometimes, they never do. But scars are a testament to survival, a reminder that I am still here, still breathing, still capable of building something new.
In exile, I have learned that it is not about erasing the past but carrying it with me in a way that informs my future without defining it. It is about finding small moments of connection in a sea of misunderstanding, about learning a new language—not just of words, but of resilience and adaptability. It is about embracing the duality of being tied to two worlds and realizing that I am not wholly lost, even when it feels that way.
While I write this, I am again reminded of the lyrics to Creep. I may feel out of place, like I don’t belong, but perhaps belonging is not something given—it is something created. Slowly, step by step, I can carve out a place for myself, even in unfamiliar territory. This is my journey, my fight, my redemption. And though I may falter, I am still moving forward. For now, that is enough.
Learn more: Exile By The Kalahari Review - Medium