I packed my bags, I caught my flight,
This was nothing new, a task so light.
Born in Iran, my roots ran deep,
The feeling of family, my soul would keep.
But I grew up a Canadian kid,
Immigrant parents and ice to skid.
My parents came here for a better life,
Loneliness in the cold, sharp as a knife
Two homes behind, a third one in sight.
The plane was my stability, I live in flight.
Peeled from my home with dreams to chase,
Another different world, another different place.
From snow-kissed streets and maple skies,
To where the Texas sun would rise.
Yet I finally stepped foot on foreign ground,
A stranger where no roots were found.
I couldn’t reach out now, I was all alone.
A little girl frantic, forced to act grown.
This was the thing I had always wanted –
Now I stand in the middle of my dreams so haunted.
The accents strange, the customs new,
A life to build, a path to hew.
The halls of medical school stood tall,
A dream so fierce, I gave my all.
Would they see me—half, not whole?
A puzzle piece without a role?
Too Persian there, too Canadian here,
A drifting soul with origins unclear.
The pressures mount, the tests don’t end,
Barely staying afloat, “Don’t break! Just bend!”
What is it like to fi t into a box?
Never asked intrusive questions, never counting clocks?
For where I go, I bring my past—
Now three worlds in me, forever vast.
So here I stand, nor here, nor there,
Forced to fi nd home everywhere.
A child of East, a child of North,
Adaptation is what I put forth.
Yet even now, the road’s unclear,
With residency match, I chase, I steer.
Again, I’ll pack, again, I’ll roam,
Still searching for a place called home.