We know how to talk about both physical and geographical migration. From this point of view, I can be considered a migrant person…

But I stop briefly and jot down ideas that come to mind as I look at the Josefa website and ask myself: has my own migration really started or not?

While I thought I was experiencing the riches of a cultural migration that the life of a "mixed" couple offered me, I realize that I have only marked time. Surprising for a couple that was united by the bonds of marriage and, presumably, of love, isn’t it?

To migrate towards another is quite a story.

To migrate towards one’s self has to be learned.

To migrate towards others is a perpetual enrichment.

Migrating to the heart of life is quite a learning experience.

I did not think that, having deliberately chosen to migrate officially, I could find myself anxious, whether consciously or not, about not being home.

Home? Where is home? I could say "everywhere".

Wherever one feels good: the landscape, the mentality, the culture, and the people we meet are likeable...

Wherever we have bonds of affection: family, friends…

Wherever we have interests: a job, a house…

Physically, I have been a migrant for 15 years and if my husband so chooses to exercise his freedom (he has become “my home”), I may find myself without him, without work, without a roof, without land…

So I am aware of the difficulty of talking about, of understanding and of experiencing migration if I do not first migrate inside myself, before I can migrate, move toward the other, and... sympathise (putting oneself in another’s shoes is for me a form of migration).

I think my next stopover as a migrant will be within myself: maybe that’s where I should have started? By welcoming myself before being welcomed by another and complementing the other?

Véronique