Leaving a Life I Owned

I had a good life in Bangladesh. Not the romanticized, struggle-glorified version people like to talk about, but a genuinely good, well-balanced one. 

I graduated from a public university, started my professional career early, and continued working while doing my first master’s degree. Over time, I built a solid career in digital marketing, working at AuthLab – one of the top software companies in its space. The work was meaningful, the people were good, and the growth was real. I wasn’t just surviving; I was progressing. 

I come from Sylhet, often considered one of the most beautiful cities in Bangladesh, at least by those of us who’ve spent enough time there to feel it. The city itself wasn’t perfect, but greenery was never far away. Tea gardens sat just outside the usual city noise, close enough that if you needed a break or a breath of fresher air, you could get there in half an hour. Life there had a certain rhythm that didn’t rush you unnecessarily. 

Financially, I was comfortable. More than comfortable, actually. My purchasing power was strong, at least within my surroundings and in the context of living in Bangladesh. I could spend, save, and still not think twice before making most decisions. That kind of stability gives you something money can’t buy: mental peace. 

Then I moved to Germany. It wasn’t a deeply calculated move after years of planning. It was sudden, but probably an obvious choice I had to make. 

I moved here to pursue my second master’s in Economic Behaviour and Governance. On paper, it made sense. In reality, it came with a cost I hadn’t fully priced in. 

The biggest shock wasn’t cultural, or the food, or the language gap. It wasn’t academic. It wasn’t even loneliness. 

It was financial. 

Back in Bangladesh, I lived with an abundance mindset, not reckless, but relaxed. I knew moving to Germany would change that. Still, feeling the shift firsthand hit different. Despite continuing my job with AuthLab (because I genuinely love the work and want to stay in this field), the math no longer worked in my favor. 

I was careful with money even back home. I used to track my expenses religiously and manage finances better than many others. But here, every euro suddenly matters. The margin for error is thin. The comfort of “I’ll figure it out later” disappears fast when rent, groceries, insurance, and daily expenses all stare you down in a foreign currency. 

And then there’s the lifestyle shift. 

I now cook my own food. Do all my household chores. Sort and dispose of trash with more rules than some exams. None of this is tragic. Millions do it every day. But it’s a big contrast when you come from a life where ‘ease’ was built into the system, even if that ease often meant poor practices. 

After landing in this country on 3rd November, I spent over a month moving between friends’ places with my luggage, living in a temporary in-between state. Eventually, I got my own studio apartment in a campus dormitory. It’s large enough for me, simple, and honestly, I love it. It’s the first place here that feels like mine. 

Still, I miss home. 

I miss Bangladesh, not in a poetic way, but in very specific, tangible details. The imperfections, the little chaos, the unpredictability of its streets and rhythms – that’s what gave it character and made it feel alive to me.

I miss the tea gardens around Sylhet, where the air felt lighter and the temperature colder than in the city center. I miss my Suzuki Access 125 – that scooter gave me a real sense of independence. 

I miss riding to quiet riverside spots around Chhatak and Sunamganj, sitting there for hours with no agenda. No productivity pressure. Just existing. 

I miss my people. My family. Relatives. Friends. And my colleagues at AuthLab, who, over time, became something closer to brothers. I miss living in a city I owned. I knew how things worked. I belonged. 

Germany, for now, is different. It offers structure, security, and long-term stability, but not ownership. At least, not yet. 

Life, I’ve realized, is never effortless. No matter where you are. No matter how much you make. You don’t escape difficulty; you just choose which kind you’re willing to live with. 

It’s all about making trade-offs between familiarity and possibility, comfort and growth, ownership and security, and home versus a mere house. 

I moved to a life that is not absolutely better. It’s not worse. It’s just… chosen. 

And for now, that’s enough.