The Good and the Bad

Before I moved to my home country for the first time, I lived in Afghanistan for almost 7 years. I grew up with the Afghan culture, people and language (my first actually, being Persian) among many other things. It was my home, my country - in the eyes of the people I was a native. Then in 2004 my mother got cancer, she was told that if she would have realized just 3 months later than she had, she would not have made it. Because of the poor health care possibilities in Afghanistan, my mom left for Germany. When my father, my sister and I came to Germany a few weeks later, it was clear that at that stage we would not be returning to Afghanistan. So, we moved to Berlin. I was put into a public school and ended up staying there for my 2nd, 3rd and 4th grade. I had a terrible time. I did not understand the children and teachers, and they did not understand me. Because I had grown up with only my parents speaking German, I spoke German like an adult would have. I was bullied because I didn't speak normally, the children looked at me strangely because I looked different and I was pushed and shoved because I did not act like them. I was put down by everyone - the teachers told me I was too stupid and I would never be able to catch up and to the children, I just didn't belong. Then, after an infinite time period, or so it seemed, my dad was offered a job in Pakistan. I could not have been happier to move, I even wrote a several paged essay about my new school, which seemed like paradise to me. Who would have guessed that there is someone who belonged so little in her own country? and who knew that once I was actually happy to leave behind everything and move away?