There is something about making and enacting a life decision as colossal as rerooting—a choice deeply rooted in reckoning with the past and projecting into the future—that catapults a person acutely into the present. For those with young families or busy lives, accustomed to the constant grind of daily existence and planning one life event after another, the present can feel like a strange and alien domain. It is arid and hostile territory for those constantly chasing tomorrow.
The present functions as a sensory plain. Like a predatory animal, one’s senses become languidly heightened, making a person acutely aware of the minutiae of their surroundings in a way that escapes them when they are preoccupied with meeting work deadlines or preparing evening meals. Suddenly, the small, echoing drips of a leaking tap become audible, and a discerning crack in the wall becomes visible. The present gives pause in a discomforting way because the stakes are unnervingly high. It forces individuals to address thoughts and feelings normally tucked away, left to be unpacked another time in the nebulous terrain of the future. It provides an opportunity to reflect upon and gauge the here and now as a barometer for a future being planned—a moment that will itself pass into the oblivion of yesterday, demonstrating the fleeting nature of temporary selves. It stands as the antithesis of time as humans are supposed to inhabit it, representing that illusory part of life where people are invested yet perennially remote and absent.
Being cognisant of this position in the gap between past and future—the fleeting, blink-and-you’ll-miss-it step on the treadmill of the "now"—grants a strange spatial awareness. Individuals may not ordinarily be conscious of the social structures they constitute, such as the school, the office, or the neighbourhood, institutions in which their very beings are invested and to which they contribute. Dislodging from them and understanding oneself as a disposable component creates a necessary kind of dwarfing. People suddenly feel small in the grander narrative of time and history. Because so much human identity is invested in feeling part of a greater network, to be absolutely broken off contextualises personal smallness in unsettling ways. People tend to stick resolutely to concepts that give them a sense of self as they wish to see it, acting like quietly stubborn barnacles floating blissfully into a planned future trajectory, tethered to a three-dimensional nexus between time and space near the local high street and secondary school—the constellation of the familiar that shapes personal identity.
Geography as a Determinant of Identity
Geography remains one of the key determiners in how human beings identify and situate themselves in the world. As humans, our very nature is tribalist, tethering us crudely to the material ground we inhabit. This exemplifies the futility of material selves and highlights how arbitrary and superficial national or cultural branding can be. People identify with or against the flag they sit under, the postcode they live in, or the football team they feel closest to. This encompasses everything from fragile, exclusionary, skin-headed nationalism to achingly melodic folk culture focused on the nostalgia of the earth and soil. It sears a loyalty that can be belligerent and ugly, or deep and beautiful, yet equally senseless. It feeds into grand narratives that people possessively cling to, feeling coded within them to the point of feeling bereft and formless without them.
The word "home" perfectly embodies the wonderment of language, being simultaneously universal and specific. People are immediately aware of it, yet largely unaware of the personal implications it holds for others. For such a small word, it carries the colossal job of tethering individuals completely to a single concept and space. Its unassuming, monosyllabic structure serves as an efficient vehicle for the many personal contours of its meaning, designed well for everyday use. It is familiar and worn, much like the places people impress upon and shape through their existence.
The Precarious Nature of Belonging for British Muslims
For Muslims watching the harrowing realities of children being killed on an hourly basis due to a shared identity, nothing previously deemed natural can be taken for granted. Axioms carried unquestioningly in back pockets have disappeared without warning overnight, leaving a cold, gaping space. Communities no longer exist in the same world and can no longer afford delusions. British Muslims, in particular, have known for quite some time that this sense of belonging, tribalism, and nationalism comes with a strange and telling sense of discomfort.
National rhetoric concerning belonging draws a strict line at the Muslim, a reality reinforced by recent events. Social anxiety is built entirely upon the identity of the Muslim on both a micro and macro level. Street-level experiences and daily headlines communicate a clear message: to belong is to not be Muslim, and to be Muslim is to not belong.
Witnessing the state of public discourse and feeling surrounding Muslims in the wake of recent race riots affords a renewed sense of perspective. Incidents involving hotels being targeted and exits blocked because they house Muslims suggest that simply existing as a Muslim carries immense hostility in the British Isles. Beyond the lawlessness of the streets, when Muslims exercise their absolute civic right by casting a ballot and it triggers panic across the media industry, fundamental questions must be asked. Observers argue that the underlying assumptions upon which citizenship, legitimacy, and humanity are based clearly contain a conspicuous, Muslim-shaped hole.
Conversations surrounding Muslim migration have taken on a detached, sober tone. Many Muslims witness these predictable events with a resignation and weariness born from growing up in the contemporary media climate. This hostility is becoming more than a mere footnote in the story of modern Muslim discourse and movement; it is now a relevant part of how British Muslims perceive themselves and their space on earth. It fosters an understanding of what it means to be a traveller. Muslims know inherently that life is transitory. As human beings, people can be emotionally blinded by the immediate environment, making everyday life an intoxicating distraction. Making a conscious decision to change place and time on earth requires an effort anchored in the everyday realities usually met with deflection. Recent events have served as a catalyst for this sobering reflection.
While there is a renewed acknowledgment of the factors motivating departure, social media in recent years has also been dominated by financial commentators rhapsodising about moving to Muslim countries for material benefits, even though many Muslims are not chasing a capitalist dream. Despite concerns over the cultural environment in Western nations, some individuals move for affirmative religious purposes rather than reactionary ones. What unites these varied motivations is the sometimes fragile foundation of belonging for Muslims in the UK—not to suggest that they do not or should not call it home, but rather an acknowledgment of the precarious nature of that home.
A Departure from Diaspora Twee
Much of the traditional Muslim cultural canon has fixated on the shared sentiment of diaspora, the feeling of being the "other," and the repetitive, quaint narratives associated with it—such as henna-stained fingertips and eating with one’s hands. However, the current historical moment represents a necessary departure from this diaspora aesthetic. For many in a position to do so, it involves upending passive consequence and cultural stagnation.
The shift is not about looking backward at cultural spaces where individuals feel a strange, contradictory proximity despite vast distance, known traditionally as the "motherland." Rather, it confronts the geographies known most intimately—the streets of childhood, the ubiquitous smell of concrete pavement embedded in sensory DNA, and the visceral connections to places where individuals are increasingly made to feel alien. It is an acknowledgment of a lack of a traditional maternal homeland, an understanding that one may belong to a house, a street, or a neighbourhood, but feel increasingly alienated from the wider national framework. It is a decision looking forward into what could possibly be, rather than dwelling on what has passed.
Leaving a Familiar World Behind
Leaving a place that seemingly delegitimises one’s existence—despite it being the only environment one has ever known, the only language used for conceptualisation, and the only cultural topography formed—is unnervingly profound. It is a divorce from space, time, and social and cultural connectedness. Leaving forces individuals to reckon with who they were, what they are now, and what they want to be, highlighting the humbling spatial and temporal dimensions of existing. It offers a commitment to the unknown, an excommunication from a limited sense of belonging, and an acknowledgement of the futility of seeking validation within hostile structures.
Moving to a Muslim country, and experiencing a different kind of otherness in a place where the language, etiquette, and customs are unfamiliar, prompts reflection on the millions who navigate the fluidity of "home." It forces individuals to reconceptualize themselves, draw on different parts of their identity, and discover new internal resources.
For many Muslims, leaving is not a defiant or reactionary choice. Just as Islam is not defined solely in opposition to Western liberalism, Muslim existence remains whole, complete, and independent of external meaning-making. Leaving is an endeavour to seek improvement despite the comfort of familiarity. The measure of that improvement remains deeply personal, rooted in individual values, choices, and faith.
While the heart is often viewed as the domain of faith, the brain frequently mediates the relationship with belief, sometimes prompting individuals to leave environments that cerebral reflection indicates are no longer right for them. Personally, leaving a city as beloved as London—with its grey, everyday presence, serving as the backdrop for every rite of passage and life experience, acting like a tacit, non-judgmental old friend—has proven abjectly painful. London has mediated relationships and personal development as the only geography known instinctively, embedded in muscle memory.
Saying goodbye to that space and time has granted a new sense of awareness, historical and geographic context, and a transformed consciousness. It enables greater purpose while navigating new environmental resources, with the hope that the transition is spiritually accepted and daily intentions are renewed. Though testing on a daily basis, it marks a new chapter approached with optimism.