There is something about making and enacting a life decision as colossal as rerooting—a decision rooted in reckoning with the past and projecting into the future—that catapults a person acutely into the present. For those with young families and busy lives, accustomed to the constant grind of daily existence and planning for one life event after another, the present is a strange and alien domain. It is arid and hostile territory for those constantly chasing tomorrow.
The present is a sensory plain, a space where, much like a predatory animal, one’s senses become languidly heightened. An individual becomes acutely aware of the minutiae of their surroundings in a way that escapes them when they are preoccupied with meeting work deadlines or preparing the evening meal. Suddenly, one hears the small, echoing drips of a leaking tap or notices a discerning crack in the wall. The present gives pause in a discomforting way because the stakes are unnervingly high. It forces people to address the thoughts and feelings they typically tuck away to unpack for another day in the nebulous terrain of the future. It offers an opportunity to gauge the here and now as a barometer for future planning—a moment that will inevitably pass into the oblivion of yesterday, demonstrating the fleeting nature of temporary selves. It stands as the antithesis of how humanity is supposed to inhabit time, serving as an illusory part of life that people are ostensibly invested in yet perpetually remote and absent from.
Being cognisant of this gap between past and future, this blink-and-you’ll-miss-it step on the treadmill of the present, grants a strange spatial awareness. While individuals might not ordinarily be conscious of the social structures they constitute—the school, the office, the neighbourhood, the systems their very beings invest in and contribute to—being dislodged from them changes everything. Understanding oneself as a disposable component creates a necessary kind of dwarfing. People suddenly feel small in the grander narrative of time and history. So much of human identity is invested in feeling part of a greater network, shaping self-perception. To be absolutely broken off from that context highlights a personal smallness in unsettling ways. People often cling stubbornly to these concepts to maintain a desired self-image, floating blissfully into a planned future as part of a three-dimensional nexus near the local high street and familiar landmarks, forming a constellation of the familiar that shapes personal identity.
Geography as a Determiner of Identity
Geography remains one of the key determiners in how individuals identify and situate themselves in the world. As humans, our very nature is tribalist, and we tether ourselves crudely to the material ground we inhabit. This tendency exemplifies the futility of material existence 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 nearest to them. This connection encompasses everything from fragile, exclusionary nationalism to melodic, nostalgic folk culture focused on the earth and soil. It sears a loyalty that can be belligerent and ugly, or deep and beautiful, yet fundamentally senseless. It plays into grand narratives that people possessively cling to, feeling so coded within them that they risk feeling bereft and formless without them.
The word "home" embodies the wonderment of language perfectly. It is simultaneously universal and specific, immediately understood yet carrying deeply personal implications for each individual. For such a small word, it evokes immense weight, tasked with tethering people completely to a concept and space. Its unassuming, monosyllabic structure accommodates diverse personal meanings, serving as a familiar, worn space shaped by human existence.
For Muslims watching the devastating realities of children being killed daily—an anguish compounded by a shared identity and the nullifying concept of Muslim belonging—nothing taken for granted can be assumed anymore. Unquestioningly accepted axioms have vanished overnight, leaving a cold, gaping space. British Muslims, in particular, have long understood that this sense of belonging, tribalism, and nationalism comes with a strange and telling discomfort.
National rhetoric concerning belonging draws a strict line at the Muslim identity, a reality underscored by recent events. Social anxiety is built entirely around the Muslim identity on both micro and macro levels. Daily experiences on the street and relentless media headlines suggest that to belong is not to be Muslim, and that to be Muslim is to not belong.
Witnessing the state of public discourse following recent race riots offers a renewed perspective. When hotels housing Muslims can be targeted and exits blocked, simply existing as a Muslim can feel perilous. Beyond street-level hostility, when the mere act of casting a ballot—an absolute civic right—triggers panic and frenzy across the media industry, fundamental questions must be asked about the assumptions underlying citizenship, legitimacy, and humanity. Evidently, a conspicuous, Muslim-shaped hole exists within these popular concepts.
Conversations surrounding Muslim migration have taken on a sober, detached tone. Many Muslims witness predictable events with a resignation born from growing up in a hostile media climate. This animosity is becoming more than a mere footnote in contemporary Muslim discourse; it is now a relevant factor in how British Muslims perceive themselves and their space on earth. It enables individuals to understand the true nature of travellers. As Muslims, the transitory nature of life is an absolute truth. Yet, people are often emotionally blinded by the intoxicating distractions of the immediate present. Making a conscious decision to change one’s place and time on earth requires an effort anchored in the everyday realities that people usually shroud in deflection. Recent events have created a catalyst for this sobering reflection.
While acknowledging this motivating factor to leave, social media has simultaneously seen a rise in Forex traders rhapsodising about moving to Muslim countries for material benefits, even as many Muslims are not chasing a capitalist dream. Despite concerns regarding liberal influences, some individuals have relocated for affirmative religious purposes rather than reactionary ones. What unites these varied motivations is the fragile foundation of belonging for Muslims in the UK—not to suggest that Britain isn’t or shouldn’t be called home, but rather acknowledging the precarious nature of that home.
While much of the Muslim cultural canon has fixated on the shared sentiment of diaspora, the feeling of being the "other," and quaint narratives of cultural touchstones, the current historical moment demands a departure from this diaspora twee. For many in a position to do so, it represents an inversion of passive consequence and cultural stagnation. The decision is not about looking backward toward a mythologized "motherland," but rather addressing the geographies known intimately—the streets of childhood, the ubiquitous smell of concrete pavement, the visceral connection to places where one is repeatedly made to feel like an alien. It is an acknowledgement of a lack of a traditional maternal homeland, recognising a place within a neighbourhood or city while feeling excluded from the broader national narrative. It is a decision looking forward to potential futures rather than dwelling on the past.
The Weight of Leaving
Leaving a place that delegitimises your existence, despite it being the only environment you have ever known, the only language in which you have conceptualised yourself, and the only cultural topography you have formed, runs unnervingly deep. It requires divorcing from a physical space while also making a stark departure from a specific moment in time and a network of social and cultural connectedness. Leaving forces individuals to reckon with all the states of their being—who they were, what they are now, and what they want to be—highlighting the humbling spatial and temporal dimensions of existence. It allows people to see themselves within both their geographical place on earth and the broader story of time. It is a commitment to the unknown, an excommunication from a fragmented sense of belonging, and an acknowledgement of the futility of seeking acceptance within broken systems. It challenges both reassuring self-narratives and hateful pigeonholing, offering a process of shedding and catharsis.
Moving to a Muslim country introduces a direct, albeit different, kind of otherness for those navigating unfamiliar languages, etiquettes, and customs. 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 by Western culture, individual Muslim existence remains whole, complete, and independent of external meaning-making. Leaving is often driven by the pursuit of betterment, despite the comfort of familiarity. The measure of that betterment 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. Individuals may long for environments that cerebral analysis suggests are no longer right for them as believers. Personally, leaving a city as beloved as London—with its grey, everyday presence, its role as the backdrop for every rite of passage, and its quiet witness to personal history—has proven abjectly painful. London has long functioned as a familiar, uncritical companion embedded in muscle memory.
Saying goodbye to that space and time has granted a new sense of awareness, historical and geographic context, and a renewed consciousness. It enables individuals to be more purposeful while figuring out how new environmental resources can bolster their lives. It is a testing daily experience, but one approached as a new chapter built on intentionality and personal reflection.