“Migration is more than just moving from one place to another; it’s a deep personal change.” – By G.P as told to Samuel Hall Team | Photographed by Tornike Begiashvili
I left Georgia in 2015 because I believed studying abroad mattered for my career. I lived in Germany from 2015 to 2020, freelancing and consulting while completing my Master’s degree with support from a DAAD scholarship. Those years gave me independence, autonomy, and a way of structuring life that stayed with me.
But an emergency at home and the COVID-19 pandemic brought me back to Georgia in 2020. One of the first things I remember is the curfew, running home by 9 p.m. because even the metro shut down. It felt surreal, and it set the tone for how unfamiliar my home country suddenly felt.
Re-entering the job market was difficult. I applied for positions I believed I was fully qualified for — “ticked all the boxes,” as I said. Yet no one called me for interviews. I don’t think this was specifically about migration; the labour market was frozen. Civil society organisations and international organisations had suspended activities, and good vacancies were rare.
At the same time, I realised how migration had changed my expectations in everyday life. Wearing a seatbelt in the back seat, planning meetings in advance, things that were normal for me after five years in Germany, suddenly became moments of misunderstanding. Friends’ remarks, surprise at my habits, last-minute invitations I didn’t want to accept… these small things showed me how returning creates distance, even with people you’ve known for years. Family dynamics were their own challenge. I had lived alone for a long time, and I came back with different boundaries and expectations. But in Georgia, roles don’t always shift when you return. Space, autonomy, care, these are culturally shaped, and difficult to renegotiate.
And this is where the context of my work becomes important.
I had previously worked as a translator at a shelter, closely observing the experiences of migrants and deportees. I saw firsthand how public perception influences people’s dignity. I saw how return is judged differently depending on whether someone comes back with a degree or because they were deported. These observations shaped the way I talk about migration, not only through my own story, but through years of listening to other people’s stories.
This is why I often speak about media narratives and public attitudes. How people see returnees can vary. Those who return for education or jobs might be viewed positively, but those who come back due to deportation may face negative views. It’s important to discuss return migration in a balanced way and avoid judging deportees harshly. The media often presents return migration in a biased way, influenced by politics. It’s important to portray returnees fairly and accurately. The media should focus on creating supportive environments for returnees rather than reinforcing stereotypes.
My views on migration policy are also influenced by this. I believe European governments and the EU should invest more in the skills of immigrants who are already present in their countries, rather than focusing mainly on return policies. From what I have seen, a successful return depends on what someone is returning to. And in Georgia, the context has been worsening: politically and professionally. I cannot separate my personal return from the political processes I’ve been working on for the last three years. They are intertwined. If I had known how events in the country were going to unfold — certain laws, restrictions, financial constraints, the closure of organisations — I don’t know whether I would have returned when I did. Even now, although I want to stay in Georgia, I am preparing a Plan B. I am completing a German teacher’s licence so that, if needed, I have the option to return to Germany’s formal labour market. Some people go abroad for a better life; for me, it would be about survival and stability.
Looking back, it’s hard to isolate one moment that defines “the challenge of return.” For me, it is all mixed together: the pandemic, the frozen labour market, the political climate, the dynamics with family and friends, and the constant question of whether I will one day have to leave again. That uncertainty, more than anything else, captures what returning has meant in my life.