“Exile is like death. You cannot understand it until it happens to you.” – Golshifteh Farahani

Stop what you’re doing for a moment (yes, including reading this) and ask yourself a question:

What would make you get up one day and leave everything behind?

Everything you’ve done so far. The house you’ve built, the career you’ve worked so hard to advance, the garden you try to keep pristine, the friends you’ve gone to such great lengths to keep in contact with…

Your pets.

Your lover.

Your children.

A lot of you may come to the conclusion that no such thing exists. That you’d never abandon little Teddy the Parrot, that your roses need you to keep blooming and that no parent in the whole wide world would willingly part with their children in such a way.

Yet, according to last year’s numbers, almost 4.5k Venezuelans (probably more at the time of writing) do just that every single day.

As you know, I’ll be another number in the statistic soon.

It’s more than just numbers

It’s been happening for more than a decade, ever since it became apparent that Hugo Chávez was in power for the long run, but only in recent years has it reached such dramatic proportions. The youth around these parts always joke about how the only parties and social gatherings they attend nowadays are despedidas, our little farewell parties.

It’s a bit of an overstatement, as we’re quite the… festive people, but it’s not too far from the truth.

When I was younger, in middle school and through high school, half the people I studied with had plans to leave after graduating. There were some very outspoken individuals against it, calling the wannabe-deserters “traitors” and “cowards”, but for the most part everyone understood. It was more or less the norm at the time.

It was already weaved into our conception of the world. You’re born, you grow, you leave, you die.

I had the same plans, too. But they never went further than that, plans. Leaving the country to study abroad, the only option for someone fresh out of high school, requires massive funds. I studied at a private school where many had the resources, but I was, regrettably, not one of them. So I stayed behind to study some more.

I’d leave after finishing college. It’d be fine.

A common way of letting the world know you're leaving is posting a picture of your feet and the famous Cruz Diez mosaic floor at Simón Bolivar International Airport just before departing. (SOURCE)

It escalated once I entered higher education. Again, everyone wanted to leave after finishing, but people were eager to change their plans. Year after year, we saw them disappear. Nothing dramatic, a couple friends here and there, but it continued escalating until one day, we looked around and found our numbers minimal. Between last year and this year alone around 50% of students dropped out in most major public universities.

Myself included. I reckon we’ve run out of time.

And everybody has an opinion about it

Everybody has something to say about those who embark on this journey. The regime and it’s sympathizers, for example, have been known to make fun of migrants. The president himself once criticized migrants for wanting to go “clean toilets and serve tables”.

Coming from a “socialist” government, an “ally of the working class”, the comment was quite comical.

But they’re not alone in their vision. There are many, from the last generation in their majority, who won’t miss a beat to drop a snarky comment or lay down a total lambasting of the idea of leaving.

I understand. They’re scared, scared because they’re making a wager against the devil by staying, or because they see it as wise but don’t have the will to do so. Others simply can’t afford it. And so they try to defend their path.

However, as was before, most of us don't give it a second thought. It’s more or less the norm now.

Everyone wants stability

And that’s the reason everyone flees. Uncertainty is, without a doubt, part of what gives life its spark. Everyone needs to step away from the familiar path, approach a cliff and just throw themselves off of it into the unknown sometimes. But there’s a detail that those in developed countries could easily miss:

You need a base from where to jump from.

If not, you’re just falling constantly, trying to build castles on sand. Working, working and working every day and night, for nothing.

You never know when or where the next hit’s gonna land, but you know it’s coming. Will you be kidnapped? Will the currency take a plunge? Will there be flights out of the country next week? Or will the government close the borders? Will you car still be there next morning? Will you even live to see the dawn?

In my experience…

For the last couple of years, I’ve been open about considering migrating as an option. I never had the strength to do so before. To leave my studies, my family, my friends and my cat and set out to claim my little parcel of freedom in the world, it was too daunting a task. Being unsure, coupled with the noise of everyone’s opinions and suggestions, made it all the more impossible.

I’ve got one thing to say to myself all those years, and to anyone still considering whether to leave or not to leave (be it Venezuela, an unhealthy relationship, or hell, even steemit):

"Just trust yourself, then you will know how to live."

Trust the conclusions you reach. Trust your ideas. Trust that nobody knows what you need better than you, and that nobody knows what you’re capable off other than you.

You'll be out there taking pretentious pictures abroad in no time at all. (SOURCE)

Listen to others and learn from them, but in the end, making the decisions truly yours is the only thing that can help you stick to them when the going gets rough.

I never intended for these to end on such positive notes, but hell, we all need encouragement. Sometimes from ourselves.

Learning to Leave is a series published every Tuesday on the feelings, anecdotes and thoughts of a soon-to-be expat.

Header image made with Daniel Garcia's Immigrants and this picture of El Avila, Caracas' signature mountain.