Walls

When a person moves from one country to another, he does not take only his luggage with him. He also takes his language, memories, habits, fears, relationships, upbringing, religious ideas, family pressure, traditions, the concept of honour, his thinking about women and men, and his view of his children. A journey does not happen only by airplane; the real journey happens in the mind. If the body reaches a new land but the mind remains locked inside old walls, then a person may appear changed from the outside, but not from within.

This is the problem that can be seen in many homes. Outside, there is a new country, a new law, a new school, a new office, a new passport, a new hospital, a new language, new roads and a new life. But inside the home there is the same old fear, the same family command, the same pressure of the community, the same monitoring of the girl, the same expectations from the boy, the same old way of marriage, the same “What will people say?” and the same thinking that children must live according to the will of their parents. Outside, a person lives in Europe, but inside the home he creates a small closed society.

This double life does not bring peace for long.

On one side, parents want their children to receive education in this country, find good employment, benefit from a strong legal system, receive medical care, live in a safe environment, learn the language, move forward and become successful. On the other side, the same parents, in certain matters, want their children to think in the old way, marry according to the will of the family, for the girl to understand her limits through fear of the home, for the boy to carry the burden of family expectations, and for the same system to continue inside the home that the parents brought with them. These two things cannot fully work together.

If a child studies in the school of this country, learns there to ask questions, learns to have an opinion, and understands himself as an individual before the law, then he cannot come home and suddenly become a silent, obedient creature. He can respect his parents, but he also wants to think about his own life. He can remain connected to his roots, but he was not born to carry the full burden of the expectations of his old family. He can be given language, identity and a connection to the family, but his thinking cannot be locked.

The problem is not that parents want to preserve their tradition. Every person can love his roots, language, food, family and memories. The problem begins when tradition is imposed on the future. When parents believe that the life they saw should also be seen by their children. The fear they received should also be carried by their children. The decisions that the family made for them should also be made by them for their own children. This chain then continues from generation to generation. The country changes, but the way decisions are made inside the home does not change.

Here, religion, tradition and community often become mixed together. Sometimes fear is created in the name of religion, sometimes pressure is applied in the name of tradition, sometimes silence is demanded in the name of family honour, and sometimes decisions are made in the name of the community. A person does not even understand where his own thinking is and where the voices of others begin. He appears to be making a decision, but the decision is not his alone. Behind it stand the mother, father, sister, brother, uncle, relatives, the community, religious phrases, family shame and “What will people say?”

In such an environment, even a small issue becomes a mountain.

The daughter says she wants to study; it becomes a problem. The son says he does not want to marry within the family; it becomes a problem. The girl says she will decide about her own life; it becomes a problem. The boy says he respects his parents but will think about his marriage himself; it becomes a problem. There is no conversation in the home; a trial begins. Arguments do not come; accusations come. Love does not speak; authority speaks.

Then parents are surprised that their children have become distant. They do not see that children do not become distant in a single day. They become distant slowly, when they are not listened to, when their lives are treated as the property of the family, when their freedom is called bad manners, when their questions are understood as disobedience, and when the shadow of the parents’ fears is placed over their future.

It is easy to say that the new generation has changed. It is difficult to accept that the old generation has also not fully understood the new life.

Living in Europe does not only mean walking on its streets. Living there also means understanding the basic principles of that society. What does the law say? What rights does an adult person have? What does equality between women and men mean? What does a child’s right to develop a personality mean? What is the importance of consent in marriage? Where is the boundary between personal life and family pressure? If a person keeps avoiding these questions, then even while living in a new country, he remains internally trapped in an old prison.

Some people say that we must preserve our culture. If culture gives respect, language, family love, respect for elders, hospitality and morality, then it should certainly be preserved. But if, in the name of culture, the will of the children is erased, the voice of the woman is suppressed, the daughter is kept in fear, the son is made the heir of family commands, and marriage is treated as the property of families instead of a decision between human beings, then this is not culture; it is a closed system.

A person should not cut himself off from his roots, but it is also not right to bury one’s children in the ground in the name of those roots. Roots make a tree strong, but they also allow its branches to grow. If the roots themselves begin to hold the branches and pull them downward, the tree does not spread; it remains small. The family is the same. If it gives a person support, it is a blessing. If it stops him from breathing, it is a burden.

Here, the greatest need is honest self-accountability. Those who live in a new country should ask themselves: Have we truly understood the new life? Or have we only taken its conveniences? Do we see our children as human beings or as guards of our honour? Do we understand marriage as the decision of two adult human beings or as the command of the family? Do we use religion, tradition and community for the betterment of the human being, or to control the human being?

These questions are hard, but they are necessary.

Before changing countries, a person should also look at the baggage of his thinking. It is not necessary to take everything along. Take the language, take the love, take the aroma of the food, take the good words of the elders, take hard work, take the warmth of relationships. But if you take fear, force, narrow-mindedness, the pressure of the community, ownership over the daughter, burden on the son and the chain of “What will people say?” with you, then old walls will rise even on new land.

And when there are too many walls inside the home, children look for windows. If they do not find a window, they break the wall and leave. Then parents say that the children have changed. Perhaps the children did not change; perhaps they only wanted to breathe.

If one wants to live on new land, one must also accept the new reality. Otherwise, a person does not remain trapped between two countries, but between two ways of thinking. Free outside, imprisoned inside. A citizen outside, property inside. The future outside, the past inside. And such a life eventually breaks one relationship or another.

Shahid Shakil

2026-07-09