Author: Makeda McKenzie, MSc International Human Resource Management & Development student

Two weeks before my flight, my bedroom looked like an organized battleground - two open suitcases, piles of clothes that refused to shrink, and luggage scale that stood in silent judgement in the corner.  Packing wasn’t just about what would fit; it was about deciding what truly mattered. With every item adding to my luggage allowance, each item seemed to evoke an existential crisis: Can I live without this? or Can I afford to replace this?

In the end, I zipped up my two suitcases, said a prayer, and hoped for mercy at the check-in counter.  Of course, both bags were very overweight, but gratefully the agent took pity on my packing-weary soul and waved it through.

The Sunday before I left, my family gathered for a quiet lunch - laughter, warmth, soca music, and that familiar easy sense of togetherness. No one came to the airport with me when I left home and that was intentional. I wanted to leave steady, grounded, and purposeful - not undone by tears. And anyway, their send-off was already perfect: a goody bag complete with a bible, homemade pepper sauce, vitamin C, and immunity-boosting supplements for the cold weather ahead, basically a Caribbean woman’s “vital supplies.”  It was their way of saying, “We’ve got you,” without the drama of a departure gate.

Trinidad and Tobago Landscape

My last view from my bedroom window in Trinidad and Tobago.

The flight itself was long but peaceful, about nine hours of just quiet time to think. On the flight, as everyone was sleeping, I found myself reflecting on how long I’d waited for this moment. This wasn’t just a trip; it was the unfolding of something I’d carried in my heart for years. A dream I didn’t dare believe.  When the plane began its descent into Glasgow, I finally felt that lump in my throat. For a split second, I almost let the tears fall. But then I heard my mother’s voice, clear as day saying “Come on girl, roll those tears back up into your eyes!” so I smiled, straightened up, and reminded myself that I wasn’t leaving something behind.  I was walking into the future I’d prayed for.

At the airport, everything went smoothly. My luggage arrived without incident, and my taxi driver was friendly and took a lot of pride in pointing out the city’s landmarks as he drove - the River Clyde, beautiful Victorian-era stone buildings, wide streets – all with a distinct Glasgow charm that feels both gritty and warm.

International Student at Student Accommodation

Bundled up in Glasgow. Student Accommodation.

And that’s when it really dawned on me: doing this later in life hits different. There’s a steadiness that comes with age, but I think also a deeper appreciation for what it costs - financially, emotionally, spiritually - to make a change this big. I know 25-year-old me would have been thrilled to study abroad. But this version of me? She understands the courage it takes to do it anyway, even after life has handed you detours and delays.

Now that I’m here, the city is slowly opening itself up to me - its rhythm, its charm, even the weather (which, to be honest, is not as bad as I had been warned about!). One month in, and I’ve already found a few favorite coffee spots, figured out which side of the street to stand on to catch my bus to school, and discovered that a good raincoat and a strong umbrella are non-negotiable, no matter how promising the sunshine looks.

But beyond all that, what stands out most is the quiet certainty that I’m exactly where I’m meant to be. The journey to get here wasn’t quick or easy, but it feels right -  and honestly, so does this school. If anyone reading this is wondering whether it’s too late to start over, it isn’t. Some roads just take longer to reveal themselves.

First published: 29 October 2025

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