Being the Long-Distance Daughter: A Memoir of Hannah’s Early Twenties
HANNAH KAZEMI — A busy social life, three missed calls, and a quiet reminder that I can’t be everywhere at once.
BEEDIE LUMINARIES — Hannah Kazemi graduated from Simon Fraser University in the spring of 2023, and every photo from the day tells a similar story: she is wrapped tightly in the arms of her loved ones, grinning ear to ear. In one shot her cheeks are pressed against her sister’s; in another, she’s pulled in close by her mother; in many, she’s happily sandwiched somewhere in between.
Not long after, Hannah received the Graduate Studies Award in 2024. This award gave her the opportunity to pursue a master’s degree in Public Policy at Concordia University, nearly 4,700 kilometres away from home.
For perspective, that’s a 45-hour drive, a thousand-hour walk, or a 5.5-hour flight—one way.
For someone who has always seen herself first as the eldest daughter and sister, this move to Montreal meant redefining those roles from a distance. In this piece, alumna Hannah Kazemi reflects on stepping into her twenties, the pull of home, and the joy of carving out a life of her own.
HANNAH KAZEMI — Two months after I moved away, my sister called me a ‘chameleon’ because I changed. If you have a sister, you know this is just sister-code for “you’ve gotten weird since you left.”
I always wanted to have the roommate experience. I wanted to stay up late drinking wine and gossiping. I wanted to go to random bars, drink cheap, crappy coffee on my way out the door, and spend money I don’t have in the pursuit of being a teenage girl in my 20s living the fullest life possible. I lived at home during my undergrad degree, so when it came time to apply for a masters program, I was itching to get out of Vancouver and to experience somewhere new. I looked beyond BC and beyond the comfort of home and ultimately, I ended up in Montreal, QC.
I love my life here. Like, disgustingly so. While everyone else my age is busy performing adulthood on LinkedIn, I’m lying in the snow at the top of Mont Royal because I like to exercise my free will. Who does that? Apparently me. Apparently the girl who thinks hypothermia is character development.
I feel like a lot of people my age take themselves too seriously and don’t embrace the place they’re in, but I’ve done the opposite of that. I decided when I moved that I wanted to do everything and be everywhere. I don’t know how long I’ll be in Montreal for, but when it’s time for me to leave this city I want to be able to say that I’ve literally done it all.
In the winter, I went for two-hour walks in fresh powder after a snowstorm and before the plows rolled in; I biked the whole city this summer instead of taking the metro; I’ve conducted an in-depth review and ranking of all of the downtown coffee shops based on study-ability and London Fog quality; I attended so many weird niche festivals that take place at Place des Arts. All of these things have given me a deep appreciation for this city and for my life here, but sometimes I still wish my family was here to do them with me.
I don’t really get the type of sad-anxious homesickness most people probably get when they move away from home for the first time.
I adjusted really quickly and became obsessed with exploring my new city. But the feeling I do get when I think about home too hard is tough to describe; sometimes it’s sadness, and other times there’s this sense of nostalgia mixed with mourning and grief.
This feeling punches me in the gut just a little bit deeper every time I hear that my mom avoids going into my bedroom because it makes her miss me too much. My sister told me one day that “mom went to put something in your room and literally started crying.” To my sisters, it’s a little bit funny to think that your mom is so sensitive and dramatic that simply looking at my bed did her in — but it hits me differently being the one who chose to make things this way.
The gut-punchy feeling comes back every time I miss out on a Winners run. Do you know what it’s like to be left out of Winners? It’s not just shopping. It’s bonding over discount makeup and weird home decor. I felt it tonight when my mom sent me a picture of zucchini she made for dinner, after I called her hours earlier to ask how long and at what temp I should cook the same thing for myself. Nothing like calling your mom for zucchini instructions to remind you you’re not as independent as you pretend to be.
It hit especially hard when my sister had to FaceTime me to involve me in my mom’s wedding dress shopping. I’ve cried a few tears after some of these FaceTime calls because I feel an ache for closeness again; an ache to be there, to be involved, to not have to tell my sister to move the camera just a little more to the right because I can’t quite see what she’s trying to show me in all of the excitement.
A couple months after moving I read something that talked about the burden that comes with being the long-distance daughter, and it resonated. Especially being the oldest of three girls, I’m used to being at the centre of all of the drama and goings-on in the house. When there’s a fight, I’m the mediator. When something exciting happens, I’m usually the first to find out. I’m the secret-keeper, the homework helper, the personal chauffeur, the alternative to Google, the photographer, the therapist— hell, I’m even the disease diagnoser because my sister can’t call the doctor herself and make an appointment at her big age of 22.
These things continue to be true after I moved, but it all looks a little different now. Even from Montreal, I’m doing the same jobs. It’s like remote work but for sisterhood. I can’t count how many times I’ve had a missed call from my mom or my sisters because they try when I’m at school, showering (this one happens a lot), out of the house, or simply too distracted yapping with my roommates. And when I don’t answer after the first ring, I get a text saying “urgent pick up rn” (it’s never urgent).
The same happens when I want to call them but they’re working or studying or still asleep, because it’s 10:00am for me but still only 7:00am for them. I became a long-distance daughter, sister, girlfriend, and best friend on a five-hour flight. Emergency row seats. No refunds. No orientation, no manual. Just vibes and hoping you’re doing it right. The identity switch you go through to become that person so quickly is jarring and confusing.
Do I feel bad that I left? Obviously.
Do I regret it? Not even a little.
The thing is, I signed up for the gut punches. I knew I was going to become the long-distance daughter eventually. I feel conflicted because I wish so badly that I could continue to be physically present in my family’s lives, but at the same time I don’t regret the choice I made to move here and settle into this new life. Ultimately, I don’t miss Vancouver for a second; neither the terrible transit in my neighbourhood nor the hustling corporate-or-die culture that consumes the city.
Montreal feels like my place, exactly where I’m meant to be with people that are meant to be in my life for a long time. Knowing this brings me so much peace and joy, but it also brings guilt that I love being the long-distance daughter so much after I’ve left everyone behind.
I spend a lot of time reflecting. Every time I go for a long walk, see a new part of the city, or spend quality time with my friends, I think about how lucky I am to know such wonderful people and to have had the opportunity to start and settle into a new life here.
The experience I spent so long yearning for has been even better than I could have hoped for; I feel fulfilled in the lifelong friendships I’ve made, I feel more confident than before in my ability to be comfortable alone, and I feel warm and fuzzy when I think about how close I’ve become with my roommates in only one year — to the point where we just know that we’ll be at each other’s weddings and aunties to each other’s kids one day.
The journey is supposed to be this way. It’s supposed to be hard. It’s supposed to punch you in the gut. I traded Winners runs with my sisters for 11:00pm therapy sessions with my roommates. It’s the same energy and vibe, just with different girls.
I think about being called a chameleon a lot. I used to be offended by it. But now I feel pride in my ability to adapt and explore new things, even when I’m scared.
Thank goodness I changed.
I don’t know if I would still like the person I was if I hadn’t.
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