Immigration cannot be fully prepared for. You can research the country, learn the language, study the laws — and still find yourself standing in front of something no guidebook ever mentioned.
There are the universal struggles every immigrant knows: paperwork, bureaucracy, social hierarchies, the exhaustion of adapting. And then there are the personal ones — the quiet surprises that only reveal themselves once you are already inside your new life.
Last month, I made a mistake at work. I misunderstood a task. It was not catastrophic, but it was serious enough that the whole team felt the tension. As someone still in training (Ausbildung), I had the honest excuse of not yet knowing everything. But my colleague's response surprised me. He didn't criticise the mistake. He asked: "Why do you ask so few questions?"
I answered honestly: I don't always know what to ask. I don't know what I don't know — as a former American president once put it.
But later, when I was alone with my thoughts, I realised the answer was more complicated than that.
"I was raised to manage on my own. And never to bother anyone."
In Uzbek culture — the world I grew up in — modesty and restraint are not just polite. They are virtues. From childhood, we were taught to endure discomfort for the comfort of others. To not burden people with our problems. To wait quietly and hope that someone would notice our efforts. Be patient, be humble — and one day you will be seen. That was the promise.
We were even taught not to ask for a raise. Not to ask for our own change back in a shop, if it felt awkward. The needs of others always came first.
And now I am here. In Germany. In a workplace where asking questions is not rude — it is expected. Where raising your hand is not a sign of weakness but of professionalism. Where occupying someone's time for two minutes is completely normal.
That shift does not happen overnight. The guilt is real. Every time I want to knock on a colleague's door, a small voice says: they are busy, this is not important enough, figure it out yourself.
But I am learning to answer that voice differently now. Yes, I feel guilty. But that guilt is not telling me the truth. It is old programming running in a new environment.
An Ausbildung in Germany is not only about learning a new profession in a new language. It is also about learning a new way of being. Recognising where you come from. Understanding where you are now. And slowly, imperfectly — beginning to change.
"The road is made by walking."
I am still walking. One question at a time.