by Nini Iaganashvili
Whenever I say I’m from Georgia, people light up and ask, “Oh, really? How’s Atlanta?” But, a simple correction — not the state, the country — resets the entire conversation. And in a way, that small misunderstanding says a lot about where I come from and who I am.
This is a story of what it means to grow up Georgian, in the Caucasus region; in a country woven with traditions, hospitality, the famous “Supras” where strangers become lifelong friends, various unpopular concepts, wine and the words, the voices of some of the greatest writers of our age, where beliefs are more than personal — they are collective, binding communities together across generations.
Ever since I can remember, I have been fantasising about what was outside my existent borders, or how far I could have stretched those borders, or even so, where it started, and where it ended. Not everyone can have the answer to that question. Everyone has their own possibilities and realisations towards this concept.
I have to mention Georgia’s historical and geographical context. The country lies between Europe and Asia, it borders Russia and is a post-Soviet country. Living in the constant shadow of Russia with centuries of invasions, meant living with constant fear and tension. It meant that acquiring independence in 1991 was both liberation and uncertainty, the moment when my parents’ generation had to suddenly adapt to a future they had never been prepared or taught for. Generations before my parents, my grandparents had been fighting for the freedom of our country, for the best of it all, and now my generation has taken the matter of EU integration into their own hands.
All this tension has shaped me into who I am, as much as the traditions have. As you can already tell, traditions have been a cornerstone of our community for generations. Starting from early teenage years, as I grew, I understood that in my family, my community and in the whole of Georgia as one, the rules and beliefs were two-sided. While I perceived these unyielding beliefs and traditions as huge walls of obstacles, I learned how to use them as a beneficiary for myself; I understood that maybe these walls were the ones that needed to be broken down in order for me to grow and actually pursue my goals.
I have always known, not even thought, that I was born to live life to its fullest. However, that conviction carried its own doubts: the fear of making wrong choices, choosing the wrong career, or taking a step that might seem irreversible. It was scary, too, because of how much effort I poured into my goals and how much pressure I placed on myself. At times, the weight of those expectations felt overwhelming. And yet, I also knew that Georgians — my family, my community, even teachers — would have been supportive in their own way, proud that I was trying to reach higher. But it appeared that the fear of standing still was greater than the fear of moving forward.
Dreaming big has always been my quiet rebellion, especially in a country deeply rooted in tradition. The concept of leaving home and starting a new life at such an early age, as a minor, was seen as an impossible privilege that only a few had. I can recall many times whenever I mentioned studying abroad, while talking about future plans at various Supras, and the guests would just laugh it off, while I was left merely confused, as if this was something equivalent to traveling to space; the concept of studying abroad has always been achievable to me, as long as I worked hard. This specific concept was never just a dream, or something I looked at from afar, or something I knew there was no point in trying, but instead, it was a destination that I refused to let go of. Therefore, having grown up in a place where aspirations, that may not be popular, can be seen as ambitious and biased, I learned from an early age that it is better to stay patient and reach beyond the set borders, be stubborn when needed and have faith in the said “impossible”.
For me, studying abroad was not just about education, but about possibility. Growing up in a small country often overlooked on the world map, I wanted to prove that voices like mine which were shaped by tradition, history, and centuries of resilience, deserved to be heard on more of a global stage. And finally, each effort, each late night study session, each moment of doubt that I had and have overcome, became another step to me fulfilling my wishes and setting an example to my younger brother, cousins, and loved ones.
Starting a new life at 17, packing my whole life into a suitcase and flying over 3,000 kilometers across the world appeared to be harder than I had anticipated. Getting away from the loudness of such a small country, of my family, of the small fights me and my friends would have, of my relatives and most importantly of the Supras which we hosted every Friday night as a family; and then living in small apartment all alone, in the deafening quiet, was probably one of the hardest things I had to deal with. I remember putting on music first thing in the morning so I would not feel the loneliness of my own company. I call France my second home, but even now, when I was coming back, I remember crying on the way, as I remembered all the good times I had spent with my family, relatives, even remembering the scent of my mom’s perfume on her jacket, that specific scent of my house, my room and so on. However, my determination, my goals, my community: those things have kept me going all this time. Knowing that I get to go back in no time, knowing that I will see the proud smiles and watering eyes with the tears of happiness, makes it all worth it.
Still, I never wanted to leave Georgia behind, but I did not have to. To dream big from a small country is not to abandon it, but to carry it with you, to take its traditions along with contradictions, its warmth and sometimes scars, and weave them into different stories you tell the new people you meet while living your new life. To me, that is what it means to be Georgian, beyond stereotypes and beyond peaches.
Le Dragon Déchaîné 