How I Found My People

A Sea of Strangers

There’s a special kind of loneliness that sneaks in when you’re sandwiched between two cultures. Growing up in Alexandria, I never had to explain myself—I was Zahra from 15th street, who loved mangoes and Umm Kulthum. But when my family uprooted to Paris, everything shifted. Suddenly, I was Zahra-who-brings-weird-lunches, Zahra-the-girl-with-the-accent, Zahra-whose-mom-shouts-in-Arabic-at-parent-teacher-meetings. I didn’t fit neatly into one category or the other.

And for years, that feeling lingered. Whether it was the bustling streets of London during grad school or the serene Bosphorus views in Istanbul, I felt adrift. Like I was standing in a crowded room, surrounded by laughter, but all I could hear was static. Cue the main character with the existential crisis, right?

Of course, I wasn’t alone. As human beings, we’re all wired to crave connection—friends who double as our therapists, family who doesn’t mind if you raid their fridge, partners who think you’re magical even on bad hair days. But in a world that often feels transient, finding your people can feel as elusive as spotting a pair of matching socks in your laundry pile.

Here’s the thing, though: it’s not impossible.

The Parisian Philosopher Phase

The search for my people wasn’t like diving into a whirlwind romance. It was more like a slow-burn love story with moments of doubt, humor, and discovering truths about myself along the way. Case in point: teenage Zahra in Paris.

Picture this: me, sitting in a lycée cafeteria, clutching a baguette like it’s a lifeline. Across the room, clusters of girls giggle and apply lip gloss, their French so fluid and confident it might as well be poetry. Meanwhile, here I am, tripping over whether to say “tu” or “vous” while asking for directions to the library. My default instinct? Retreat into books. I devoured everything from Simone de Beauvoir to Naguib Mahfouz. My French got better, sure. But socially? Let’s just say young Zahra could’ve starred in a tragic indie movie about misunderstood teens.

Those years taught me something fundamental about building community: you can’t find your people if you don’t let them find you. I kept my head down, so hyper-aware of not “belonging” that I might have missed the women who did try to befriend me.

Flash forward to London—a chaotic, beautiful mosaic of cultures. There, I decided I was done being “the observer.” I joined a women’s rights NGO, thinking I’d just work on empowerment campaigns and leave it at that. Instead, I found two women—Lina and Sofia—who, to this day, feel closer than sisters. Our bond wasn’t built overnight; it grew slowly over rushed cups of chai, late-night project deadlines, and the times we shared how homesick we felt for foods, people, or sunsets that could only be found at home.

Was it easy to bare my soul? Not always. Vulnerability is scary. It’s especially daunting when all those years of loneliness have you thinking rejection is inevitable. But here’s the thing: you don’t need to fit perfectly into someone’s world to earn a place in their heart. Sometimes friendship begins when someone looks at you and says, “Hey, me too.”

Do the (Slightly Awkward) Thing

Finding your people isn’t just about luck; it’s about intention. And for me, that meant stepping outside my comfort zone, even when it felt awkward or unnatural.

Take Paris Book Club Round 2 (a distinctly less moody Zahra attended this one). I was about a decade older, back in the city for work, and desperate for deeper adult connections. I signed up for a literary meet-up despite my deeply ingrained suspicion of group introductions (there’s always at least one oversharer, right?). What I found instead were individuals just as lost in translation as I had been at 16. Rather than pretentious literary critiques, we swapped stories about dating disasters, bad landlords, and families who still asked, “When are you getting married?”

Another time, I took a calligraphy class on a random Saturday morning in London. Did I care about perfecting my penmanship? Not really. Did I meet an Iranian baker named Yasmin whose baklava recipes I still Instagram-stalk to this day? Absolutely.

Here’s what I learned from both experiences: initiating connection can feel as awkward and climactic as the first five minutes of a blind date. But you’ve got to lean into the discomfort, whether it’s by joining a language exchange group, volunteering at a community center, or, in my case, writing short stories about diaspora life and randomly submitting them to small magazines. The moment you try—even if it’s imperfect—you crack the door open for people to walk in.

Signs You’ve Found Your People

You know you’ve found your people not when life becomes picture-perfect, but when it feels like it makes sense in a way it didn’t before. Lina and Sofia became my people when they knew instinctively when to tease me and when to just say, “I get it.” My book club in Paris became “my people” the day someone wrote, “Bring Zahra’s Egyptian tea!” on the group WhatsApp. Oh, and don’t forget food—Yasmin’s baklava? That sealed the deal.

Your people aren’t always the ones who mirror your background or personality to a T. Often, they’re the ones who fill in the gaps—who complement the parts of yourself you’re still trying to figure out. It could be the friend who pushes you to tell that guy you like him already, or the partner who doesn’t just listen to your dreams but actively joins you in building them.

Still unsure if you’ve found them?
Here’s a quick checklist:

  • They see past your “surface label.” You’re more than Zahra-from-Egypt or the guy-who-loves-birdwatching. They care about your layers.
  • You tummy laugh together. Like the kind of laugh where you potentially snort.
  • You feel safe failing in front of them. Whether it’s botching karaoke lyrics or admitting your latest crush ghosted you, your people cheer you on without judgment.
  • They extend grace and grow with you. Change is inevitable, but the right people adapt and deepen their connection with you along the way.

The Takeaway

If you’ve been stumbling through life thinking, I’ll never find my tribe, trust me, I get it. I’ve eaten my weight in solitary croissants while wondering if I was destined for one-sided conversations with imaginary friends. But here’s the truth I’ve learned after some stumbles, a lot of tea, and dozens of “let’s hang out” texts: finding your people isn’t about luck or chance. It’s about showing up—fully, honestly, awkwardly at times—and being open to the astonishing tapestry of individuals you might find.

So here’s my challenge to you: send that message. Join that group. Say yes to that invite you’ve been hesitating on. Somewhere out there are the people who will laugh at your bad jokes, cry with you over heartbreaks, and toast your successes. The ones who will remind you that no matter how far you wander, you’ll never truly be alone.

Because trust me, when you finally find your people, there’s no question—you know.