Migration

The person I’d like to describe is my cousin Sardor, who moved to South Korea about eight years ago, when he was twenty-two. He’d graduated with a degree in mechanical engineering, but jobs in his field were scarce in our region, and the salaries he was offered barely covered living costs. Meanwhile, he had a younger brother and sister still in school, and his father had health problems. So when he passed the Korean language test required for a work visa, he decided to go, initially to work in a car-parts factory. The early years were tough. He worked long shifts, shared a small room with three other workers, and sent most of his earnings home. He’s told me he felt lonely and invisible, especially during holidays like Navruz. But he was determined to make the most of it. He studied Korean in the evenings, became fluent, and was eventually promoted to a supervisory role, translating between Korean managers and Central Asian workers. The effects on his life have been profound and mixed. Financially, he has transformed his family’s situation; he paid for his siblings’ university education and built his parents a new house. Professionally, he’s gained skills and confidence he might never have developed at home. On the other hand, he’s missed weddings, funerals and his younger siblings growing up, and he admits he sometimes feels he no longer fully belongs in either country. He plans to return next year to start an engineering workshop, which I think reflects a broader pattern: migration isn’t just about leaving, but often about building something to come back to.

Shaxs → itaruvchi omillar → qiyinchiliklar → o‘sish → aralash ta’sir (moliyaviy, kasbiy, hissiy) → umumiy xulosa.