As a biochemical engineer and biotechnologist, I’ve spent years studying the intricacies of molecules—how they bind, break, or rearrange themselves under changing conditions. Yet no scientific model could fully prepare me for the far more nuanced human experience of “belonging.” It is not a fixed state but a reaction in flux, shaped by memory, displacement, identity, and the invisible ties between people and place.

I was born and educated in Belgrade, Serbia—a city layered in history, contradictions, and resilient spirit. There, I built my foundations: academically, professionally, and emotionally. Then came a new phase of life—motherhood, research, innovation, and ultimately, migration. Today, I live in Düsseldorf, Germany, balancing roles as a scientific advisor, technology director, artist, and mother. In this space between two cultures, languages, and landscapes, I often find myself returning to a core question: Where—and how—do I belong?

Molecular bonds and human ties

In biochemistry, we talk about affinity—how strongly one molecule binds to another. The bond is shaped not only by their structure but also by the surrounding conditions: temperature, pH, and solvent. Change the environment, and the interaction might weaken or intensify. The same, I’ve come to believe, applies to human relationships.

When I moved to Germany, some bonds dissolved quietly. Others transformed into something new, stretched across distance and difference. Still others—unexpectedly—formed with kindred spirits from cultures and backgrounds unlike my own. In every case, the chemistry of connection was real, dynamic, and fragile.

Biochemical memory

Memory isn’t merely a cognitive function—it is encoded in the very molecules of life. In neuroscience, long-term memory is thought to involve protein synthesis and the remodeling of synapses. On a more poetic level, I feel this biological memory in the way my body reacts to the scent of Balkan coffee, the cadence of the Serbian language, and the golden hues of Orthodox iconography.

Even after years abroad, these stimuli evoke an immediate, embodied familiarity. In a train station in Cologne, I once heard a street violinist playing a traditional Serbian melody. For a moment, the cold, grey surroundings faded away, and I was transported to a courtyard in Belgrade where my grandmother used to hum the same tune. The molecular signature of belonging can be that subtle, that profound.

Misfolding and reconfiguration

Proteins, the workhorses of biological systems, are exquisitely sensitive to their environment. Under stress, they may misfold—lose their intended shape and function. But sometimes, with the help of chaperones, they refold correctly, adapting to a new equilibrium.

I often think of myself as a protein under pressure. Leaving one’s country is rarely a clean break—it’s a disruption of form. There were periods of anxiety, of not fitting in linguistically or socially, and of questioning my role in unfamiliar academic and corporate landscapes. But gradually, with the right support systems—friends, mentors, colleagues—I refolded. Not into my original form, but into one that could operate in this new space, balancing tradition and transformation.

Catalysts for belonging

In biochemical reactions, a catalyst accelerates transformation without being consumed. In life, I’ve found that art, mentorship, and community play a similar role.

I began painting more seriously after settling in Düsseldorf, launching PolyArt Studio. Through brushstrokes, I found a visual language that bypassed the limitations of speech. It became a space to process identity, loss, faith, and resilience. One of my pieces, symbolizing hope, emerged during a particularly intense phase of change—it was not just pigment on canvas but a biochemical release.

Community events like those organized by the Tesla Club further enriched my sense of place. In one such gathering at the Theater Museum, I read from my blog, offering words shaped by both science and soul. Looking out at the multicultural audience, I felt the rare clarity of catalytic belonging: not through perfect assimilation, but through shared experience and creative expression.

A reaction is still in progress

If I’ve learned anything through both science and life, it is that systems are never static. Belonging is not an endpoint—it is a process. Reactions continue. New variables emerge. Home shifts.

At the molecular level, even stable compounds are in constant motion. Electrons vibrate, and bonds fluctuate. Similarly, I’ve come to accept that the feeling of being “at home” might never be as solid as it was in childhood, but it can be just as real in its fluidity. It resides in the people who understand you, in the rituals that anchor you, and in the meaningful work that connects your past to your present.

Belonging, like biochemical innovation, requires both structure and flexibility. It asks us to honor where we come from while remaining open to what we might yet become.

Closing

In the end, perhaps we are all just complex reactions—composite identities held together by the hope of coherence. And perhaps that is enough. To belong, after all, is not to be perfectly bonded but to remain willing to bind, adapt, and transform. To continue the reaction, even when the outcome is still unfolding.