Riding Solo

In August, 2002 I finished work 6 weeks before the scheduled* birth of my first baby with no clear idea of when/if I would return to full-time paid work.  I sit here 9 years and almost 6 months later never having returned to full-time paid work.

It wasn’t planned, but I was blessed that we could afford this luxury and that I enjoyed being home with my little girls.

But, today I lost my little sidekick.  I waved her off to her first day of big school with a big, proud smile and a cheery wave.

I didn’t expect to feel a little bit of grief when my last chick flew the nest and went to school. I thought I would feel light with relief that I was now free to set in motion all the things I’d yearned to do butmy right hand feels strange without a chubby little hand nestling perfectly in it as I go about my day.

I will adjust. I have to.

Little hand snug in mine,
Walking, dawdling,
Spending time.

(* Ahhh, the best laid plans. Finished on a Friday, hospitalised on the Sunday and my 3lb 15oz first born arrived the following Saturday!  So much for some “me time” before giving birth….)

Swimwear Observations

My husband is in Germany.  It’s school holidays so the Missies and I have popped over to Phuket.  In Australia it’s all but impossible to ‘pop over’ to another country and thrill of being able to do this is yet to wear off.

Over New Year we ‘popped over’ to Malaysia.  We went to the nearest shopping centre, boarded a fancy bus, and within 5 hours we were in the capital city of whole different country!

Anyway, in Malaysia I was the most naked woman in the swimming pool.  My bathing attire (swimmers, bathers, togs, cossie, swimsuit, bathing suit, etc..) is not brief by Western standards: it’s a full coverage tankini.  The top meets the bottoms and the bottoms offer maximum bum coverage.  But in a Muslim country this meant I was virtually naked.  In Malacca the other women swam in long sleeve shirts, track pants and a head scarf if they were Islamic.  I felt very, very underdressed but they it didn’t seem to bother or offend them.

Now, I’m in Phuket, Thailand. The country just to the north of Malaysia.  One glance around this swimming pool and I’m pretty sure I’m now the most covered woman in the pool!

Amazing the difference a few hundred kilometres can make!

With the travel that I have done in the past months I’ve started to guess people’s nationalities based only on their swimming attire.  Sure, this involves generalisations but I’m finding that once I talk to people my assumptions are pretty close to the mark.

The biggest difference in swimming attire is, I think, with the Europeans.  The smaller, the better.  Where Aussis and Kiwis (and some Americans) go for rash shirts, boardshorts, hats and sunscreen, the European population will reach for teeny, tiny Speedo’s for the men and boys, g-string/thong bikinis for the ladies and bikini bottoms for the little girls.  They also seem quite fond of frying themselves to a crisp, something I’ve not seen people consciously do since the mid-1980′s in Australia!

Whilst I applaud their unselfconsciosness (none of us should be ashamed to don swimmers and get in the pool, regardless of size) I do puzzle at their desire to turn their skin the colour of lobsters.  I guess it comes from the long, cold winters they endure but the thought of how much a sunburned bum must sting every time you sit down makes me wince!

Further Thoughts on Expat Friendships

After publishing my previous post I had an email chat with my friend Andrea and somewhere during the conversation she typed the phrase “expat persona”.

Now if I was Oprah I would say that was a “lightbulb moment” but I’m not Oprah (duh!) so I will say that it crystallised my thoughts on expat friendships and why I’ve struggled with them.

I think to a certain extent expats are acting, or putting on a brave face.  We (and I absolutely do this myself) erect an artifice of “expat life is so great!” and “it’s such a great opportunity for the kids!”, while inside all the negatives of expat life lay unspoken.  No-one puts voice to just how hard expat living is and no amount of pre-move cultural training or reading of books can quite prepare you for the reality of living in an environment where very little is familiar.  We all carry on with our struggles contained inside our heads, plastering a smile on our dial when we leave the house and never EVER mention our internal dilemmas when speaking to friends and family at home, out of fear of burdening them.

So the friendship barrier I feel I’ve encountered here is, I believe, the protective wall we build around ourselves in public.

Whilst I can’t change other people’s behaviour/coping mechanisms I can change my own so I plan to let my “happy expat persona” drop every now and then.

(PS: Just so you all know – I’m fine! I’m not down in the doldrums – although I was a few weeks ago – this is just my observations and internal thoughts on what I’ve noticed whilst trying to make friends here!)

 

On Expat Friendships

I’m finding friendships in the expat world hard.

I have lots of acquaintances.

I have neighbours with whom I share numerous the occasional glass of wine.

I have two friends who I would consider to be “close friends”.

But here’s the thing I’m wondering – do many people make deep long-lasting friendships in the expat world?  Is it possible?

I know it must be, but for me there’s a blockage that pops up at a certain point.  The point where people announce that they are planning on going home or moving on in X amount of time and it seems pointless to pursue the friendship beyond the acquaintances stage.  I’m not sure I have the emotional strength to start over and over again.  To continually share my real story and not the superficial caricature I trot out in the embryonic friendship stages.

How do I fight that urge to withdraw?  Or should I not fight it and drift along in a sea of acquaintances during our stay in expat land?