Expat Versus Pandemic
One year on, the silver lining revealed
My husband and I moved from England to lands further afield two Februarys ago. A tempting career opportunity had presented itself and we’re both naturally inclined to adventure. Hence the decision to re-root ourselves was a straight forward one.
A new continent. A new world to explore.
The primary drawback was the distance from our loved ones. Now, rather than a mere 30-minute drive down the motorway, we’d be a whole plane journey away, albeit a direct one. A drawback yes. A reason to remain, no. Between folk travelling out to see us and our calendars rife with special occasions to fly back home, we knew we would never be apart for too long.
That is, until Covid-19 crept up on us, well and truly rocking our worlds.
We haven’t seen our families for 18 months. Given the red-list politics and third wave hypotheses, a fully fledged reunion doesn’t seem viable until say, Christmas.
I say Christmas with a high vocal inflection. Really, if there’s anything that we know for certain, it’s that anything could happen. Yet I choose to remain optimistic, channel my inner Boris Johnson and whip a heart-tugging date out of thin air. It just makes sense that everything will normalise by Jesus’ birthday, don’t you think?
Interestingly, if before we moved, you had told us that we would shortly face a global pandemic, ease of travel would take flight and we’d essentially be stuck abroad, well, we’d be in a different boat altogether. It would have been unthinkable to fathom life away from home for such an extended period. We would have reluctantly put our plans on hold and continued our lives back home.
That would have been the wrong decision.
I’ll explain.
The brutality of the pandemic is undebatable. From death to job loss to anxiety, we’ve all faced it’s wrath in some form or another.
However, not only would scrapping the expat dream have represented the complete antithesis of the ‘feel the fear and do it anyway’ mentality that I strive to live by, a little reflection has made clear that a few invaluable personal benefits have transpired. Hence, gone are the days of deeming the past year an utter write off.
Let’s start with resilience.
Without our usual support system in close proximity, all hurdles have rightfully been ours, and only ours, to overcome.
First, we were struck by the initial period of disbelief and adjustment. That is, two full-sized adults working full-time from our one-bedroom apartment. It was tolerable. That is, until our left-hand neighbour decided lockdown to be the opportune time to complete a full apartment renovation. Meanwhile, our right-hand neighbour honourably adopted a dog in need of a home. Only, it just so happened to be the yappiest of them all.
Pair the above with manic work days rife with Zoom calls riddled with language barriers and well, you do the math.
Next came a loose sense of order. By order, I mean applying for a movement permit to go to the supermarket, and in the absence of the once much-beloved gym, tower-running our apartment block’s stairwell once a day. It’s the little things that keep one sane.
The ‘beginning stages’ would have been incomplete without the inescapable pandemic paranoia. Hysterical WhatsApp conversations amidst the typical gearing up; masks, gloves and sanitiser. Check.
Naturally, the entire time has been riddled with expected prangs of homesickness.
The toughest of times have taken the form of the loss of loved ones. Distance makes you feel helpless and live-streaming into a crematorium service was never going to be a standard experience. Then again, I’m doubtful that loss can ever feel ordinary.
On a far lighter note, weddings! I have what feels like an infinite number of family members. In the pre-plague years, this meant attending anywhere up to nine weddings a year. Three-day events at a time. Over the past year, I’ve live-streamed into a few weddings from the comfort of my sofa with a cup of tea in hand. Whilst this could be the third trimester talking, I could get used to it.
Dealing with each and every hindrance head-on has been considerably testing, but has made apparent that my inner strength is no facade. Ergo, self-confidence and self-belief are on the rise. For that, I can only be grateful.
Similarly, when you’re an expat, you quickly realise how independent you truly are. When you’re as family centred as we are, it’s easy to remain in the habit of leaning on those around you, the ‘real’ adults. At least, that’s been my experience. The absence of an on the ground support system has driven us to unlearn said habits and transition into the much more sustainable mode of self-sufficiency; confirmation of our abilities to put out fires, just the two of us. Pragmatic adulting.
Now, we’re expecting our first baby and all circumstances considered, I’m feeling fairly relaxed about it. When we first announced the news, there were a few who asked how we would cope alone and if we would be moving back home.
No.
‘It is what it is’ – arguably a sentiment to live by. Rigid plans and routine have never been my natural way, so to find that the art of getting by and then some is by no means formulaic, has been thoroughly refreshing. It’s been encouraging to see the prevalent need for qualities of adaptability, intuition and the ability to downright wing it; traits that supposedly sum up motherhood.
It’s as though the past year of intensive character building has led us to the ultimate challenge – parenting – and it could be my eternal optimism speaking, but I feel adequately prepared.
At the very least, I’m pretty sure I’ll be the mum with the best banana bread.
The quintessential silver lining.
