The 29-Day Blogging Challenge: E is for Expatriate
The allure of living and working in a foreign land had long been a deeply-rooted desire by the time I finally made the leap. I didn’t just want to travel to exotic shores and visit the world’s hidden corners – I wanted to live amongst different cultures, languages, customs, religions, political systems, degrees of industrialization, skin colour, modes of transportation, culinary staples, etc. I often watched foreign movies and tried to imagine what life would be like in ‘that place’ – be it a hillside village in China, a desert band in Africa, serpentine alleyways and cobblestone laneways of Italy, frozen plains in Iceland… I’m fascinated by the unknown, and although I’ll never fully ‘know’ life in those places, even those in which I am lucky enough to live, I wanted that experience, if even for a time. My first real chance came in the form of a job offer in Dubai, and with the unimaginable support and encouragement from my wife – who would be staying behind in Canada to finish school – I packed my bags and pointed my compass Eastward.
I was facing a whole new adventure, an opportunity to see and experience a life only casually illustrated on travel shows and the random news article. Admittedly a major draw was the opportunity to live in a predominantly Muslim country – albeit a heavily ‘Westernized’ one – and see the reality of the region outside of Fox News’ skewed perspectives. I looked forward to learning a bit of the language, sampling the food, picking up customs and quirks and those subtle modes of conduct that identifies one as a ‘Dubaian’, as opposed to a tourist. I wasn’t running from, but rather to, something.
When the day finally came to leave, however, the reality sunk in: I was leaving Jill behind, leaving my friends and family, leaving my homeland, and stepping into absolute darkness. I knew nothing of life ‘over there’ and felt thoroughly unprepared. Had I made a disastrous mistake? Was this even a remotely good idea? I had what can only be described as a mental breakdown, a cognitive anomaly, a completely situation-induced-what-the-fuck-upedness that shook the very foundation upon which I had built my reality…
I was leaving everything I knew, held sacred, cherished, believed in. I was off to a new adventure, true, but with no small amount of trepidation. I was scared, confused, questioning the decisions I – we – had made. So as always, I took to writing, to expressing, that which was coursing through my mind at the time. The following is that result disconnected and combubulated at best, but an indication of where I was when I was there…
Jack&Jack&Jill
Watching traffic, taxi & take-off, thousands flying away – flying home, flying blind. Flying free, loose, escaping to somewhere, excited, scared, some aren’t good fliers. Drugged, drunk, meditating to pass the time, crosswords and magazines, in-flight safety brochures, settling in, accepting a cardboard sandwich with a napkin and a nervous smile.
Sitting in this lounge, unfocused stares, behind the glass wall, waiting, waiting for what?, paralyzing realizations… It’s real – for the first time, my god, it’s real. We said good-bye at the gate, still holding on, barely holding on. Stumbled through the checkpoints, patted down for contraband, some baggage I just can’t declare. I can’t do this, I want to scream. I want to stop. It can’t be real, this thing; this new adventure, as many said; this new experience, as I was promised. This new opportunity, a new chance, a fresh start, pulling me away from her, from the what-I-know into the what-the-fuck? Holding on, clenched around only memories, shedding everything real, telling myself that this is good. This is good. This is goddamned real, finally, pungent and searing finality. Thank god I’m sitting down.
Even the third tumbler of Jack is tasteless, meaningless, doing nothing, but free, like them, like those people, they know; they’re secure, they’re determined, they’re together, or will be, and they know. Envious, lost, getting more lost, waiting for the call, surrounded by the din of muzak and an arguing British couple; is this my last remembrance of home, of this life I’ve known, of those I’ll rarely see? Of her, of us, for a time, too long at any rate; of the True North, Strong and Free, bitterly cold and damp and grey, the warmest place I know? An hour to go, listless, restless, confined to this chair, this lounge, this self-directed purgatory, flying blind. Run, I think. Escape – time, the deals, employment contracts, immigration and residency laws, the expectations, mine, theirs, the guilt, the worry – escape to the what-I-know again. Don’t go. You can’t stay. Too late. Too much at stake, too many promises, too long you’ve waited. Take-off and landing are just formalities; another swig, nearly an hour, but it’s already real.
Well this engine screams out loud; centipede gonna crawl westbound; so I don’t even make a sound ’cause it’s gonna sting me when I leave this town. And all the people in the street that I’ll never get to meet if these tracks don’t bend somehow. And I got no time that I got to get to where I don’t need to be, so I… I need this here old train to break down. Oh please just let me please break down.
Testify, Jack! Scream it, directly, scream it to me, someone is listening, hearing, feeling it, wanting it all to fucking stop, break down, like this, like this right now, begging for this track to bend, to break, let me off, let me run.
But you can’t stop nothing if you got no control of the thoughts in your mind that you kept and you know that you don’t know nothing but you don’t need to know; the wisdom’s in the trees not the glass windows. You can’t stop wishing if you don’t let go of the things that you find and you lose and you know; you keep on rolling, put the moment on hold because the frame’s too bright so put the blinds down low.
They still argue, local news flashes dimly on screen, more take-offs, more good-byes, I still sit, not listening, not hearing, not sure, not yet close enough to drunk, not yet time to go and be gone; no control, knowing nothing, no expectations. No expectations.
No certainties beyond the certainty of uncertainties; save ‘us’, for certain…
No more Jack; the ambient voices have changed their tune. Another tasteless glass, a last good-bye, some last words home, blurry-eyed reminders, still spinning in place, shut off, shut out, interrupted by the call to board; finally moving, walking cautiously, no fear to fly – but to fly away.
I want to break on down; but I can’t stop now…
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