3 Bittersweet Truths I’ll Have To Live With As An Expat For The Rest of My Life

And all I can do is accept it…

I’ve lived as an expat for almost three decades, so it’s safe to say I’m a veteran in the “field”.

I was eighteen when I packed up the family’s old (only) luggage and left Hungary behind to start a new life in Italy. I was young and excited. And while my parents watched me in horror packing my suitcase — their young adult little girl- I waved at them the next morning with a smile on my face.

Not that I was unhappy. I had loving parents, a grumpy sister, and some great friends. Yet something was amiss and a restless feeling was gnawing at me. I wanted to see the world, speak foreign languages, and earn a living that’d give me more security than my home country ever could have done.

So I immigrated to Italy at the age of eighteen and what I thought was going to last only a short while, turned out to be the beginning of a lifelong journey. Twenty nine years later I live in England where I had to start my life from scratch once more. But I did it because the craving for adventure kept me going and because everything is easier when you’re still young. It’s funny how the steps you’d never think to take when you’re older you do in a tick in your late twenties.

Expat life is exhilarating, it changes who you are, but no matter how much you enjoy living in a foreign land and eating foreign food there will always be things that you will regret. Now at 47, I can’t help thinking that I wish I’d been more prepared. I’m not saying I wouldn’t have moved abroad then, but it might’ve helped me carefully consider the things I had to lose.

I’ve Lost My Identity As I Knew It

I thought I’d known who I was when I lived at home. A young girl, who just finished school looking for my place in the world. I had perfectly negligible problems like everyone else of my age and the biggest trouble I had related to the outfit I was going to wear for my next outing with friends.

You become you because of the life you had as a child and the values your parents had taught you. But we constantly evolve. And when you live in different countries you fight for survival.

Once living in Italy my greatest problem had nothing to do with the clothes in my wardrobe but with the salary my employer hadn’t cared to pay for a month’s worth of work. There was nothing scarier to me than not being able to afford my rent.

And more importantly not knowing who could’ve helped me out temporarily. Those were real issues and made me think on my feet. Consequently, these very events led me to the nastiest stomach inflammation and made me end up in the hospital eventually.

Does that sound dramatic?

Living abroad is no walk in the park. It’s stressful my friend, because there’s no safety net. Your family are thousands of miles away and the only shoulder you have to cry is your own. At the beginning at least.

But it’s not all bad news. Because you gain so much along the way.

Without even noticing it, you gradually transform as you adapt to new situations and learn to overcome obstacles. You begin to appreciate it when you finally live in peace, make friends and your salary is transferred into your account like clockwork. That’s if you have enough guts to wait out the good times because expat life will challenge your willpower countless times.

When I first returned home after spending a year in Italy my friends told me I’d had changed. “Don’t start with the accent thing” — I said laughing, but they weren’t referring to that.

What they meant was that I’d rapidly matured, and became more confident. And I knew it. I felt it. Because I was a different person a slightly improved version of my previous self.

What they didn’t know was that I quietly treasured the sound of my mother tongue on the TV. The soothing noise of the crickets on the warm summer nights. And the quintessential smell of our delicious restaurants.

They didn’t know how my appreciation grew for spending time with my family. Or that over the years I said goodbye to my grandparents as if it was the last time. Until one day it was.

This transformation is almost invisible, a new layer that you’re unaware of. The one thing that you’re aware of is that every time you return home, it feels like you don’t fully belong. You’ve missed out on so much since you left and slowly became part of another community. A community in a different country where you got used to speaking another language a different one to your own.

This is your new reality now and — albeit not in equal ratio — , but you’re getting the best of both worlds.

I’d define this “phenomenon” as your roots lying under the surface with multiple layers of acquired individualities on top.

Lost Some, Kept Some, Found Some

I left Hungary in February 1995. It was a time when the Internet was only known by whoever had invented it and mobile phones were owned only by some rare species of weird geeks. I wasn’t one of them. At least where the geek part is concerned. And the only way to keep in touch was by writing an actual letter.

So I wrote to my family to tell them I was fine, but I wasn’t great at composing pages and pages of stories for all my friends. I thought we could all catch up once I returned home. Surprisingly, this worked out for a while, until it didn’t. After a couple of years, the friends I’d known since childhood started to fall away. Find excuses or go AWOL altogether.

This hurt. Losing friends is painful, but what I learned was that distance friendships are like snowmen at the end of the winter. They hold up for a while, and then you suddenly see the gradual distortion. First is barely noticeable, but as time goes on the solid chunk of hard snow slowly drips its way into a muddy puddle.

You desperately try to rebuild what once was a subtle foundation until you understand it won’t work and let go.

I have two great friends left with whom we used to hang out as kids. And I treasure their company every time we meet up while we conjure up and reminisce about the crazy stuff only kids can do.

My Roots Will Call Me, Always

You’d think you’d stop feeling homesick if you spent enough time abroad. But the bitter truth is that the longing for home as you know it will never leave your side. Not if you grew up in a loving family like mine surrounded by friends and pets. Hardly any day goes by without me thinking back to the old times. Or see, or hear something that reminds me of a particular event at a particular age.

My colleagues pulled my legs when I last time had a sudden outburst at work because an 80’s song came up on the radio. “But I used to listen to that with my friend whose brother was a DJ” — I retorted. They looked at me and just waved it off. They’re used to it by now. But of course, they didn’t share my enthusiasm simply because the song didn’t signify the same thing for them.

They didn’t know that one day Chrissy and I sat in their living room listening to that very song with headphones on our heads, while Chrissy scratched the vinyl.

I vividly remember the distinctive smell of their house, the colour of their furniture, and the soft humming of the pump in the aquarium. I remember their black cat (but not her name) joining the fun and sitting on top of a pile of discs grooming her fur for hours.

Memories will always be ours and they’ll be there to remind us of the life we had before. To help us remember that no matter where we live and what we’ve gone through we must never forget who we truly are. Our base is always there — at least in our mind — where we can safely return to when we need some reassurance.

Final Thoughts

Your question might be right now: Would you do it again?

I can’t help but think of the film “Sliding Doors” with Gwyneth Paltrow. How differently our lives might turn out if we could go back and take a different path. Have you ever wondered?

I’m guilty of that.

But I took this one. And it felt right at the time. I did what my gut was telling me and there’s no way I’ll torment myself for the decisions I’d made. This is my life and is the direction I was destined to take. I’m used to feeling in a constant limbo because I belong neither here nor there. I have enough experience and memories that will tie me to three countries for the rest of my life. And I accept it.

I’ve lost some old friends and found new ones. Other mums who I’ve known since our kids started primary school, sixteen years ago. They are my rock, my confidants, friends I hold close as much as I can.

I have my family, who I can rely on unconditionally. And a son whose home is in England.

Have I ever thought of giving it all up? Honestly? Countless times. When things got tough. All I wanted was to pack up our belongings and leave everything behind. Go back home to pick up the pieces and carry on from where I’d left it.