The dark side of living abroad

It is so easy to flaunt the perks of overseas travel, or living overseas, be it for a few years, or for the bulk of your life. Everyone is so ready to tell you about the craziest adventure they've ever had and how you can do it too! Or tell you stories about how the culture of a land 8 hours away is so vastly different to your own.  And while I acknowledge all these wonderful perks, living overseas is not a bed of roses.
No one tells you about the homesickness. I never thought it would bother me. "I'm a global citizen!" Or so I thought. But ever so often, I will get abruptly hit by a pang of nostalgia when something familiar happens to me. The other day, I was buying some things from the store and the cashier spoke to me in Mandarin. In that split second, I was back home, paying for something, conversing in Mandarin. But that moment was fleeting, it vanished almost as soon as it arrived. The after effects was the emotional realization that I'm not home anymore. Or when you're stressed out with university and you don't have your family around to cheer you on, or listen to you rant.
No one tells you about having to miss out on the celebrations and festivals you grew up with, the things you regard as a yearly tradition. You start to miss out on Mother's Day, Father's Day, birthday parties, Chinese New Year, Mooncake festival.
No one tells you about how the many friends you used to bet your life on will slowly vanish from your life. You begin to grow more and more distant and the person you once knew like the back of your hand, well, that person isn't the same anymore. Neither are you. Both of you have changed and for better or for worse, those changes take its toll on the friendship.
No one tells you about coping with the loss of a loved one from far away. No one tells you about the number of last minute flights your have to book (or the absolutely ludicrous prices of those flights) just to make sure you get to see the person you love before it's their time to leave the earth.  No one tells you about the guilt you carry on your shoulders for not being there during that person's last breath, or how pathetic a video call feels. You don't feel fully there, because to the people on the other side of the screen, you are but a flat, 2 dimensional figure. Sometimes they forget you're on the other line, that you're trying to feel included by making all these calls, but failing miserably. No one tells you about the pain of losing a grandparent while being stuck in a place that is 8 hours away. No one mentions the fact that grief is a knife that stabs on your heart, being slowly twisted when you least expect it. No one tells you how to mourn alone. No one tells you how to cope without family.

Narration

She pull her ID card out of her pocket and taps the reader. Two seconds later, the tempered glass barrier opens and she strides past it. She walks to the lift, presses the up button and taps her left foot while she waits. A lift arrives, but alas, the people in the lift are packed like a can of sardines. A beeping sound emanates from the lift and the door closes. Once again, she presses the button, albeit with more force this time. Another lift arrives, and this time, to her relief, it is empty, save for two people. She steps in and presses the slightly faded '3' button. When it arrives at the 3rd storey, she steps out and is immediately bombarded with the sickly smell of antiseptic lotion, the sounds of people talking, beeps from heart monitor machines, the sight of so many people in different coloured uniforms. She knows the way by heart. Make a right, then a left, then a left, followed by yet another right, then keep walking to the end.
"Ah ma! Li ho bo?" she says, her voice half an octave higher than it usually is when she talks to most people.
"Wo buay soo hock. Ba dor jin tia," her grandma whispers.
"Li oo jiak yo bo? Oo gah lo kun gong bo?" she asks.
"Aiya, ga lokun gong, buay gong sio siang lah. Wo buay ho liao." her grandma whimpers, shaking her head. She closes her eyes and her head slides towards left shoulder.

She rearranges the blankets on the bed, and puts on four more heat packs on her grandma to keep her warm. Then, she pulls out her black laptop from her maroon haversack and begins to do her readings for her next class, which starts at 8am the next day.
When the clock strikes 9, she packs her things, rearranges the bed one last time and whispers in her grandma's ear “晚安。明天，我会来看你。” She treads out of the ward lightly, just as she has for the past 9 nights. A frown slowly forms on her face as she wonders how long she has to do this for. How long it will be before her grandma will be back home, with her and the rest of the family. Encountering the gantry again, she pulls out her ID card yet again, walking past the gates when they open. Her mouth widens into a yawn as she gets on the train home.

Irreversibility

There's no turning back now.
Some decisions, especially the major life ones, can't be undone.
The simple ones are easy to undo, or if wrong, are relatively inconsequential. What to eat for lunch? What time should I meet my friends tomorrow? Should I bring my bottle with me? If you change your mind on the food you order, if you're fast enough, you can get it changed. If you don't bring your bottle and find yourself needing a drink, you can buy a new one. Little harm is done.
But the major life decisions, the ones of great consequence, are those that we can't easily undo. And that scares me. Because I chose one opportunity over the other, I don't know if I chose right. What if I made a mistake? I can't undo it.
Thoughts like these tend to fill my head, especially during exam periods, when I miss being with my family and friends back home. Did I make the right decision to move overseas? Because now, my heart cannot be in the two places that I love at once. Had I never left, I would have never known how it feels like to live overseas and experience a new culture. I would be content with my family and friends and the culture I grew up in. It would also mean I'd lack the insight that I've gained today, something I would regret not having. I'd have never met the friends I have now, the ones I call "fam". The ones I treat like family.
I know now that when I move back home, things will be different and I won't see things the same way again. I may not be content with my life when I go back, and I may never be content with my life for the rest of my life. It's a curse that I've bestowed on myself.

What if: I moved out

A series of stories I will begin to write about my "what if" moments in life. Two roads diverged in the wood and I could only choose one. But...what would have happened if I picked the other? Where would I be? I guess I will never know, but it's always intriguing to imagine.

"It's dinner time!" Jan called out from the kitchen.

"It smells amazing!!!" Trisha said. 

"Let's eat!" Jan said.

The girls tucked into their food, slurping heartily on their chicken curry noodles.

"OMG, the craziest thing happened to me today. So I was queuing for a free Boost, you know how I've been playing that game to get points for ages, yeah so I got a voucher. Anyways, I was queuing to get my free drink. Then this guy nearby is waiting and he keeps looking around and from my side eye, it looks like he's staring at me. Which was weird. Anyway, he suddenly asked me 'Hi, random question, but do you think my hair looks nice?' Like who the hell would ask that to a random stranger? Also, side note, it was eugh..."

"What? That's such a weirdo!"

"Yeah anyway I wasn't gonna diss his hair, cos he was a random stranger so I just said it looked alright. Then he proceeded to ask me 'How would you rate it on a scale of 1-10?' Dude...why the heck would you ask me that?"

"What a weird dude. Did you continue talking to him after that?"

"No, I just said IDK and looked at my phone and walked further away from him. After I got my drink, I left as quickly as possible."

"Now, my turn! I've got amazing news! My mum has decided not to come visit me this holiday, but instead, she'll use the money to pay for a trip for me to go to Melbourne to visit my best friend there!!!"

"That's amazing! Have you guys planned your trip yet?"

"Not yet. Do you have any recommendations? You've been there so many times!"

"Yes! I've got so many recommendations. And no, it's not that many times. I've only been there twice! Wait, I've got a list, let me find it for you."

The girls continued their conversation through the dinner. They laughed, then washed the dishes, all the while with Jan telling the story of how her sister's hair ended up being caught in a fan when she was kid. When they were done, they proceeded to Trisha's room to jam. They spent their time crooning to mainstream pop songs and sang their hearts out.  

Before long, two hours had passed. Jan yawned and said, "It's getting late. I think I'll go to bed now. See you tomorrow! We're still on for Indian food right?"
"Definitely!"

"Night!"

"Good night!"

What if: I became a professional cook

A series of stories I will begin to write about my "what if" moments in life. Two roads diverged in the wood and I could only choose one. But...what would have happened if I picked the other? Where would I be? I guess I will never know, but it's always intriguing to imagine.

"Table 24, 1 steak! And 2 crabs for table 10!"
"Yes, chef!"
She turned to the fridge, grabbed a piece of marinated steak that had been resting on the tray for the past 2 hours and took it out. Then, she proceeded to pour a tablespoon of oil on a frying pan that had been sitting on the fire for a few minutes, waiting to hear the sizzling oil. In a few seconds, the pan began to sizzle and she put the steak in the pan. "Tsssssss!" it hissed. She shook the pan in a circular motion, and took a deep whiff of the satay marinade. Mmmmmm. It still smelt so good, even though she'd been cooking this almost everyday for the past 6 months. She took out the soft shell crabs that had been dipped into batter and gently lowered them into the pot of hot oil. It began to crackle and hiss angrily, as if warning her of the imminent splashes that were soon to happen. Deftly, she covered the pot let it continue to crackle and pop. She whipped out a pair of metal tongs and flipped the steak to the other side, hearing the angry sizzles from the pan as she did it. As it cooked, she began to hear the deep fryer quieten down. There it was! Her cue to open the pan. She did so, and pulled up the tray of fried crabs, leaving them to drain above the fryer. Now, onto the beef. Using the tongs, she put it on the black embellished plate and passed it to the other commis in the kitchen. "Table 24, 1 steak!" Once the plate was out of her hand, she took a large stride towards the fryer, her right arm grabbing a large metal dish and her left end wielding the tongs, as she fished out the fried crabs and put them on the plate. "Table 10, 2 crabs." she shouted.
The orders kept coming. Chickens, crabs, shrimp, she had to cook them all. At last, all the diners were out the door and the kitchen was closed for the day. She rested her hips against the stainless steel counter top and took a long gulp of water from her orange bottle. She enjoyed her day, but she was tired. With 6 day work weeks and being out of her house for 12 hours per day, being a line cook was no easy job. She enjoyed this, or at least, she thought she did. Cooking had always been something that gave her joy and being paid to cook and not have to clean up was pretty much her dream. But the long hours were having its toll on her. She thought back to the conversation she'd just had with her father last night.
"All I'm saying is, you can just submit an application and see how it goes!" he pleaded.
"What I am saying is that I know what the result will be! I know I can get into those courses they offer. But what for? I don't even want to do those courses. I want to be a chef. I'm already getting one step closer. I don't need university to become a chef, " she huffed.
"But you need a degree to prepare you for the workplace!" he exclaimed, as if it were a fact of life.
"Prepare me for what? What workplace do you have in mind? A 9-5, office job? I have said SO many times, I DON'T WANT IT! If I want to continue studying, I'll go to CULINARY SCHOOL!" she nearly shouted.
"Go talk to her," he said to his wife, clearly exhausted from the debate.
"Your dad just wants what's best for you," her mother says gently.
"And I thought you said you didn't care what I did, as long as I was happy," she retorted.

She removed her apron, grabbed her haversack, and began her walk to the train station, tonight, her parents would be home and she silently prayed to the universe that they would be asleep by the time she got back.

The story of us

Once upon a time, at an unspecified amount of time ago, I met you. We had a common interest that kept us together as friends. Along the way, we learnt more about each other. We learnt that we had other similar interests. There were things we could always talk about. There was never a dull moment in our friendship. We were well and truly happy. 
But alas, something happened (as it always does). A slight bit of doubt creeps in, miscommunications build up, we used to be as clear as crystal, able to read each other perfectly. But soon the dust sets in, the once-clear glass begins to smudge and cloud up. Maybe it wasn't anything big when it first started. It was a small fib. Or maybe the concealment of something that did not wish to be shared. But that hiding manifested into a small, yet ever-growing gap between us. Slowly, we began to hide more, retreating into our shells, closing our books. And one day, something big happens. Maybe it's a fight. Or maybe, something happened to me and you weren't there for me. You didn't stand by me. Things don't end well between us. We don't consider each other as a person we'd rely on anymore. We'd say we're friends, and manage a hi or bye if we see each other, but we can't go back. We can never go back. I can't trust you anymore and I wouldn't know what to say to you anymore that I'd feel comfortable sharing. Apart from small talk. But if you haven't forgotten, I hate small talk. I consider it a necessary evil because it's how you warm up in conversation with strangers and new friends. But it's an absolute waste of time if the conversation isn't going anywhere because it tells me nothing about you and tells you nothing about me. 
That's the end of the story.

I've had this narrative repeated in my life so many times. And I wonder why I still do it. Why do I give so much when I could end up falling flat on my face? The joy is great, but the pain is excruciating. Why do I bother to trust new people I meet? Why do I always want to make new friends? Everytime this story ends, I put my guard up. But over time, I let it down again. Sooner or later, I get hurt again. In the midst, I also meet others who actually stay. And I guess maybe that's why I gamble with my heart.

Culture shock

I was first introduced to this when W wrote to me about it.
It was really interesting and something that I felt resonated with my experience of moving overseas.

The initial honeymoon period feels like how one might feel when they visit their dream destination for their holiday and everything is how they expected it to be, or better. I was in awe of things I'd now laugh at. I was amazed by how cheap a standing fan cost ($12 at Kmart, to be exact), I was amazed by the entire set up of Kmart and the ridiculously low prices for things that cost so much more in Singapore. I was intrigued by the supermarkets, the thought of preparing meals for myself and the prospect of having my own room that I could decorate to my liking. I guess the hype for the former two died down after a while, although I do still love a trip to Woolies when things go on sale and I still enjoy cooking. As for the latter, I quickly learnt that I'm not one for craft and decorations, so my room is pretty bare in terms of wall art. But I'm fine with that. After all, it's my room, my own space that I can be myself truly.

The culture shock began to set in as I realised that people spoke with a different accent and that it was hard for me to be understood because I spoke with a Singaporean accent. I learnt that people are racist or do hold some racial bias (to varying degrees). Moving from a country where I was a part of the racial majority to where I became a minority, I feel like I better understand how the minorities in Singapore feel, but with that being said, I do not discount that their experience might be more intense than mine and what I feel can't be compared to their experience. After all, I've only spent 2 years in a different country, whereas they have spent the bulk (or entirety) of their lives living  in a country as a minority. And although I have faced situations where people publicly picked on me because of my race, or made subtly racist remarks, I am glad for this experience because I have become more sensitive to racist tendencies and have become more careful of what I say. Coming back to Singapore and listening to the way some people around speak about minorities and race has really appalled me. Even the way my parents discuss this issue can sometimes be far from delicate and makes my blood boil. I digress and maybe I'll continue a discussion on this topic next time.

Getting back to the point, I began to feel a disconnect with the people in Oz and for a while I even held a misguided belief that I'd probably never be able to be good friends with the Aussies. That I could only form good friends with people from Singapore. I missed the taste of home, I was craving for kway chap and sambal kang kong. I was getting bored of my life in Oz.

But over time, adjustment happened. I began to get used to the fact that I couldn't access the taste of home that easily, got used to my cooking, the prices of things, the accent, among many other things. I began to pick up hobbies like guitar and swimming. A sense of familiarity began to develop and I was getting more and more content with my life in Oz. I met so many wonderful people in Oz that I can call good, close friends and I'd even consider some of them among my best friends. These people are now the ones I count on for help, who I know will have my back and who make my day.

I'd say I've adapted now. I'm pretty happy with my life in Oz. I have a wonderful circle of friends, I have hobbies I love to do and I'm managing.