the life of an expat is not a glamorous one

The life of an expat is not a glamorous one. I hate the word “expat”. Expat or immigrant, what is the difference? The weight one word carries, versus the connotation of an effortless and privileged life implied by the other. Why? Immigrants come from poor countries to rich countries, expats go from rich countries to poor countries to “find themselves” and “explore the meaning of life”. That is the difference. Rooted in the color of skin. I’m not going to call myself an immigrant, that would not be appropriate. For lack of a better word, I’m going to use the term “expat” because it flows better than “foreigner living abroad for a long period of time”. But just know that I don’t use that word without thought of power imbalances and the implications it has. 

The life of an expat is not a glamorous one. This past week has been a real slump for me. I will be brutally honest because I’m tired of the notion that living abroad is living the dream. Living abroad is an effortless escape from your “real world” problems. Living abroad is constant adventure and excitement. If we think this is what living abroad is, we kick ourselves for not feeling this way all the time. “I’m supposed to be having the time of my life! What’s wrong with me?”. It is definitely safe to say that the honeymoon phase has ended for me. I love to travel, it is one of my greatest passions. But living abroad feels a lot less like traveling after a month and a half or so. By the time this point is reached, it’s more like I’m just here living but without all the people, relationships, and routines that make my life what it is back home. Can you imagine how disorienting that might be? What IS my life made of? Is this my life now? Who even am I without the relationships I have, the friendships I cherish, and the things I love to do? Doing the things you love to do can be really hard in a place where your access is so limited due to language and cultural barriers. Doing the things you love is really difficult as an expat when those things revolve so heavily around the people you love. Yes, I could resort to watching Netflix and catching up on all the series I’ve missed. Except I can’t really, because my VPN only works half the time everything is blocked by the great firewall. How convenient. 

My isolation is captured in the fact that I am living in a second tier city in China. Other foreigners do not live here. There is no expat community to fall back on. Not a single aspect of life here, dining, shopping, transportation, etc., is catered to English speakers. When you live abroad in Europe, you are still in the "West", therefore English is still the majority. You are still the majority, if you look at the bigger picture. In Fuzhou, China I am reminded every day that Mandarin is the most common language in this part of the world and English is nothing but a minority. No one cares to try to speak English because why in the world would they? It is Chinese that matters. 

My isolation is captured in the moments when I’m desperately trying to combat it or distract myself. It’s in the facial expressions of people in a TV show, the relief washing over someone being reunited with a loved one. In deep or intimate conversations of characters in the latest episode of anything I’m watching. It’s in the moments I witness someone laughing with friends, the everyday routines I see on a screen that are comfortable and meaningful that unexpectedly make my eyes well up with tears because I want that too! Who knew the simplest things would become so unavailable to me? 

It is captured in the facial expression of the woman I buy my daily baozi from for breakfast, she smiles at me because she recognizes me. I want to say more, to communicate more. I try, and quickly realize there is no point, she doesn’t understand. Our relationship and our communication stops at smiles. For that split second, I feel less alone. I don’t do “filler friends”, I usually would rather be alone than hang out with people that I don’t have a meaningful connection with. I have always been that way. But right now I would take a filler friend. 

My isolation is captured in the moments I think of home. Of a cool ocean breeze, of going to the grocery store to buy cereal. Calling a friend or family member effortlessly, without the wifi and VPN struggles. Without counting the GB of data being used on that one call. The moments I could jump into my car and drive to my next destination. Instead I walk 10 minutes to the bus stop, wait in the scorching sun for another 10-15 minutes, get on the bus and endure being stared at by all passengers until my stop is up another 20-30 minutes later. I try my hardest to act nonchalant – I know what I’m doing, where I’m going, you don’t need to stare at me. Nothing interesting to see here. I think of home and I imagine a city lit up at night, and I’m above in an airplane looking down on the sparkling lights. Except I’m in the plane the whole time, and it’s not landing anytime soon. On the outside looking in – looking into a world I actually will never be a part of. That is the reality. And it’s okay, because I don’t really want to be…I just want to experience it from my own comfortable identity. The hard part isn’t feeling like I can’t be a part of this other world. The hard part is feeling like I’m not a part of anything at the moment. Drifting into a new reality but feeling slightly disoriented in it all the time. 

My isolation is captured in the fact that it doesn’t matter if I remember how to get to all my favorite places. Hell, it doesn’t even matter if I remember how to order my favorite drinks in Chinese. Because I can’t answer what comes next, and if I even slightly deviate off that walk and bus route to my next location I will be lost. I can’t understand what is going on around me. The nuances, the micro expressions … none of it translates. Maybe 1% of it does. Sometimes I pick up on these unspoken ways of communication when I see my students laughing together during our break in class.  A hint of sass, a tone of voice, a facial expression. It’s almost like I catch a tiny wave of what is going on. But it’s gone as quick as I think it’s there. Daily communication is reduced to the simplest of gestures - hand movements, pointing, that is what my expression of self has been reduced to. 

Loneliness is seen in the way that my personality, my charisma, the dynamics between me and my friends at home… none of that exists here. It doesn’t matter if I retain my sense of humor, my facial expressions, or my sarcasm because none of it is understood. That may be the most isolating part. Does “finding yourself” while living abroad really mean temporarily losing all the things that make you, you, and seeing what is left? 

It is embarrassing that I can’t speak Chinese, not that the shop clerk can’t speak English. I’m humbled by how incredibly out of place I am, and I feel that every day. It gets easier to ignore when I’m at my most rested and determined state, but it doesn’t go away. It is exhausting to do anything, and even more so to do it all alone. 

I know I am lucky to be here. I do know that. I chose to be here, I chose this experience, and I know I didn’t make the wrong decision. I sometimes worry about whether or not I am making the most of it, and living up to what “being an expat” is supposed to mean. But I think about 80% of being an expat is in everything that I just described above. No one talks about that stuff, the hard stuff, the miserable stuff. The other 20% is the part that is broadcasted to friends and family back home. In the photos we post of social media. The rush of excitement, the new and delicious food, the frequent sense of wonder and satisfaction. That is what we talk about the most, but the reality is that is only about 20% of what is really going on. The tip of the iceberg, if you will. So I’ll just be here, chugging along. Trying to figure out what “me living in Fuzhou, China” is supposed to look like, what it does look like, what it means for me.