The 10th year of living abroad hits different
At first, you’re ready to be reborn. You’re ready to shed that old image of yourself and be someone completely new. You can’t wait. You’re dreaming of reinvention. You need it.
Suddenly, being from a different country isn’t just a fact, it’s a personality trait. Having an accent is a social tool. You always have an icebreaker. You used to be nerdy and weird but now you’re cool and interesting and feel pretty for the first time in your life. It’s magical.
You learn what it’s like to live in the U.S. You learn what college is like. You sleep with no comforter for a week because you don’t know where you can go to buy one. You learn where to shop and how to get a bank account and a cell number. You make friends with other students from all over the world and feel so lucky to have this experience.
Texts and phone calls from friends back home dwindle, and you let them because you know you don’t belong in their world anymore. How can you explain what you’re going through or how you’re changing over a quick Facetime? They know the old you, and that’s who you’re trying to get away from.
For a while, you feel invincible. Like being the one who moved is such a great achievement that you can ride those coattails for the rest of your life. It consoles you when you question if you’ve done the right thing.
The years pass and you blossom. You have great months and not-so-great months. You go through heartbreak and the anxiety of choosing your degree, then your career path.
The long summer and winter breaks hold you over. They give you a chance to see all your family, bond, and answer their questions about your life. Except the dreaded one — when are you moving back?
Finding a job is hard. You go through visa applications and apply for jobs and internships and don’t have any luck. Even at 22, you’re naive. You think your education will open doors for you as everyone told you it would. All that time and money will be worth it. You just have to try harder.
You move to NYC and a kind friend lets you stay at her apartment. You cry every day when you discover that landlords won’t rent to you. You have no guarantor. You don’t have 6 months' rent upfront. Companies balk at your visa status. They say oh, um, let me check whether that’s something we can do. But you don’t want to give up and go home. You don’t want to feel like you failed. You don't want to feel like you are a failure.
You are lucky, though, because you do get a job and an apartment. You start work and are very happy for a time. You believe you are building a great career. You see your family twice a year, when work allows you the PTO. It’s not enough.
Of course, you miss things. Births and birthdays and weddings and milestones. You miss your dad’s 60th. You miss the births (and let’s face it, lives) of countless nieces and nephews.
Childhood friends grow up and get married to people you’ll never meet. You’re not invited of course, why would you be? You haven’t been there for the last 10 years. You may as well be a stranger now.
Every day you’re thankful that your parents are in good health. You think, what if you’re not there if something happens?
Your life is wonderful and full and confusing in equal measure. The most crippling thought is wondering if you made the right choice. You have given all up these years that you could have spent with your family. Will you regret it? Is this life worth the time you’re losing?
When are you coming home? When are you leaving again? Every trip is a trip to see family. Almost every PTO day you have is spent trying to get time back with your parents. Every moment you do get together is special.
You made this choice, you remind yourself. You chose this life.
You learn to let go and let things be. You can welcome new relationships with ease and say goodbye to them with ease, too.
There are beautiful parts. There are meaningful friendships. There are trips to places you would never have been, and glimpses into lives of people you never would have met.
You meet the love of your life. Slowly, as your relationship develops, it becomes clear that living in another country isn’t just a phase or a stint. It’s just your life now. You’re not waiting for what comes next. This is what’s next.
It’s 10 years since you boarded that flight. You can hardly believe where the time has gone. But you didn’t just get here. You made a series of choices that felt good and right in the moment. You made it work.
Sometimes your mind wanders and you wonder who you would be if you had chosen differently. It's okay to wonder. It’s even okay to have some regret.
There’s no “I’m where I’m meant to be” mantra in your head. Mostly, you stand by your choices. Did you make mistakes along the way? Sure. But you trust yourself. You’re proud of where you are. And you’re excited to choose what comes next.
