Yesterday I googled “expat sucks” – it was one of those, unfortunately many, days where I questioned my presence in Sydney, Australia, a.k.a. the other side of the world, far away from the people I love. In my mind exists a constant battle of accepting, dealing and defining certain aspects of expatria life, and I am trying to distinguish these feelings from my extreme sad/happy almost-bi-polar (not my words) personality. I am a passionate woman and I live to love, I can’t help it.
If I haven’t felt like an outsider enough growing up with two totally different cultures in NL, being an expat only emphasizes this feeling of not-belonging-here (“Hey you have a different accent, where are you from?) – yes it’s always a good material for a first convo, but after a year of being a nomad I don’t feel like starting over again and again. I just want to have friends and feel at home.
If I’m here to feel at home and make friends, and if I have a home and if I have friends, why the f-ck am I wandering around here? “It was your own choice to become an expat, no one forced ya.” Yeah. True. So I need to stop whining. But I can’t help it. I’m just not made for this stuff. Do I need to take on a different approach? Act as if it is all a novelty and that I’ll be outta here in no time? This either causes for relentless/reckless living or positive/pro-active living. Both cases sound fucking exhausting to me.
I’m still here despite these feelings because I experience certain bursts of belonging and I enjoy those thoroughly. Sometimes I might feel even more at home here then I would in Europe. That’s pretty contradicting, I know, and I reckon it has to do with my age and how I’ve lived my life before this rollercoaster. I’ve dealt with oppression for about 20 years of my life. Sydney is symbolic to freedom to me. Yeah, all my feelings here are skewed because of a lifelong experience of darkness. See my former post.
Seizing own freedom requires not only courage but also a well thought-out plan backed up by the necessary funds. These funds I have acquired and am acquiring through this job that I have. Going back home and facing Europe’s economic state with 0 opportunities just does not sound that attractive to me in terms gaining funds. But do I really give a fuck about money? ONLY when it becomes an obstacle and it has been for 20 years. I just don’t want to go back to that.
I feel like I’m stuck in a maze.
Home is not home, new home is not home. The only home I’ve trusted is my little cave of arts. In this little fantasy world of mine, anything goes, we live in a grey area where having fun and being on adventure are the most important values of life. I guess when I engage in arts practically and mentally I become extremely happy and comfortable. It is my most close-to-my-heart form of escapism, and I have used it all my life. Throughout primary school, through high school, through university. And now here, through my professional life, through expatria. I don’t know if I should be happy about it or not. Actually, yes, I am. I mean at least it’s not drugs.
And it all becomes clear again. Despite the frustration and the lack of time because of work, I am here to enjoy my freedom, to deal with these demons in my mind, to grow the fuck up. Yesterday I read a quote about maturity: “Maturity is reached when there is a harmonious relationship between a person’s body, mind, emotions and spiritual soul under the guidance of their reason and will.” – That is a pretty awesome definition of maturity, and I believe that I can reach maturity someday. I am working on it, every single day, like there is no tomorrow. I don’t quite have a choice.
Other then all these headspins Sydney is home to me because the awesome friends that I have, the weird quirky art scene that I am a part of and the rays of sunshine on my face everyday. It’s warm here. I’ll return to Europe, soonish. Just not now.