Ahhh, I forgot to post this before I left to visit my family. Better late than never.
I think I will go now. I am far overdue. I haven’t been home in …. gosh, almost a year or two.
There are many things I miss about home, such as BBQs, road trips and my family — those things are on the top of my list. I also miss the smell of grass, the sound of rain, and the feel of something familiar like I’ve known it all my life. Something that belongs to me, not something on loan, or something that can be taken away if I don’t watch my Ps and Qs.
I miss my history. My life that’s in a box waiting on a shelf in the garage. All my photos and mementos that have chronicled my life. The little things and trinkets that have made me, me. It’s really of no great importance to anyone else. In fact, they would think it is trash but to me it is priceless — it is my life from A to Z.
I miss my daydreams and my memories connected to a smell of something pleasing or something unpleasant. Either way it is mine triggered by something familiar that I have missed but completely unaware until — there it is, taking me back, making me feel as if I am once again in that moment that nobody else will recognize but me.
I think I will go now to see all of those things that mean so much to me.
I remember a time that no longer exists but it is still feels good to go and see, a place that’s etched in my memory of the spot I used to call home. Â Sometimes it makes me sad that it will never be the same as when I was young but realize if it was I never would have left it in the first place. The truth is I squeezed the life out of it. I hugged it until it was dry. And then moved onto another place and hugged it tightly too. I have a habit of getting bored after a year or two.
Now I am on the other side of world. A place that is really far from home — if that is what I would like to call it. My home doesn’t exist anymore it’s just a memory filled with the people I love who never left and that are waiting there for me. I am looking forward to seeing the smiles. Hearing the stories and feeling the laughter that reminds me why I came back.
Somedays I wish I could go home to the place that I remember, that place that made me feel like I belonged. The truth is it doesn’t exist anymore but you don’t realize it until your gone. Visiting makes me both happy and sad for a time and a place that once was and for that special thing I once had.
I think that I will go now to the place I once lived to see the people who mean so much to me.
“Gone Girl” was filmed in my hometown…how exciting! Stay tuned for more on this subject.
Whew! The summer has come to an end. And for most expats we are very excited to get back to our own lives. Not that we don’t love you. Not that we didn’t love visiting you. But the summer exodus to our hometown is absolutely, positively, exhausting with a capital “E”. Ever wonder how it feels to be a displaced person no place to call your home roaming from place to place? Well, we do. Not that we don’t love you. Not that we didn’t love visiting you. But coming home is kind of weird.
The Expat Exodus is an annual event — and it’s free. It’s either free for the taking or a small charge that is nominal, there’s so much to choose from its almost farcical.
First people start with their boats, their cars and then move on to their bicycles. They snatch their kid’s toys and all unnecessary obstacles. As the weeks roll on they are selling blankets and breast pumps, clothes and shoes. Next comes hair dryers, air fryers, and everything else they can afford to lose.
The fishing equipment they’ve used once is gone. And so is the ping pong table made in Saigon. The potted plants will be snatched up so quickly you’d think it was cannabis or something else as addictive.
They barter and shove “Next please!” they shout. I must. I must — have that ugly couch!
They line up for miles to pick through the debris, of a once glamorous life like you see on TV. The sailboats, the yachts, the bubbly brunches and more; have been carefully chronicled on Facebook galore.
They came to this oil country dollar signs in their eyes, they bought Tiffany, Louis, Cavelli and Valentino. “Is there gold on my lip?” they ask with a smile. No worries mate, it’s only my joe. Let me lick my lips and wash down with prosecco.
Oh, don’t we wish the good times could go on forever. Yaallah — be a dear and go get the driver. The housemaid will carry the suitcases to the car. As they mentally prepare to go back to their flat in drab cold London, or boring St. Pat.
How do we go on without rose colored glasses, around the clock helpers, and dirt cheap gasses? Not to mention the around-the-world trips, the absence of jerks and all the other many, many, perks.
For years, the stories they will tell of their time in the desert and the land of the surreal – gold plated cars and tigers on leashes — champagne, cavier and aqua colored beaches.
Good bye UAE. We will miss you it’s true. But maybe now we can be a big fish too. We are not Sheiks, Sheikas, or live in ginormous palaces, but the children of countries just as rich in heritage, and history, with families who love us.
Khalas — we are finished! Shukran, we say. Thank you, thank you UAE for allowing us to stay.
There’s more than a few things that make living in the UAE enjoyable but many times it is the little stuff that really counts. Here’s the two best examples I can provide. A clean bathroom and a peep free toilet.
In Abu Dhabi, the facilities are super clean because there is always someone cleaning up after you. It makes one lazy actually; or if you prefer to look at it in another way, free to do what we chose instead of what we need to do. Not long ago I sat in a German food court just waiting for someone to pick up my tray. I was paralyzed by the conundrum  ‘should I pick up this tray or should they?’ When you first arrive in the UAE it’s a common thought. Not sure who does what. And then you finally blend into the lifestyle and realize that you don’t really do any of that kind of stuff anymore. It took a good 5 minutes of sitting in the German food court before I realized that nobody was picking up my tray but me.
In the Middle East privacy is a super big thing. And for this reason, I am finally able to enjoy a peep free pee. I have no idea why this isn’t possible in the United States, land of so many freedoms which obviously do not include peep free pees, but many other things that mean absolutely nothing to me such as carrying a machine gun into a Starbucks. I don’t really want or ask for those things, I simply have always wanted a peep free toilet stall and I have finally found it. A stall that is sealed. No eyes gazing from the vanity mirror, no child peeking in looking for their mommy, no stall troller looking for an empty throne. Just me peeing free of peeps. Awww!
I attended my first women’s gathering at an Emirati’s home. It was like a baby shower on steroids. It was a mix of about 40 local and expat ladies; friends, families and acquaintances held at the magnificent home of one of the local ladies.
It was pouring rain and Brenda, Samia and I all rode together in Samia’s car. We arrived like a band of hooligans. Rolling in like a pack of wet mutts. Unable to find a parking spot that wasn’t in the middle of a small pond, we kept pulling in and out trying to find a better option, and each time we struck out, the more embarrassed Samia became. It must be a South Asian/Middle Eastern thing because as an American, I found it all amusing, as a South African raised in the apartheid, Brenda found the puddle a small problem by comparison — but Samia wasn’t so nonchalant.
“Brenda, please pull your umbrella inside the car!” In the crazy, wind-blown, rain splattering event of getting from the car to the “palace” Brenda’s new umbrella was turned inside out and it resembled more of a white flag than it did an umbrella. While we were pulling in and out of unacceptable parking spots Brenda stuck her umbrella outside the car window as if a symbol of surrender.
“Brenda, please bring your umbrella inside the car!” Complete embarrassment was all over Samia’s face. “No, really. Please, Brenda.” Chuckling Brenda agreed.
“Look at this place!” Samia marveled. As I said — it was definitely impressive. But I had more fun watching the expressions on Samia’s face. It’s like she was entering the Taj Mahal for the first time.
“Oh, my, we have to take our shoes off before entering the house! What do I do? I don’t want to take my shoes off! I am 4’11 if I take my shoes off I will look 15 pounds heavier!” Perplexed and horrified with her choices Samia’s Middle Eastern Cinderella’s Castle fantasy quickly came crashing down. “Well, I guess we do not have a choice. We must take off our shoes.” Brenda offers up advice in her years of international diplomacy experience. “When in doubt; don’t offend.”
I followed Brenda and Samia inside and noticed that at these types of events proper dress is either formal or national dress. Samia is in her best shalwar kameez, looking like a Pakistani princess, and Brenda is wearing a modest African dress accessorized with a small cocktail purse. They reminded me that I am a lost soul. Americans do not have national dress and until events like this, it never seems to be a problem. Aside from a Budweiser/American flag bikini, American women do not have anything to wear that says: I am an American. This has always been a huge problem with the Miss Universe pageant. Every other country looks like a million bucks in their bejeweled national ensemble and then there’s the American girl typically draped in the some fashion modification of the American flag.
As we entered into the palace our hostess greeted us in a beautiful leopard print floor length gown with a neckline too tempting for even most American ladies. She looked absolutely stunning and in a million years, I never would’ve guessed this was the same lady that could easily sneak past me in the school halls without ever grabbing a moment of attention. One by one, they arrived draped in abayas and then slowly removing them to reveal ridiculously elegant and some rather sexy gowns. I sat there feeling somewhat prudish, definitely under-dressed, and embarrassingly boring in my simple Ann Taylor outfit.
We sat in the ladies majlis, a formal entertaining room off of the center entrance hall, which was decorated in a bold rose decor and offered a variety of seating options for more than 30+ ladies. I could tell this wasn’t the type of event that only occurs when someone gets married or has a baby, or some other typical life milestone; but instead, this rooms gets a lot of use — these ladies gather frequently and this room offers all the accoutrements necessary for a super swanky tea party. Hired Filipina ladies served up Arabic coffee, tea, and dates in exquisite dishes as I relied upon Brenda to fill me in. What is this? What will it do to me? And should I partake? Which basically means, will this have me glued to the powder room while I am here at this super swanky event?
The bell rang for dinner. Yes, I am not kidding. A. small. bell. rang. to signify that we should all move to the enormously large extended-family Lawrence of Arabia dining room. The table itself was huge. Ever practical me, I am thinking to myself how many immigrants did it take to carry in this massive hunk of a dining room table? It was certainly larger than an operating table. It would’ve definitely been large enough to hold both Jack and Rose from the Titanic. It’s too bad Jack didn’t have this table. He would’ve made it to New York. One thing I am eternally grateful for is the towering baskets of fruit in the middle of the table. Thank goodness there wasn’t a baby animal on a platter laying peacefully dead in a mound of rice, dates, and a few random cashews —that would’ve blown the whole thing for me.
I looked around the dining room table to see the look of confusion on the faces of the expat ladies. What fork were the other ladies using? I think I was using the wrong one. If Martha Stewart would’ve concentrated more on these tid-bits of Middle Eastern etiquette versus insider trading, I probably wouldn’t be in this quandary I am in tonight around the Lawrence of Arabia dining room table. But no, the American capitalist let me down, but then again, Martha was probably never invited to a swanky Arab ladies dinner party. One-up. Fist bump!
After dinner, some of ladies were touring the upstairs of the villa. And I almost joined them but I caught the gaze of an Arab princess. Maybe she wasn’t a real princess but she could’ve been one. She was absolutely lovely. Far lovelier than Princess Di. Sorry Brits, but she was much more elegant. And she appeared to be staring at my small trio of hooligans. Either in amusement, interest, or dismay, her eyes followed me as I snapped (pre-approved) pictures around the magnificent villa.
Brenda really wanted to go upstairs to-see-what-there-was-to-be-seen. “B, I’m not going up there. I already feel like a third-class citizen.” I said, half jokingly. “Seriously, I don’t want to look like an uncouth and uncultured troll that’s never seen the inside of a place like this….really, we shouldn’t draw attention to ourselves. Okay?!?……. Really, Samia is just now recovering from the earlier embarrassment.”
“Ladies, I think we should at least get a picture of the three of us before we go. Let’s sit on this beautiful sofa together. This is perfect.” Samia smiled elegantly in her national clothes.
“Pardon me” I said. “Please, do you mind retaking this photo because it looks like I am breastfeeding my friend.”
OMG…….you can’t take us anywhere!
*A very big thank you to our most gracious hostess*
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You’ve always know we crave adventure. Even as a child we got bored. Running, exploring and asking questions. Why is it now a surprise when we expect more?
There was always a new challenge to win, another adventure to seek or a new goal to meet: That’s why we have gone away.
There’s nothing more exciting than staking claim to a new city, a new culture, a new way of life — it is really quite exhilarating to see. Making new friends, new memories, and experiences; that’s the oxygen we breath.
The Money.
Who can blame us? Working the same hours for less pay? If there’s a better option why not take it and dig the treasure while we can exhume it, because someone values us, enough to pay us, for the knowledge and skills we have invested — that’s why we’ve gone away.
Do you know how badly it would hurt us to see the disappointment in our children’s eyes, if years from now we told them the story of the opportunity we abandoned which would’ve changed their perspective for the rest of their lives? That’s why we chose to go away.
The Disappointment.
Companies dispose us, banks abuse us, and our civil society has become far less humane.
Talent is ignored when the company becomes bored and restructures just for the fun of it. There are no gold pens or extravagant parties for 50 years of dedicated service. We are bought and sold. Disposable commodities of the frivolous. As our professional careers are left teetering on the edge.
Why have we gone away?
We’ve gone away because the world has become smaller and our options have increased exponentially. Now working in Dubai is as easy as working in Shanghai and all we have to do is open our minds to embrace it — that’s why we went away.
The Dream.
There once was a dream of the happiness one would feel at the end of one’s working tenure.
But traveling stinks with weak knees, irritable bellies, and exhausted stamina. As we wished we would’ve enjoyed this in our thirties.
Retirement is no given, and we prefer not to risk it, and never see the globe while we can enjoy it.
Instead we will show our children the world, and share our picture books of all of the places we’ve explored, and tell our stories to all that will listen.
A very big thank you to UAE Murals for the use of their beautiful artwork!
Maria Hegedus is an American artist from South Carolina who lives in Abu Dhabi.
She has worked as a freelance muralist and has completed a variety of custom designed murals in businesses and homes.  She has done many commission pieces including portraits, watercolors, landscapes and more. She has painted on canvas, watercolor paper and various items including vintage luggage, pottery, mannequins, ornaments, etc.
She is expanding her client base in the UAE and is excited about focusing on “local” Arab-themed art. Â She is intrigued with the rich culture and heritage of the region and will be featuring this in many of her upcoming pieces.
Please visit the UAE Murals website to see more of Maria’s beautiful work.
The two words you never want to hear an expat say are “I’m leaving” — and regardless of how many times you hear them it never gets easier.
The first time my nine year-old felt the pain of these words was when his sailing buddy, his soccer buddy, his first friend and his best friend said, “I’m leaving.” My heart ached for him as he quietly cried in hidden places and he moped around for weeks before deciding that his life would go on.
At school, we have seen families come and families go. Either back to their home countries or off to new adventures. Favorite teachers leave. And the learning still continues. Companies relieve people. And new companies hire them.
There have been times during this journey when I stopped myself and thought, this is one of the best days of my life. I want to capture it and keep it forever. But life evolves and changes: and while recovering from a loss, we are preparing for a new beginning. The fact that things change is what keeps it interesting and yet emotionally exhausting at the same time. It is a love affair with the unknown. An addiction to the experience. A memory that may never be forgotten.
Constantly saying goodbye and saying hello. An old friend leaves as a new friend walks in the door. Knowing there’s no time for sadness because you need the new person as much as you needed the friend who just left. We hold each other up, and watch out for each other’s best interest; we band together like brothers and sisters. Ready to take on whatever is thrown our way as we try to make sense of the mysterious and the illogical.
The expat life isn’t intended to be enjoyed without good friends. You have to share the experience. You need a sidekick, a buddy — a girl pack in order to navigate the craziness; otherwise you will be lost in the experience. And that would be really sad.
Hello…Hello…Hello. I don’t know why you say goodbye; but I say Hello.
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Twice I was in a room filled with people who looked just like me — and it was odd. Nobody with dark skin. Nobody with a Middle Eastern accent. Nobody dressed in their country’s native clothes. Only white people, in white people clothes, having white people conversation — and I was bored.
Since I arrived in the Middle East I have been immersed in a melting pot of cultures and I have not stepped outside my melting pot since I arrived. Here in the UAE, my norm has been a mosaic of languages, clothing, and exotic features; all of which I now consider ordinary. One day I asked my friend Wlede, “Is this dress too African for me?” Of course not! was the response. In the States I would have received many stares for exploring fashion outside of my own ethnic group. Here nobody raises an eyebrow. Many days I ask myself, “Who have I become? Do I even still feel American anymore?
I never realized the extent of our global education until Max called out to me, “Yalla habibi! (Come on my loved one — which, as a nine year-old boy, he obviously didn’t quite understand or he wouldn’t have said it.) Another day he tossed out a “Ya know mate” that would rival any Aussies’s. And then he surprised me with the British terms keen, trolley and trainers almost in the same sentence. Who is this kid?
Raising an expat kid is different. They absorb the culture of their classmates and sometimes identify it as their own. They will swear up and down that they are from countries outside their home. Laura, my Italian friend, has three children who assumed they were Chinese. Imagine explaining to your child that although they’ve lived in China all of their lives, they are not Chinese. Interestingly, in their little view of the world they do not recognize the difference.
My friend who is a kindergarten teacher asked her class, “So class where are you all from?” One little boy screamed, “Exxon Oil!” While another little girl with a Texas accent said, “I’m from Saudi.” Many American children of teachers teaching internationally and other expats living abroad have never lived in the United States. They’ve lived here and there around the world, moving from assignment to assignment. Kerstin, my American friend whose children have never lived in the USA said, “I hated it when my kids lost their Aussie accent!”
Of the nineteen children in my son’s class there are probably ten different ethnic groups represented. During holidays the children disperse around the world to visit family or vacation in far away places. The cultural experience an expat child receives in the UAE is unmatched. Yes, we are living in the Middle East but we are truly receiving a global education due to the overwhelmingly large expat community. We are a melting pot larger than New York City. And fortunately for me, I am learning to pick and choose the best each country has to offer.
When deciding to move internationally, our goal was to create a global citizen. Someone who isn’t defined by geographic borders, an inherited culture, or misinformed by the evening news. Someone who is as comfortable in Dubai as he is in London. Someone with a kind heart, an accepting spirit and a thirst for knowledge and exploration.
And then one day Max said something to me that was so British it made me smile.
I realized with the quip of his little British slang that this experience was achieving its bloody goal.
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I just received my first hate mail and it absolutely blew me away. Who hates the PTA? LeeAnn Rimes. Sure. Gwyneth Paltrow. Overachiever. Madonna. Of course. But the PTA? Give me a break. We are the moms organizing the Harvest Festival, popping popcorn, and selling school sweaters after school. Lady, do you really want to hate on us?
Collectively, we resolved that she probably isn’t very happy. She’s an American living in Saudi, and understandably, life can be difficult for an expat woman. First we are lured with the promise of big money and adventure. The world is at your fingertips. Six hour flight to Rome, to Greece, three hours to the Maldives, five to Germany — for an adventurous person this is a dream come true but for some it is not. They miss home. They miss their old life. Their old friends. They miss everything.
Unusual grocery items
For others, we thrive. We find new friends. We make new memories. We move on. But still there are those moments when it is a little difficult and nobody at home seems to understand because we always look so happy in our Facebook pictures. And we are. But there’s a bookshelf somewhere full of studies that prove when people are thrown together in an unfamiliar environment that survival instincts kick in and people do what they need to do. Okay, so the PTA does what we need to do and more, but there’s always those days when we miss our sister, our parents, or our friends.
Some women are starving for friendship so they sign up for every ladies luncheon, girl’s night out and volunteer for every school function. Whatever it takes to keep them busy. Just hoping they will discover their overseas BFF and life will be full of Cosmos, reruns of Bridesmaids, and incredible shopping adventures. And sometimes that is exactly what happens and sometimes it is not.
More unusual grocery items
Sometimes husband’s careers are sidetracked, kids are yanked out of school, and families are uprooted because it is all too much. It is a culture outside your own and it isn’t always easy to adapt. It may be a country in development that does not follow the same familiar patterns. And many times it can be too much constantly asking Why? Learning to go with the flow isn’t always easy for some. So they try to create work-arounds or a new system for doing something but it is exhausting. The reality is not everyone is suited for this type of lifestyle. You really need to know who you are as a person before you commit yourself to something so challenging.
Even more unusual grocery items
So back to my hater. I am so very sorry you’re having a bad day. A bad life. Or you made a bad decision. Possibly the expat life isn’t for you or you simply miss your family. But before you pack your bags and go you should join a ladies luncheon, a girl’s night out or even better; maybe you should join the PTA.
I wouldn’t have married you if it weren’t for that thing. The joke, the smile, the thing that caught my eye. That thing the gave me the idea that maybe you were the one. The one who could hold my interest for a very long time.
I wouldn’t have stayed married to you through the hardships and the difficulties if it weren’t for the pesto, the wine, the indie films and the travel; all of the things that make us a we. I honestly would’ve given up.
I would not have brought a child into this world if we didn’t see eye to eye. Sharing the same values, beliefs, and dreams about the future. I stayed with you not because I have to, but because I saw the commitment in your eyes when you kissed your child goodnight and the role model you exemplify every day.
Lesser might have left you as we shifted state to state deciding which keepsake stayed and which would be thrown away. If it weren’t for the laughter that awaited us and the moments I knew would strengthen us; I might have gestured my hands with enough. I am done.
I would’ve reconsidered this whole marriage thing if the obstacles and the hurdles seemed higher and more difficult than than the emotional rewards but you always had our best interest in mind and I believed in you.
I am married to you not because of the successes we have acquired but because of the growth, and the drive, and the accomplishments we leave behind as we set our sights on what will make our family stronger.
As I set here today reflecting on that initial day when you walked in with your introduction; I could’ve walked away or not given you the chance to stay but instead I took a gamble that would fill my heart and soul with happiness.
I think I will go now. I am far overdue. I haven’t been home in …. gosh, almost a year or two.
theabudhabipta.com 