There’s a lot of waiting and wondering in Expat life. Rumors and whispers and and emails that you read, and re-read a million times in hopes that you can discover some hidden meaning, or decode a implied message. Maybe he knows where we’re going? Maybe she’s heard? Maybe that call to a co-worker, asking after us, is a sign. Is that off-colour joke holding a cryptic message?
You hear something, and your heat starts racing, and you begin imagining newness, and envisioned tropical heat warms your toes for the first time in a week. Mangos and rice and banana leaves flash. Dirt and pollution and stinky canals. Tuck tucks, getting lost, and forgetting the word for “thank you”. Beaches, apartment hunting, redecorating.
I’ve been dreaming of tropical locals this week. Checking expat forums, wondering what life is like over there. In that place that I can’t name because it’s probably just a rumor or a coincidence or just a funny and completely irrelevant tidbit that falls thoughtlessly off someone’s tongue.
We’ll be the last to know where were going and when we’ll be going there. We won’t hear anything about our move until it’s upon us, and the it’ll be a thrilling flurry of quotes from moving companies, cat paperwork, last minute shopping, boxes, and critical decisions about what goes by air and what by sea. Just help me cross my fingers that wherever it may be it’ll be warm and there will be friends for me to meet.