The Lotus Eaters
I started this entry in mid-December, and though I keep coming back to it and being unsatisfied, I’m just going to finish it, wonky or not. It begins like this: I moved to Singapore six months ago.
But. My daughter told me amid her sleepy, trying-not-to-sleep deep thoughts at bedtime the other night, “I feel like a puzzle piece that looks like it fits but doesn’t, really.” Both children say, without hesitation, that if they were offered the chance to go home to Houston today, they would. I share their heart-bending analysis of the truth; I feel comfortable here, but I don’t feel at home. The children are settled in their school, and “well-adjusted,” but it’s just a place where they go, with friends that they’ll miss, but this is not their place. I think, at this point, that this emotional locus is where we should be; it would be a little strange if we were totally settled already, wouldn’t it? We’ll settle more the longer we’re here, I don’t doubt. I am definitely eating the delicious fruit of this place, and falling under its spell. I haven’t been an expat before though, and I keep running into a strange thought loop—I’m going to miss this. As much as I now miss the smoky Chile de Arbol flavoring silky-fat, shredded pork and sharp raw onions in a perfect tortilla, I’m going to miss the stab of the wee red chilis whose name I don’t even know, sliced and raw, floating in sweetened vineagar, the right punctuation to tender noodles full of the flavors of the sea. I’m going to haunt gardens and candle shops and perfumeries for the scent of ginger in bloom, their sweetness grounded by the funk of the lily pond the way I now sniff around for the roses in my Houston garden mixed with pecan leaves. This is not my home, but it will always be my place, even when I’m not here. It's so strange: this is still the beginning of my time in Singapore, in many ways, but because of the temporary nature of our stay, I'm already anticipating the end.
We’ve been here six months, almost seven now, and I keep thinking about that milestone.
It’s been half a year, and I’ve always thought I can handle any situation, for at least a year. So far, living in Singapore hasn’t been a situation to be endured, at all. I have a sweet life, here—it’s a good place with lots to explore and kind people. I’ve been so, so lucky to find lots to look forward to each day. And there are lots of crabs for me to eat and really excellent spicy stuff to put on everything and the fruit occasionally makes me a little delirious with absolute bliss. A few weeks ago when we were returning from Vietnam, as the plane broke through the clouds, I saw a sprinkling of lovely, fat cargo ships in the Singapore Strait and my heart gave a glad thump. Home. It felt unabashedly good to be back to my own little place I’ve carved into the world; my own sheets on my bed and my pots where I put them and my books on the shelf, our family’s favorite fish shop down the street and my favorite fruit shop waiting with a few of the best mangos set aside for regular customers like me.
It’s been half a year, and I’ve always thought I can handle any situation, for at least a year. So far, living in Singapore hasn’t been a situation to be endured, at all. I have a sweet life, here—it’s a good place with lots to explore and kind people. I’ve been so, so lucky to find lots to look forward to each day. And there are lots of crabs for me to eat and really excellent spicy stuff to put on everything and the fruit occasionally makes me a little delirious with absolute bliss. A few weeks ago when we were returning from Vietnam, as the plane broke through the clouds, I saw a sprinkling of lovely, fat cargo ships in the Singapore Strait and my heart gave a glad thump. Home. It felt unabashedly good to be back to my own little place I’ve carved into the world; my own sheets on my bed and my pots where I put them and my books on the shelf, our family’s favorite fish shop down the street and my favorite fruit shop waiting with a few of the best mangos set aside for regular customers like me.
But. My daughter told me amid her sleepy, trying-not-to-sleep deep thoughts at bedtime the other night, “I feel like a puzzle piece that looks like it fits but doesn’t, really.” Both children say, without hesitation, that if they were offered the chance to go home to Houston today, they would. I share their heart-bending analysis of the truth; I feel comfortable here, but I don’t feel at home. The children are settled in their school, and “well-adjusted,” but it’s just a place where they go, with friends that they’ll miss, but this is not their place. I think, at this point, that this emotional locus is where we should be; it would be a little strange if we were totally settled already, wouldn’t it? We’ll settle more the longer we’re here, I don’t doubt. I am definitely eating the delicious fruit of this place, and falling under its spell. I haven’t been an expat before though, and I keep running into a strange thought loop—I’m going to miss this. As much as I now miss the smoky Chile de Arbol flavoring silky-fat, shredded pork and sharp raw onions in a perfect tortilla, I’m going to miss the stab of the wee red chilis whose name I don’t even know, sliced and raw, floating in sweetened vineagar, the right punctuation to tender noodles full of the flavors of the sea. I’m going to haunt gardens and candle shops and perfumeries for the scent of ginger in bloom, their sweetness grounded by the funk of the lily pond the way I now sniff around for the roses in my Houston garden mixed with pecan leaves. This is not my home, but it will always be my place, even when I’m not here. It's so strange: this is still the beginning of my time in Singapore, in many ways, but because of the temporary nature of our stay, I'm already anticipating the end.
Being raised by an economist kind of gives you a hyper-logical set of powers, for good or for evil; I weigh every choice in terms of the opportunity cost of my decision. Yes, I could buy those really sparkly designer shoes that I keep passing on the way to the grocery store, but those same dollars would probably cover the cost of a couple of plane tickets to Seoul. Even though I don’t have to make that choice, it’s hard for me to do something when I think I could use those resources more wisely elsewhere. Even choices I’ve made I see in terms of what I’ve given up, what it’s cost for me to have what I have, and generally, I’m ok with the accounting. No one gets to have both excellent tacos and excellent fish noodles in the same place; so you choose one over the other for a while. I’ve always thought that I wanted a home, a deeply-rooted sense of having a place in the world. If you asked me, I would have said that I’d be willing to pay almost any price for that one thing, and certainly I’d pay even more for my children to have it. When we left Houston, I found myself wondering if we could make a home, here. Making a home for now hasn’t been an issue; I wonder now if I’ll ever be truly at home, anywhere. I wonder if the price for crying with amazement at bioluminescent plankton swirling in the sea around me is feeling a little outside the center of things, wherever I go. I wonder if I’ve traded twelve uninterrupted school years for my children at the same place with the same classmates for playing rock-paper-scissors with total strangers/instant friends with whom a smile is communication enough. I wonder if the cost of seeing new places and feeling yourself strong enough and brave enough to enter a room of strangers with a smile is never feeling at home, and I wonder if that cost is worth it.
I do feel totally fortunate to have the choice, though. I don’t doubt for a second that my childrens’ therapists will be able to tell me all about what I’ve done wrong, someday, but I feel so lucky to get to be here and navel-gaze about it. Raise a glass with me (mine is literal, so help yourself to something nice, too!) to another six months of filling our new things buckets, to putting down roots where we are, even if we know it will hurt to pull them back up again, to appreciating every blessing we have.
Here’s a housekeeping thing: I started a second blog, you know, because I keep up with this one so well. I didn’t really know what I was going to write about when I started, but it’s turned into kind of being about moving and trying new things and being an expat, and I’ve really wanted to write about the places I’ve been, as well, so the other blog will be an outlet for those things. So if you’re interested in the specifics of my travels, guide-book style, you can go here.
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