View Through The Fence

The expatriate exercise is littered with land mines. I suspect that every expatriate, regardless of the country he’s come from or landed in, eventually realizes that he will only superficially adapt to the society he has chosen to adopt. Even if he could somehow waltz past the physical appearance and language hazards, the powers of ancient cultural subtleties blow him away bit by mysterious bit, even though he has studied hard, sincerely wishes to become a member of the new tribe and believes he thoroughly understands what it takes to be a blurred chameleon on a new-fangled leaf.

Well sure… some engaging friendships with local folks evolve, but discourse with them hovers in the upper levels of amity. A greater understanding of local mores is required to reach lower, more meaningful, depths and one always has the sense of being a bit patronized. It's natural and unavoidable.

A number of years ago, I ate breakfast every morning at the same café with John, a middle-aged, intellectual and amiable Australian fellow. John had lived in Thailand twenty-five years, spoke the language with little accent and seemed to embrace the Thai culture and its customs. One morning he said, “You know… you can live here for years trying to figure things out. And just when you think you’ve got it straight, something happens to make you realize you haven’t bloody figured out a damn thing!” The next morning he announced that he had had enough and was going back to Melbourne, but he was apprehensive about his ability to readapt to Australian culture.

"I've lost something," he said. "My roots have lost their ability to recognize their most nourishing soil."

To live in a country other than the one you were raised in is to live in a country that can never be your own. Your experience of its novel landscape will always be superficial and can only be viewed through a hole in the fence. (It would be a pity if John is now also looking at his native land through a hole in the fence.)