We writers express ourselves in the best medium we know how, through words.  Straightforward, laced, metaphors, riddles and poetry, they come in all forms.  White spaces are canvasses to those brimming thoughts swirling in our heads, blinking cursors and inks of all kinds are the brushes that give life to the words percolating and bubbling over in our heads, screaming to be unleashed.

Writing is cathartic for me, and I sometimes forget that what I write does affect others too.  A worried phone call from far away in the wee hours one morning, understandably over something I wrote, led me to take the silent road for a while and embark on a much-needed introspection.

Moving a family and a marriage abroad has been a great challenge.  Everybody thinks that expatriation sounds so exciting and adventurous.  It is easy to underestimate the difficulty of settling into a new life in a new country.  Major ups and downs have put our marriage to several tests, and setbacks have made us question the choices that have been made.

Identity issues and staying at home have been quite challenging situations to grapple with for expat wives as well.

On top of all that, there are no shortages of disheartening encounters: rules and policies that sometimes don’t make sense, excuses for bad services hiding behind bureaucracies, unreasonable persons and a string of bad experiences enough to send us packing our bags.

Being duped and manipulated by people to further their own agenda almost made me give up my faith in humanity and unscrew my steadfast belief in the inherent goodness of human beings. How do we cope with the madness that sometimes engulf our lives?

There are days you wake up to, wishing that you could fall back in sleep right away, hoping that when you open your eyes once again it’s going to be another brand new day.   Yet you still have to get out of bed and carry on with a bright smile and a happy face before the children, because it is unfair to pass on that kind of insecurity to them.

As with all obstacles we face, nothing lasts forever.  No bad situation is permanent.  If we ride it out long enough, hold on tight, grin and bear it, albeit not without a lot of screaming and fighting and doors slamming, any uncomfortable condition too shall pass.

Resolution comes.  Things have a way of sorting themselves out sometimes when we’re lucky.  In other cases, the small actions you take to make the situation better are rewarded in the end.  In worst cases, even if things take awhile or hardly improve, human beings are equipped with built-in mechanisms that make us adapt or learn to make peace with the things we cannot change.

It has been a year since we moved to Kuala Lumpur.  Some kind of normalcy has settled upon what was once a big mass of upheaval and I’m hearing the birds chirping on sunny mornings once more.

These days, I look out the window and see the leaves dancing breezily from the branches of the trees and wonder in awe what a lovely day it’s turning out to be.  Beautiful days have always been here all along.  Sometimes we just fail to notice them because we’re too caught up in the drama encircling our human existence. But there’s no use being hard on our selves for being grumpy at times.

What matters is that we’re still here standing. We managed to step over some great hurdles and more are certainly forthcoming.  But having survived those, which were thrown our way, only makes us stronger and better equipped with whatever is in store because we held on tight when things got rough.

In the meantime, happy days are here again.

Each morning, we wake up to a city full of hopeful people

And all they desire is to do meaningful work

But there are no shortages of the ones

Who bring them down. Day in, day out,

we wake up and resolve to put forth our best

To accomplish, be productive

And the first encounter with a human being

Knocks the wind out of our sails…

Cutthroat, survival, fear, malice

Punch in the gut, run off with your goods

Take away the inspiration

Break the marriage; shatter this friendship

let the tears start flowing

And so we sit, staring at a blank space on the wall

What the hell just happened?

Crazy world.

Click here to view the embedded video.

Time flies when you are occupied.  Time flies when you are living life.

Summer has always been a kind of respite from the daily grind.  The scorching heat makes us take refuge in the comfort of our air-conditioned homes.  And when we do brave the elements, it’s to lie comfortably under the shade of a beach umbrella, basking in the sea breeze wafting our way.  It is also a time of reconnection, of holidaying with friends and families, of flying across the miles to reunite with those we hold dear.

Like any other season, it never lasts long no matter how we pray. Summer’s ending sometimes also signals the closing of certain chapters in our lives.

I do not like the cold, but I like autumn for the sense of brooding introspection it brings.  The leaves of the trees tease us playfully with their magnificent displays of changing hues from green, to yellow, to flaming red oranges and magenta, finally succumbing into brown and withering, descend slowly into the grounds.  Disengaged from the branches, they carpet the soft earth.

It’s like the bursting of a thousand beautiful sunsets, leaving a tree standing tall and bare; its protruding branches and gnarling shape exposed.

I believe this is a helpful exercise we human beings can submit to from time to time.

And so began this long introspection.  A careless word, a tactless remark, or a hateful comment can shun an artist into withdrawal, a writer into a block, or cast a friendship into doubt.  Without going into the details of a series of particular events, the distillation of a long thought process culminates.

Our experiences, encounters and what we have learned from the world and our travels shape us.  Some people grow with us, while others will forever remain in our past.  Distance changes people.  It opens our eyes into the realities of the dynamics of the relationships we have with the other people in our lives.  We suddenly differ in opinions and disagree on things we once were on the same pages with.

And while everyone is entitled to have his or her own opinion, it is important to remember that we can all agree to listen to it, tolerate it, and respect it for what it is without necessarily acceding to it.

There are battles worth fighting for, and there are disagreements worth walking away from. While I admire people who stand up for their own principles, great care should be taken into account on its application.  No one is entitled to force his or her own brand of morality nor push his or her sets of beliefs on another.

How thin is the line that divides basic human decency from anarchy.  The idea of respect for each other’s opinions and actions must be taken seriously if we are to uphold each human transaction with great care and regard.  This is the foundation of all relationships and holds together the construct of our social fabric.

But what option is left for us if someone in our inner circle invades this basic courtesy and insists on his own views and perspectives as the only acceptable course of action from which all transactions in that particular relationship are going to be based?

Taking cue from the earth’s shift into autumn this time of year, there are moments when retreating is the best option if attempts at decent discussions only escalate the issues.  Arguments are futile and pointless exercises.  We don’t have to make a fuss or drama every time. We don’t even have to say goodbye. Just walk away.

Somewhere in the western hemisphere, winter will soon come and cast its chill.  Hopefully, this hibernation will be enough time for us to rethink our values, to regroup and to knock us back into our senses and see things in a different light.

Who knows what spring has in store.

cc Image Courtesy Erik Charlton ❘ Flickr

Mid thirties is a strange age to be in.  I first knew about the concept of death when I was 8 and my grandfather passed away.  He was 54 years old.  Until his passing, he was the only man I ever looked up to.  I grew up with him teaching me tennis and holding my hand.  And though while we were told that he had died at the time, I never really felt grief until I became a teenager and started missing him.

I kept wondering what life would have been with him around.  Oh how the dynamics in our family would have changed because he was such a central force to reckon with, a lynchpin.

The second death in my immediate circle was the passing of my grandmother at 90 years old a year ago.  A death that comes naturally with a life that’s lived and in the natural order of things is easier to accept.

But all around me for two years now friends, colleagues and acquaintances have slipped to the after life, like a house of cards falling slowly one by one.  When people die in their mid thirties or forties or fifties, we say, they’re too young to go.

It makes me wonder how far is this dark harvest from taking away anyone I know in my closest circle?  I wonder if we are courting death too much at our age with our lifestyle choices or is it simply, as fatalists would say, when it’s your time to go, it’s time to go?  Death keeps getting younger. Or have we just grown older?

And as grim and morbid as this subject may be, it’s a reality that we all have to face.  Every person’s passing is a stark reminder of how fragile, how thin is the line that divides dying from living.  We could be gone in an instant, leaving just memories behind.

It makes me want to fly home and attend every friend’s birthday, wedding or homecoming.  It makes me want to not miss anything for fear it might be the last.  It makes me want to reach out and iron every kink there ever was in any relationship I have with others and say, “Whatever it is that’s putting this wedge between us, it’s alright and it’s not significant. My love for you trumps everything else. Everything.”

It makes me want to huddle close to my children and hold them dearly so that my embrace will stay in their memory; so they feel loved with all of my life, long after I’ll be gone.  It makes me want to put down in writing all the stories swirling in my head. To make a mark, to leave a legacy that will forever live in the hearts I hope will be touched.

It makes me see how precious each day can be and the only way to go is to not waste talent, to love life and above all, to live it fully.

She made it deliciously, but there was too much chicken in the porridge.  I could taste its meat in every spoonful of soup I put into my mouth.  That “ruined” it for me, somehow.

You see, I flew with Philippine Airlines quite a lot in the past.  And I used to hang out in their business class lounges while waiting for the flight announcement.  They have a beautiful spread of canapés, open faced sandwiches and a huge pot, the kind you see in soup kitchens, of delicious chicken congee.  There wasn’t always a lot of chicken so part of the challenge was how to dip the ladle deep into the pot to come up with as much chicken meat at one go – for the ladle was huge and one ladle was all you need lest the bowl will overflow.

cc Image courtesy davemorris on flickr

I usually stirred the pot first to feel the chicken bits, tried to get a few pieces into the ladle and pour it into my bowl.  A squeeze of half a calamansi juice, a dash of black pepper and a sprinkling of dried garlic and fresh spring onions… I remember it vividly now as I brought the spoon to my lips and tasted the chicken meat I “triumphantly” caught, for I usually get four to five small slices on a bowl of ten spoonfuls.  It was heaven on an airport lounge.  I couldn’t go for a second for one bowl was filling enough.

Kind of reminds me when we were young children.  Hotdogs, chorizos and any processed meat never made it to my grandmother’s market basket.  She bought everything fresh from the vegetables to the live organic native chicken, which was slaughtered at home, much to our fascination.  Our father was the red meat guy, so on those very rare occasions he’d come home with hotdogs, corned beef and the like, it was party time for my sister and me.

Because of the scarcity of finding such on our table, my sister and I used to bury our hotdogs under our rice so we can get seconds or thirds.  We ate it with gusto much to the chagrin and consternation of my grandmother for she always said,

“Oh no, those kinds of food are really bad for you.  You don’t know where it’s coming from and what they put in there. It’s unhealthy.”  She never took so much as a single bite of any processed meat in all the years I lived with her.

Her choices weren’t a question of money for my grandfather left her a sizeable inheritance back in the day.  But she never really acquired much stuff.  And hardly threw anything away either.

Today, we live in a world where everything is at our fingertips.  I can’t even begin to count the hotdog varieties available from Frankfurter, kosher, Hungarian, German bratwurst, Mexican-style, Chicago and the list can go on forever.  There are more than 200 kinds of cookies in the supermarket. And when I want to just go for a quick grab of salad dressing I have to make up my mind on the following:  ranch, thousand island, Italian, Mediterranean, Greek, vinaigrette, reduced-calorie, low fat… it’s dizzying.

Supermarket shelves make me suffer from choice paralysis.  I’ve tried this so many times and I end up going home and whipping up my own dressing.  Two tablespoons of extra virgin olive oil, a spoonful of balsamic vinegar and a teaspoon of Dijon mustard from my fridge, sprinkling a bit of black pepper, salt and any chopped fresh herb on hand works every time. It doesn’t stress me out and I’m satisfied.

It is easy to acquire stuff these days, but do we really need most of it? When we take stock of what we have now, we don’t even use half of the things we already have in our possession. This irony is not lost on the soaring sales on how-to books on de-cluttering, Zen-like and minimalist living.

When something comes too easy and acquiring it doesn’t entail much work and sacrifice, the level of satisfaction it provides is fleeting.  Paradoxically, when we know we can’t have too much of something, our tendency to appreciate it dramatically increases.

Having less makes room for creativity and experience. And experience, as opposed to material things, are the stuff wonderful memories are made of.  Ten years on, who knew a pot of congee could make so much impression and elicit happy memories just from the sheer enjoyment of not having too much chicken in it?

cc Image Courtesy mendhak ❘ Flickr

A friendship can only last if everyone is on equal footing; no one should feel in competition or be threatened by another.  Not even when it exists only in one’s head.

The deeper the angst, the more aggression it manifests.  A deeply tormented soul spews equally lethal venom. And you can question the intentions of your best-est friends, no matter how well they mean.  But honesty – even just to yourself, can release you from all the heavy weight of denial you carry around with you.

I’ve learned that you can be in a happy marriage, or relationship, and still be tempted. Everything can change in a single moment depending on how you act or react to it.  In matters of the heart, one should love with complete abandon, and above all, have the courage to show it.

I’ve learned that even the best husband or wife can break your heart through inaction, disregard or thoughtlessness.

Relationships require a lot of effort. Even the most beautiful flower can only bloom with constant attention and care.

There are people you adore because of the sunshine they bring to your life; and there are those you love because they are your dearest friends – sunshine or not.  But at times it can be equally taxing being around the latter and there are days you need to pull away if only to recover your strength from the dark energy that surrounds them.

But you treasure them anyway, no matter what.

No one wants to deal with the unpleasantries and everybody avoids drama or confrontation because it is uncool.  I believe in keeping it truthful about sorrow just as we unequivocally squeal in joy and show the world our delight.

We don’t hide happiness, why should we hide sadness?

People have a hard time accepting that pain must be acknowledged alongside joy, or that falling in love is also an invitation to heartache.  One has to exist for the other to be true. It goes hand in hand.  It is what it is.

Still, the universe loves happy people; those who wear halos so vibrant a whole room just lights up when they enter it.  It is but human nature.

The people who love you will love you no matter what.  But there’s a limit to how far you can push them.  Challenging that love constantly may cause it to end.  Even the best of friends can annoy each other.

And when your moral compass flies out the window and no sense of reason or logic can seem to guide you, I’ve learned that if you look at the eyes of your child, you’ll find truth and meaning.  You will be capable of selflessness and be willing to do what is right once again.

A Malaysian guy who allegedly works for an ex-immigration official, posed as a “visa agent” who was supposed to facilitate our family’s expat and dependent visas together with our nanny’s extension of length of stay. He ran off with our nanny’s passport instead.  He singled out her passport probably because it was a Filipino one, and he endorsed our family’s Dutch passports to the proper agencies because those were obviously Dutch.

On the one hand, I breathe a sigh of relief that my family’s passports are safe; on the other hand, our nanny is not just any dispensable house help one may replace at any employment agency at a moment’s notice, though that would have been the more convenient alternative.  Nanny is part of our family, her mother has been working for us for almost two decades and she has watched over my daughters every time we go and visit the Philippines.  And despite other more enticing job offers, they have always chosen to stay with us.  That kind of commitment and loyalty is hard to replace so I take this personally.

While I battle with the outrage on how this could have happened and while I wrestle with the conflict this has caused between me and my husband whom I blame in some ways for letting this happen – maybe unfairly perhaps, a thousand other questions run through my mind.

cc Image Courtesy AlexBobica ❘ Flickr

How is it possible for any human being to think it is okay to fool one into giving him money in exchange for a service that he was never intent on delivering in the first place? How does one look at another in the eye and act legitimately having already the full intent to screw?  What is it in a person’s background and upbringing that makes him turn out this way?

In the course of the investigations and as things slowly begin to unravel, the modus operandi becomes clear.  For every lost passport and for every day of overstaying as a consequence, the immigration office charges RM30 per day.  So for as long as the impostor agent continually promises to deliver the “approved” visa and passport and doesn’t show up, and for as long as there are gullible people who think this is okay and accept this as just part of the norm -– then business is good for those involved.

Except for the poor and distraught victims of this kind of scam, of course.

How do civil servants of government agencies arrive at the thought of organising themselves to exploit the very position they are supposed to carry out with honour and integrity? When did it become acceptable practice that anyone who works for the government is synonymous to be corrupt? And majority of the people take this resignedly with a shrug of their shoulders.

We accompanied our nanny to the Philippine embassy in Kuala Lumpur to file the necessary papers to apply for a replacement passport.  A guy in his fifties mans the lost passport counter.  When my husband’s turn came, he was professional and pleasant while my husband was explaining the situation.  Then he asked, “Where’s your maid?”

Our nanny, who was standing from behind my husband all this time, stepped toward the counter.  And just like that, as if the clouds opened up and showered its ire on him, Mr. Philippine Embassy raised his voice and bellowed at her in Tagalog, condescendingly, like a dog, “Where’s the copy of your lost passport! You come here and step forward because this is your problem!”

Nanny cowered in fear.  Taken completely by surprise and not quite understanding what brought on the assault, Nanny lost her voice prompting the guy to shout again, “do you have a copy of your lost passport!”

I was watching the proceedings all this time and something exploded in me.  I moved towards the counter, stood next to Nanny, looked him in the eye and asked him point blank and as loudly as he did, “Excuse me! Why are you talking to her like that?!”

All eyes in the waiting room and those of his colleagues turned towards us.  Mr. Philippine Embassy looked at me as if someone doused his face with cold water.  He shifted his gaze down and started shuffling papers on the counter and replied, “That’s my natural, that’s my natural”… but in a much more subdued tone.  Nanny was addressed with much more respect after that.

How twisted is it that it always has to take outrage before those who are in the position of power and authority wake up to the indignities and injustices they are inflicting on the citizens they should be serving?

Niamh Ni Bhroin’s The Singing Warrior is a haunting account that chronicles her journey on finding happiness after a past filled with sorrow. Niamh was nine when the father of her school friend raped her during her first sleepover.  The nuns in her catholic school called her the whore of Babylon because she was left-handed.  She writes about all the other abuses that follows and how she coped with it through her singing. It took her fifty years to face the demons of her past and resolve to live a life of happiness despite all the pain. It is a heart-wrenching story of resilience and strength.

Carolyn Vines is an award-winning blogger who writes movingly about growing up being a black American amidst the backdrop of her family’s economic and emotional hardships. The events surrounding her tragic childhood have influenced greatly how she perceived herself as a black woman travelling and living abroad -– and how those events somehow stand in the way of her fully embracing the graces coming her way. She writes all these in a matter-of-fact, retrospective way devoid of self-pity in her book black and Abroad.  It is a journey of triumphant self-discovery.

cc Image Courtesy eflon ❘ Flickr

Their stories and countless others are testaments to how our childhood shapes our choices and the way we perceive our identities in adult life. It also reminds us how the pains we inflict on children, knowingly or not, lead to lifelong scars.

No matter how grown up you are there will be moments like when you are standing at your kitchen sink and memories from your childhood will flash before your eyes.  At times they are funny and they make you smile.  But the worst kind are those that make you cry.  Bittersweet recollections of a scathing insult an aunt hurled at you unendingly, a mother’s absence and that feeling of emptiness accompanying it, or a father’s unfulfilled promises.  They all come in waves. Caught off guard, they feel as hurtful as the day they were inflicted on you.  They lie down low but they never really go away.  They linger on and stay with the child in you.

It continues on to this day.  Somewhere out there are religions and political opportunists claiming to represent the rights of the unborn child proclaiming each sperm that unites with an egg must lead to ovulation and reproduction, regardless of the consequences. As if bearing a child out of poverty or of unfit mental state is a lesser crime.  And what happens next? A six-year-old son is made to perform a lewd macho dance in the guise of comedy and entertainment in exchange for a quick buck.  A mother, out of desperation, drives her children and herself into the river to drown. And behind every dictator is a deprived, traumatized or abused little child.

If we want to have a better world, we need to start by treating children right.  Children deserve the best opportunities that enable them to become the best persons they can be.  They deserve the kind of childhood that makes them look back and smile at their fondest memories.  It isn’t right to burden them with our pains; they will have their own when they are all grown up.  It isn’t right to make them work at such a young age; they will have to work for the rest of their lives.

Kahlil Gibran once wrote: “The things which the child love remains in the domain of the heart until old age.  The most beautiful thing in life is that our souls remain over the places where we once enjoyed ourselves.”

And so it goes too for childhood sorrows.  So bless the child, honor her and give her a happy life.

Friends who have been living sheltered lives wonder how we do it.  While it is easy to travel with young children for vacations to other countries, relocating the entire family is quite a different experience.  And of course, it isn’t easy.

It is never easy to get out of one’s comfort zone.  Most of our life goals are geared towards attaining a certain level of comfort and achieving the kind of contentment that gives us little to worry about and minor changes on status quo.  When things are going just fine, why rock the boat?

Relocation, expatriation or moving abroad, however one wishes to call it is a conscious decision.  Embracing a new way of life and culture is such a major upheaval especially when there are young children in tow. It’s like one of the tsunamis in life that we knowingly go through.  Learning a new language to get your point across, choosing between international education systems best suited to your children, driving on the left side of the road as opposed to the right that you’re used to and just basically building a new life all over again.  Without your supportive network and close friends, everything just becomes so overwhelming at times. But why do we choose it?

You have to have a thirst for adventure and look forward to something new.  The world has so much to offer, and if you get the opportunity to live and bask in its different parts, turn your life upside down, and be delighted in all your senses, you go ahead and grab the chance.  Nothing compares to the heady feeling that greets you when you arrive in a whole new country with a vibe so exciting it makes you feel like a spinning top on the universe.  All your senses start to tingle and you feel alive.

Over time, your new home will totally change you and your perception of who you are. It will challenge your core beliefs and change the way you look at yourself.  You will experience the magic of watching a Bali sunrise and be transported to a distant memory of a Scheveningen sunset all at once, having witnessed both in your life.  If you used to shiver in disgust at the thought of eating a chicken embryo or pork blood stew, or sliding a fresh raw herring down your throat, you might change your mind on your first try, or develop a new found respect for the people who do.

It teaches you humility and it will hammer your ego to a pulp.  Where you once thought that the universe spins around you, you will realize that you are nothing but a tiny speck in the entire continuum and the only thing that matters is doing good after all. It teaches you to take nothing for granted.

My children may be too young to understand but I am excited for the lives they are going to lead. When you’ve stayed long enough in a foreign country, the lines blur between where you come from and what you become. Meeting different kinds of people will strip away your prejudices and give you a different perspective on things.

In the end, isn’t that how we resolve conflicts and create a better world?

I thought perhaps I’d write about the beautiful scenery along the way or the people I’d meet and the places I’d see, the happy and festive sides of life. Maybe there would be sad tales as well;  shantytowns and the lonely parts of cities, walls covered in graffiti and hearts in distress.  There are stories lurking in the shadows too.

I didn’t have a plan but I had the fire in my belly and the impatience to begin.

I am fascinated about the human condition.  I am a keen observer of how we conduct our lives, neither in search of perfection nor criticism, but to gain awareness of both the visceral and the reasoned dimensions of our existence.  I figured I was on the road, there was much to be seen, feelings to explore and stories to be told.

Cc Image Courtesy aussiegall ❘ Flickr

I never meant for this to be an expat blog.  But as time went by and in the manner that water finds its form, the writing took shape and a thread about the expat life found a place somewhere along these musings. So it was mixed reactions of surprise and joy that I received an e-mail from Stephanie Katz, editor of Expat Arrivals, informing that I was shortlisted in their roster of Great Expat Blogger Awards.

There is something fulfilling in being recognized for one’s efforts. However, my writing is only as good as the company of writers I keep and the expat network that supports me.  So with this recognition I am obliged to give credit where it is due.

Jo Parfitt, author, mentor and publisher, started our writing circle in March 2007 and I’m quite certain half of the things I’ve done and whatever I’ve achieved I owe in large part to her, whose purpose in life is to inspire and bring out the best writer in you.  And from then on, I’ve had the wonderful opportunity of meeting the most brilliant and prolific writers who have become dearest friends and great dining and laughter companions.  Check out their work listed on the right side of this blog’s home page under The Hague Spelt Muffin Literary Society.

I am extending much gratitude to the dynamic duo of Suzy Oge and Lisa Rouissi at the Women’s Business Initiative International. They both took away any excuse I had for not starting a blog during the Global Entrepreneurship Week Social Media workshop back in November 2009.  They made me believe anything is possible and they made it sound so easy.  I left that workshop armed with their encouragement and, unbeknown to her, Lisa’s number on my speed dial and plunged into the Word Press blogging society.

Lisa is extremely helpful for all things technical and web-related; and a great companion for a good plate of poffertjes and Tunisian recipes.  The members at the WBII are a treasure trove of inspirations and courageous stories of women who acted upon their dreams.

Thank you to expat publications www.thehagueonline.com and www.iamexpat.nl for giving expat writers the space to scribble away our thoughts, and for looking the other way when deadlines are missed!

Most of all, to my husband, Arnout Roos, who understands the many ups and downs I go through being a trailing spouse, my need for independence and my fight for the time and space to write.  I have become this intrepid traveller, albeit weary at times, in large part because of him and the work that he does.

I dedicate all the beautiful things I have done in my life and will continue to do, to my lovely daughters, Laura and Kirsten, my unending sources of joy, inspiration and love; as well as exasperation.

We are truly only as good as the people who surround us, whose encouragement and cheer drives us to pursue our hearts’ desires. So I thank you, readers of this blog, for taking the time and attention, for subscribing and for joining in the conversation in the comments section.  You make it worth our writing while.

To Stephanie and the people behind Expat Arrivals, for the gracious work that you do, if only to remind us that someone out there reads the stories that we weave, and who don’t hesitate to let us know if we’re doing it well. Thank you.

Proost!