Packing and leaving is a moving experience
Certain facts about living the expat life are hard to overlook. Over the years, we get better at currency conversions, we keep track of return ticket airfares, we pick up words in a foreign language, we learn how to relish a shawarma with a salsa dip…. And somewhere in between our arrival and departure, we become party to two sets of typical conversations. The first involves a neighbour, a friend or a colleague talking about how they had come here on a two-year plan and hadn’t realised that five years had flown by. It is followed by high-fives and a narration of similar experiences. The second one is of exits — of a transfer, ‘time to return’, ageing parents, a better package. This one is mostly followed by mixed emotions, sighs and smiles.
In the last one month, I’ve been part of the latter, a lot more than I would have liked to be. Five families in our neighbourhood are packing their bags to leave. All of them are moving out for good reasons. Their new homes are spread across the globe — Malaysia, Singapore, Indonesia, Canada and India. Of course, by now, I know how it shapes out. It’s part of the expat experience.
You receive a WhatsApp message asking for recommendations for movers and packers. A week later, the Facebook page for the community gets flooded with announcements for the sale of items — an electric cooker, a barely used treadmill (this one’s always
In between the selling, packing, de-cluttering and the exiting, the community begins to come together, out of genuine concerns
there!), a few mismatched IKEA cushions and curtains, a handful of board games, a ballerina outfit, and more. As the number of items rises, the admin (who, takes his/her job very seriously) of the page gets fed up and suggests you opt for an open house, instead. So, the notifications stop and a date is set. A few weeks later, the car goes up for sale, as well. It’s all regular business until you begin to look closely.
In between the selling, packing, de-cluttering and the exiting, the community begins to come together, out of genuine concerns and ulterior motives. Neighbours, who didn’t ever smile at you in the elevator start to greet you. A ‘playdate’ mum who was always envious of your green thumb offers to provide a home for your collection of potted plants. The lady, who you thought you could never befriend, is kind enough to take your dog for a walk, as you attend to the exit chores. A friend, who’d been eyeing your house help expresses concern about her employment status. Your laundry guy becomes regular and punctual. The lifeguard at the pool nudges you to use the facilities at least a few times before you leave. Your partner suddenly discovers the open gym on the ground floor and even a cricket club.
You are offered help and love. And you begin to pay attention to the details — the tap, which always leaked, the parking spot you could never grab, the kid who is always on the skateboard, the old man on the wheelchair watching the kids play, the grocery store which would always send the delivery guy with the exact change.
As I watch the trucks exit the parking lot, I too smile and sigh. I don’t quite know any of these families, but then we did share a neighbourhood. This may not be my favourite part of the expat life, but is one that is tough to overlook. — purva@khaleejtimes.com