Letters From an Expat Wife

When I left for my first posting I knew I was going to miss my friends a lot. But I told myself that it would be ok. Hey, we had internet and our phones. Sure, we would be far away but that wouldn’t matter. They would come and visit, and we would pick our friendship up where we left off. And besides, I was taking my best friend (read: hubby) with me anyway. He would just have to become my BFF.

I like storytelling. I also love to listen to stories. A story has a clear beginning and ending, but it also has a looooong middle piece where you can talk about anything. It can go from right to left and finish in the middle again. My girlfriends tell a story the same way. The best stories come to life when all the girls start talking at the same time, and one story emerges from the other.

Men generally don’t talk like that. Their stories have a clear point which needs to be made as soon as possible. They need to know who, when and how. And sometimes: why? After that question is out of the way, they will go and have a beer. OK, I admit, that’s very generic. But I do have a point, don’t I?

So, after we move into our new place and the boxes are (almost) unpacked, I call hubby (or as he will be known from now on – my BFF), to make an appointment for a quick lunch close to his office building. After we order our salads (admittedly, I ordered before he arrived, so he didn’t have a choice), I can’t wait to tell him a story about our neighbour.

He sits down across from me, clearly the office still on his mind.

“ So…” I start with a grin. “ You won’t believe where Michelle is going on a holiday.”

Who is Michelle?”

“Our neighbour.”

He clearly couldn’t care less where Michelle is going on holiday to. To be honest, I’m pretty sure he doesn’t have the faintest idea who Michelle, the neighbour, is.

Mauritius!”

“That’s great. Could you pass me the salt?”

OK. Maybe another story…

“You know this morning, after you left, I turned on the radio and you know which song was playing?”

He shakes his head.

“ A beautiful day by U2!”

He is staring me in the face.

“ Don’t you remember? Five years ago when we were at Craig’s house and they were playing that song when the plumber starting banging against the pipes downstairs? It was so funny!”

He somehow looks interested now. I got his attention!

“ Yes!” he says with a smile. “Talking about a plumber, did you manage to get one for the problem in the bathroom?”

Men just converse differently. They don’t like going back to ‘do you remember when’ or taking an hour and a half to tell a five-minute story. They don’t remember the names of every other person they meet, much less remember where they are going on holiday to. But we do! As cute and intelligent as they are, men are just not cut out to be BFFs.

After couple of more attempts of forcing him into the BFF role, I leave to pick up my daughter from school. We go to a toy store close by and she is now running around and playing. I’m watching her while thinking: What are friends anyway? And I don’t mean the so-called friends you are polite to but bored around, but real ones, who truly have your back. Friends who know you through and through and love you because of your imperfections. The ones who don’t need words to understand you. And you just know what they are going to say next before they open their mouths.

And suddenly I realize I left them behind. My real friends. Yes, there is internet. Yes, I can call them. But it’s not the same. They will go on with their lives and meet new people. And the next time I meet them I will listen to them, but maybe not know what they are going to say next. Simply, because I am not in their daily lives anymore.

Now I feel lonely. And my leg hurts. It’s because some kid is banging against it. I stare him in the face not knowing what to say.

“Stop that!”

A lady with dark short hair runs towards us.

“Peter! Stop hitting that lady!”

She comes, pulls him away and apologizes.

“ I’m so sorry. He is in his hitting phase. To be honest, it’s a lot better than his biting phase.”

I smile. Again not knowing what to say. We are standing next to each other, watching the kids. I feel like I lost my tribe. Everybody who knows me lives so far away. And everybody who lives here… doesn’t know me.

“Aren’t these stores depressing? The music is too loud and way too happy! Quite irritating.”

She is funny.

“ I’m going for a glass of wine with some girls across the street. They have a nice play area for the kids. Do you want to join me?”

But I don’t even know her. What if she doesn’t like me?

“Maybe another time.”

She nods.

“Sure.”

She holds her son’s hand and they walk towards the door.

I remember my friends from the university, from the company I worked at, from high school and all the others. How I miss them. Then I remember how I met them, how we got to be so close. There always was a start of a friendship. Not knowing if it would work out. Scary and exciting at the same time. The tribe didn’t form itself. I did it. One friend at a time.

“Wait a minute!” I scream behind the lady.

“Let me just pay for these. I’ll join you for one glass”.