I miss my family, friends, having a dishwasher, a garbage disposal, a decent doggie daycare for our little guy, our running group, and I miss being able to hear birds chirp instead of the banging of jack hammers. I miss the 4 seasons. I miss being able to understand everything (or almost everything) someone says to me. I miss TJMaxx, DSW, Home Goods, and Costco (though my husband is probably glad they don't exist here). I miss a good postal system.
I don't miss sub-zero temperatures or taking care of the lawn/garden.
I enjoy that each day allows me to reflect on what is around me, to appreciate all that I have and don't have, to understand what is important to me, and to grow with each new experience.
Friday, May 28, 2010
Tuesday, May 25, 2010
What they don't tell you
As an expat spouse, they don’t tell you that even though you knew your spouse would be traveling half the time, the other half, you won’t see each other much either. There's a lot of "alone" time. A lot of time to "figure it all out". And by all - I mean exactly that.
You may not realize it but you are responsible for figuring out the system by yourself, trying to communicate without offending. You are, after all, the ambassador of your country to this new location. Being from the US, that is always a bit tricky. Most countries and their people have a love/hate relationship with us, so first impressions are important. You deal with the people arriving 2 days late for an appointment, or not showing at all. You deal with the miscommunications because the Spanish you thought you knew isn't the same as it is here - I asked for a pen not a nail file, thanks - yes, I know nail files aren't allowed in the airport. You deal with the trying to find places, which in a city the size of Panama, shouldn't be too taxing, but ask someone for directions, and you will get, something like this - we are located just before where the old flower shop used to be before they tore it down. (Thank goodness for growing up in the country where, to get to my house, you had to turn right where Blakely's used to be and again where the oak tree used to be in the fork in the road, or driving night have been just impossible.) Ask for a street address, you say? Forget, GPS, my techno-saavy friends! Yeah, right, you know, I don't even know what street I live on. I live across from X, just down the road from Y before you get to Z. Oh, yeah, postal service? Good luck with that one, too. The only mail I receive is the electric bill because it is hand delivered to our building. They will find you if they want you. :) But, in a weird sort of way, it all works. You just need to take time to figure it out... I'm still trying.
Another thing they don’t tell you that trying to make creating a social life will be one of the hardest jobs you will have. If you have ever moved from one city to another within the same state or country, you can imagine what I mean. But, in other countries things don't always work the way you think they should. You know, sign up for an art class, make new friends; sign up for a cooking class, make new friends; sign up for ... you get the idea... But, Panama, ummm ... trying to find the classes is the tough part. I just had a newbie say to me a few days ago – I know there are lots of things to do here, but how do you find out what they are and where to go? Truth is, there is tons of stuff in Panama, but the most common way to find out isn’t the web, it’s word of mouth. If you don’t have friends, you don’t have information. Even if you do have friends, if they don’t have a foot in somewhere, they won’t know either. So, you join organizations, like “Who’s New”, which meets the first Tuesday of every month at the Sanborne's cafeteria in Multiplaza. And even through most of the women in this club are over the age of 60, they still have things in common with you – they are expats or transplants, too. And, more importantly, they have a foot in somewhere. And, there, hidden in the nooks and crannies of third- hand information, you find that the city opens up, one acquaintance at a time.
Of course, if organizations don't exist or you can't find them either because you haven't found that one friend who knows someone who knows someone who knows about a place you could go to meet new people, you can do what I’ve done and initiate a girl’s night out. Our group started off as 6 of us who met in the park, walking our dogs - ah, something in common already. Now there are about 20 who come from time to time. We all just need a place where we can feel “normal”, a place where we aren’t running into walls or struggling with the adaptation process, just hanging out and enjoying. And, enjoy, we do!
You may not realize it but you are responsible for figuring out the system by yourself, trying to communicate without offending. You are, after all, the ambassador of your country to this new location. Being from the US, that is always a bit tricky. Most countries and their people have a love/hate relationship with us, so first impressions are important. You deal with the people arriving 2 days late for an appointment, or not showing at all. You deal with the miscommunications because the Spanish you thought you knew isn't the same as it is here - I asked for a pen not a nail file, thanks - yes, I know nail files aren't allowed in the airport. You deal with the trying to find places, which in a city the size of Panama, shouldn't be too taxing, but ask someone for directions, and you will get, something like this - we are located just before where the old flower shop used to be before they tore it down. (Thank goodness for growing up in the country where, to get to my house, you had to turn right where Blakely's used to be and again where the oak tree used to be in the fork in the road, or driving night have been just impossible.) Ask for a street address, you say? Forget, GPS, my techno-saavy friends! Yeah, right, you know, I don't even know what street I live on. I live across from X, just down the road from Y before you get to Z. Oh, yeah, postal service? Good luck with that one, too. The only mail I receive is the electric bill because it is hand delivered to our building. They will find you if they want you. :) But, in a weird sort of way, it all works. You just need to take time to figure it out... I'm still trying.
Another thing they don’t tell you that trying to make creating a social life will be one of the hardest jobs you will have. If you have ever moved from one city to another within the same state or country, you can imagine what I mean. But, in other countries things don't always work the way you think they should. You know, sign up for an art class, make new friends; sign up for a cooking class, make new friends; sign up for ... you get the idea... But, Panama, ummm ... trying to find the classes is the tough part. I just had a newbie say to me a few days ago – I know there are lots of things to do here, but how do you find out what they are and where to go? Truth is, there is tons of stuff in Panama, but the most common way to find out isn’t the web, it’s word of mouth. If you don’t have friends, you don’t have information. Even if you do have friends, if they don’t have a foot in somewhere, they won’t know either. So, you join organizations, like “Who’s New”, which meets the first Tuesday of every month at the Sanborne's cafeteria in Multiplaza. And even through most of the women in this club are over the age of 60, they still have things in common with you – they are expats or transplants, too. And, more importantly, they have a foot in somewhere. And, there, hidden in the nooks and crannies of third- hand information, you find that the city opens up, one acquaintance at a time.
Of course, if organizations don't exist or you can't find them either because you haven't found that one friend who knows someone who knows someone who knows about a place you could go to meet new people, you can do what I’ve done and initiate a girl’s night out. Our group started off as 6 of us who met in the park, walking our dogs - ah, something in common already. Now there are about 20 who come from time to time. We all just need a place where we can feel “normal”, a place where we aren’t running into walls or struggling with the adaptation process, just hanging out and enjoying. And, enjoy, we do!
Sunday, May 9, 2010
The Stages of Culture Shock and Grief: Similarities
Over the past few weeks I have been struggling with the idea of culture shock. No, I’ve been struggling with culture shock. Although I have moved several times within my own country – which, due to its vastness, has cultural differences of its own - and lived abroad before, I am not immune to culture shock. Culture shock is similar to the flu in that you must be inoculated, build up immunity, or you are apt to get sick. In the case of culture shock, it’s called homesickness. However, this is only one of the stages one goes through when living in another country.
In many ways, culture shock is analogous to the grief of losing a baby (or other loved one) as both create waves of emotions that one can not truly understand until after looking back on them. The stages through which a person must travel are very comparable: the honeymoon, confusion, anger and depression, negotiation, and empowerment.
I remember when I first found out that I was pregnant. I was awash with all sorts of emotion, but mostly, I was thrilled - bursting with excitement – that I had two little lives growing inside of me. The thought of twins filled me with pure joy. Okay, I was also a little nauseous, but the joys overrode the queasiness and occasional feelings of anxiety. It was much the same when I found out we would be moving to Panama. Panama enchanted me at first. Everything was new and exciting: the world seemed to open up with so many possibilities. There were so many new places to see. I drove around without a care. I didn’t care if I got lost because there was always something new to encounter. Others complained about the traffic. I didn’t even notice it. Other expats and “transplants” complained about the people. As far as I could see, everyone around me was smiling. Maybe that was because I was smiling, too. And, of course, there was the ocean view from our apartment. I didn’t care that I didn’t have my own furniture yet. I had an ocean view. Yes, it was definitely a honeymoon period in both cases, pure joy.
But, after the honeymoon, there is a return to reality. During the second month of pregnancy, one twin gave up, but we were still blessed with the other, who grew steadily and kicked vigorously…especially between the hours of 11 p.m. and 3 a.m. Blessed? Really? I had lost one of the little lives inside of me. Confusion set in. Questions surfaced. Why was this happening to me? What had I done wrong? I became tired from the lack of sleep.. I just became plain tired. Much in this same way, within the first few months in Panama, I started to realize that it wasn’t the paradise that I thought it was. Why did a simple chore like going to the bank have to be so difficult? Why didn’t people show up on time or at all for appointments? Why was it so hard to get someone to understand me, and why couldn't I understand them even though I had some knowledge of Spanish? Why did I feel like a fish out of water if I breathed air like all other humans. Was I really that different? Both situations were distressing.
Nearing my 6th month of pregnancy, I started showing signs of preeclampsia and found myself in the hospital in a life or death situation. The only “cure” for my disease was to give birth. To give birth would endanger my baby’s life, but not giving birth would kill both of us. Some choice, huh? My body was rejecting my baby. My body was betraying me. It didn’t matter how well I had been taking care of myself. I ate well, rested when I could, stopped all those bad little habits, and followed the doctor’s orders to a T. Despite all of that, I lost my baby boy. I was overwhelmed by sadness. I was angry with myself. I felt helpless for not being able to prevent my own son’s death. Because of the disease and slow recovery, I also had very little energy. Net, I was depressed even if I didn’t want to admit it. Now, here I am in my 8th month living in Panama, sure enough, feelings of anger and despair have reared their ugly heads. I’m trying to do everything I can to create a new home for my husband and myself. Just like in my pregnancy, I think I am doing everything right, but I still encounter failure, brick walls. I have started to develop new friendships. I go out. I integrate. I have found activities to occupy my time. Yet, I still feel lost, overwhelmed. I really just want to stay inside. The traffic bothers me. I wish people here would smile more. I wish it wasn’t so freaking hot. Like anyone has control over the weather, right? There is a part of me that wants to detach myself from everything that is Panama. In a nutshell, I am rejecting the culture. I want things from home, everything from home – my family, my friends, the language, the order, the food, the air – everything.
The truth is, I feel like I am losing myself. However, losing part of oneself when it means gaining new understanding about who one can become really isn’t all that bad. Knowing that these brick walls are meant to teach me new lessons helps keep things in perspective. I may not fully understand life in Panama yet, just like I didn’t understand why I had to lose my babies, but one learns there is always a lesson. This is negotiation, stage 4 in both culture shock and grieving. One struggles to find meaning in everything that has happened. In the case of culture, differences and similarities are accepted. In the case of death, there is the search for a message to help push forward.
After having lost a child, returning to a “normal” life is never easy. But, eventually, one crawls out of the darkness and explores new options. New plans begin to form. In one respect, new life begins to form. In my case, the new plan involved moving to Panama. I moved on figuratively and literally. I have yet to arrive to the stage of acceptance and empowerment in my rollercoaster ride through culture shock. But, the nice thing is that I know there will come a day when living in Panama will feel “normal” and all those wonderfully positive feelings I had about this country when I first arrived will fill me again. Because, truth be told, it is a wonderful country.
In many ways, culture shock is analogous to the grief of losing a baby (or other loved one) as both create waves of emotions that one can not truly understand until after looking back on them. The stages through which a person must travel are very comparable: the honeymoon, confusion, anger and depression, negotiation, and empowerment.
I remember when I first found out that I was pregnant. I was awash with all sorts of emotion, but mostly, I was thrilled - bursting with excitement – that I had two little lives growing inside of me. The thought of twins filled me with pure joy. Okay, I was also a little nauseous, but the joys overrode the queasiness and occasional feelings of anxiety. It was much the same when I found out we would be moving to Panama. Panama enchanted me at first. Everything was new and exciting: the world seemed to open up with so many possibilities. There were so many new places to see. I drove around without a care. I didn’t care if I got lost because there was always something new to encounter. Others complained about the traffic. I didn’t even notice it. Other expats and “transplants” complained about the people. As far as I could see, everyone around me was smiling. Maybe that was because I was smiling, too. And, of course, there was the ocean view from our apartment. I didn’t care that I didn’t have my own furniture yet. I had an ocean view. Yes, it was definitely a honeymoon period in both cases, pure joy.
But, after the honeymoon, there is a return to reality. During the second month of pregnancy, one twin gave up, but we were still blessed with the other, who grew steadily and kicked vigorously…especially between the hours of 11 p.m. and 3 a.m. Blessed? Really? I had lost one of the little lives inside of me. Confusion set in. Questions surfaced. Why was this happening to me? What had I done wrong? I became tired from the lack of sleep.. I just became plain tired. Much in this same way, within the first few months in Panama, I started to realize that it wasn’t the paradise that I thought it was. Why did a simple chore like going to the bank have to be so difficult? Why didn’t people show up on time or at all for appointments? Why was it so hard to get someone to understand me, and why couldn't I understand them even though I had some knowledge of Spanish? Why did I feel like a fish out of water if I breathed air like all other humans. Was I really that different? Both situations were distressing.
Nearing my 6th month of pregnancy, I started showing signs of preeclampsia and found myself in the hospital in a life or death situation. The only “cure” for my disease was to give birth. To give birth would endanger my baby’s life, but not giving birth would kill both of us. Some choice, huh? My body was rejecting my baby. My body was betraying me. It didn’t matter how well I had been taking care of myself. I ate well, rested when I could, stopped all those bad little habits, and followed the doctor’s orders to a T. Despite all of that, I lost my baby boy. I was overwhelmed by sadness. I was angry with myself. I felt helpless for not being able to prevent my own son’s death. Because of the disease and slow recovery, I also had very little energy. Net, I was depressed even if I didn’t want to admit it. Now, here I am in my 8th month living in Panama, sure enough, feelings of anger and despair have reared their ugly heads. I’m trying to do everything I can to create a new home for my husband and myself. Just like in my pregnancy, I think I am doing everything right, but I still encounter failure, brick walls. I have started to develop new friendships. I go out. I integrate. I have found activities to occupy my time. Yet, I still feel lost, overwhelmed. I really just want to stay inside. The traffic bothers me. I wish people here would smile more. I wish it wasn’t so freaking hot. Like anyone has control over the weather, right? There is a part of me that wants to detach myself from everything that is Panama. In a nutshell, I am rejecting the culture. I want things from home, everything from home – my family, my friends, the language, the order, the food, the air – everything.
The truth is, I feel like I am losing myself. However, losing part of oneself when it means gaining new understanding about who one can become really isn’t all that bad. Knowing that these brick walls are meant to teach me new lessons helps keep things in perspective. I may not fully understand life in Panama yet, just like I didn’t understand why I had to lose my babies, but one learns there is always a lesson. This is negotiation, stage 4 in both culture shock and grieving. One struggles to find meaning in everything that has happened. In the case of culture, differences and similarities are accepted. In the case of death, there is the search for a message to help push forward.
After having lost a child, returning to a “normal” life is never easy. But, eventually, one crawls out of the darkness and explores new options. New plans begin to form. In one respect, new life begins to form. In my case, the new plan involved moving to Panama. I moved on figuratively and literally. I have yet to arrive to the stage of acceptance and empowerment in my rollercoaster ride through culture shock. But, the nice thing is that I know there will come a day when living in Panama will feel “normal” and all those wonderfully positive feelings I had about this country when I first arrived will fill me again. Because, truth be told, it is a wonderful country.
Saturday, May 1, 2010
Mimosas, Manicures, and Maids
When most people think about expat life, they picture wealthy women dripping with jewelry sitting around sipping exotic drinks and nibbling on sweets while getting pedicures for $3.00 and all the while their homes are being cleaned and cared for by a team of maids, nannies, and gardeners. I’ve heard that you know you’ve adapted to expat life when you no longer feel bad about paying someone $20/day to clean or have accepted a live-in maid. Man, wouldn’t that be nice!
I have to admit that my own expectations were a little higher than reality. For starters, moving to a “developing country” one expects that everything will be inexpensive compared to one’s home country. With everything being inexpensive, getting help in the house seems logical and could free up some time for other activities that one couldn’t necessarily afford to do as frequently in one’s home country. However, to not complicate the topic, I will concentrate on maids for now. Price shock is another tale.
In Latin America, having a maid is supposedly one of the perks of life. It’s one of the selling points to expat spouses – you’ll have someone to take care of your home so you can get out and do other things.
I was excited about this possibility when we first arrived. Wow! How nice to have someone come in several times a week to do all the undesirable chores – cleaning the bathrooms, mopping the floors, washing dishes (no automatic dishwasher here). We tried it for a while, but I found that having a maid actually consumed more time than it freed up for me.
One Latin American couple told me that maids are a “necessary evil”. You can’t live without them because, after all, how are you supposed to clean and cook for yourselves? This is the mentality, or maybe even the engrained belief, of many from this region of the world. That’s one of the differences with the way I and many others in the U.S. were raised. We learned to make our beds, collect and take out the trash, wash dishes and laundry, set the table, dust, vacuum, iron, mow the lawn, and basically, clean up after ourselves. This was a normal part of life. Our parents were preparing us how to live independently.
For me, this independence continues to be important. From the time we got our maid, I tried to get involved in various activities – either teaching or taking classes. However, I had to schedule everything around her coming and going. The definition of time is so different here, that you can’t expect someone to be “on time”, not even the maid. Waiting for the maid to arrive when I could have been heading to the gym, or waiting until the maid left so I could lock up and go to the grocery store bothered me. Trying to teach or take a class in the apartment felt too disruptive. (A little aside but something necessary to understand is that until you know you can trust your maid, you need to be present, so you can make sure things are being done correctly, nothing is missing, and you can lock up. Hate that feeling of not being able to trust.)
And, then there’s the idea of a full-time maid so that one doesn’t have these problems. I can see the advantages of a full-time maid – she would sleep here, could stay with the dog while we are on vacation, but it would be one more mouth to feed. She would be, in essence, a child to take care of. And, there’s the issue of privacy. How weird to have someone in your home, who is neither family nor someone you can treat as a friend, but an employee at all times. How uncomfortable to relegate another person to the room off the kitchen and attached to the laundry room. Sorry, no window with direct sunlight. And, please, don’t come out of your room after 8 p.m., so we can have our privacy. Just feels odd.
Anyway, long story short, I let our maid go – found her a new place to work because I really liked her and she did do a good job – but I did it because I needed to free up my time, to be able to come and go as I pleased in my own home.
I have to admit that my own expectations were a little higher than reality. For starters, moving to a “developing country” one expects that everything will be inexpensive compared to one’s home country. With everything being inexpensive, getting help in the house seems logical and could free up some time for other activities that one couldn’t necessarily afford to do as frequently in one’s home country. However, to not complicate the topic, I will concentrate on maids for now. Price shock is another tale.
In Latin America, having a maid is supposedly one of the perks of life. It’s one of the selling points to expat spouses – you’ll have someone to take care of your home so you can get out and do other things.
I was excited about this possibility when we first arrived. Wow! How nice to have someone come in several times a week to do all the undesirable chores – cleaning the bathrooms, mopping the floors, washing dishes (no automatic dishwasher here). We tried it for a while, but I found that having a maid actually consumed more time than it freed up for me.
One Latin American couple told me that maids are a “necessary evil”. You can’t live without them because, after all, how are you supposed to clean and cook for yourselves? This is the mentality, or maybe even the engrained belief, of many from this region of the world. That’s one of the differences with the way I and many others in the U.S. were raised. We learned to make our beds, collect and take out the trash, wash dishes and laundry, set the table, dust, vacuum, iron, mow the lawn, and basically, clean up after ourselves. This was a normal part of life. Our parents were preparing us how to live independently.
For me, this independence continues to be important. From the time we got our maid, I tried to get involved in various activities – either teaching or taking classes. However, I had to schedule everything around her coming and going. The definition of time is so different here, that you can’t expect someone to be “on time”, not even the maid. Waiting for the maid to arrive when I could have been heading to the gym, or waiting until the maid left so I could lock up and go to the grocery store bothered me. Trying to teach or take a class in the apartment felt too disruptive. (A little aside but something necessary to understand is that until you know you can trust your maid, you need to be present, so you can make sure things are being done correctly, nothing is missing, and you can lock up. Hate that feeling of not being able to trust.)
And, then there’s the idea of a full-time maid so that one doesn’t have these problems. I can see the advantages of a full-time maid – she would sleep here, could stay with the dog while we are on vacation, but it would be one more mouth to feed. She would be, in essence, a child to take care of. And, there’s the issue of privacy. How weird to have someone in your home, who is neither family nor someone you can treat as a friend, but an employee at all times. How uncomfortable to relegate another person to the room off the kitchen and attached to the laundry room. Sorry, no window with direct sunlight. And, please, don’t come out of your room after 8 p.m., so we can have our privacy. Just feels odd.
Anyway, long story short, I let our maid go – found her a new place to work because I really liked her and she did do a good job – but I did it because I needed to free up my time, to be able to come and go as I pleased in my own home.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
