Expatriate Guilt

Alright, so the biggest thing that I have noticed while trolling almost every website and book on American emigration and expatriation is the surprising lack of emotions on moving away and being separated from your hometown (save for the endless comments on missing a good burger or having cell phone reception everywhere). Most books allocate a brief section on how hard it can be and sometimes tears are shed but really, the vast majority seem to glaze over it, like the writers somehow have blocked it out with the feeling of adventure and excitement, mixed with some comical culture shock.

And the biggest aspect of moving abroad that I have noticed is completely absent, the term I have now come declaring copyright status on... Expatriate Guilt!

Fine, people move away from their parents all the time, across the country, to every state in their grand old country, where the idea of a car/train/ferry ride home to visit becomes one of those classic 80s road trip movies. But going the next level, leaving the country, becoming an expatriate, means that a trip home has to be a precisely planned affair of packing, lay-overs and immigration/customs lines where every border agent seems more pissed off than the one before.

Expatriate Guilt becomes even more apparent when you realize what you are leaving behind, more importantly... who.

Your parents, siblings, grandparents... hell that bitchy old spinster aunt you only ever see on certain mandatory religious holidays but try desperately to avoid ... are now in another country, no longer will visiting on weekends or certain one day holidays be a possibility. Your trips home become worse than living in another state, you'll have to coordinate like NASA mission control to get home for just a week or so. And next comes the triage, what time can you visit to see the most of your family and yet avoid being drowned in the torrential floods of Thanksgiving/Christmas or summer vacation travelers.

Now lets take that horrible feeling of separation (I'm sure we have a few readers who aren't totally emotionally dead inside!) and match it with that loving but concerning level of stubbornness and a hint of xenophobia our baby-boomer parents seem to just extrude from every pore. These parental units will most often declare, "We love you honey/baby/creature who claims its my child, but we have no interest in ever visiting you in that country we've never heard of but instantly know is one of those weird, backwards countries, probably with no running water."

Now I am not nay saying on parents all over the world. Most of our parents are now in there fifties and sixties, they are in that weird twilight before retirement but their energy is sapped from thirty-years of a career they may or may not have chosen to use in order to support us when we were little kiddies. Travel to a foreign, exotic country (hell, we can even lump Canada into that) where they may or may not speak the language, where the climate is totally opposite to the one at home and certainly none of the food appears appealing for consumption, is completely, totally, absolutely, a big fat... NO!

And that leaves us back where we began, Expatriate Guilt, the feeling that you can only visit your family on an extensively planned mission that is over so quick, you feel like you never left the airport check-in counter, sprinkled with the gut wrenching knowledge that your loving but resolute parents are not going to visit.

It is something anyone moving abroad will most likely face. Be prepared for homesickness on a level you have never dealt with since your parents dropped you off on the first day of kindergarten.

Maybe this feeling is a passing one, that only appears when one is on the way out and quickly is drowned out by a new culture, language, exploration, discovery and guzzling as much as the local liquor as possible. I think I will attach that to the reasoning behind such little attention being given to this wonderful combination of elation, sadness and being kicked in the nuts - Expatriate Guilt.

Packing Up Painful Perplexities

In the wee hours of the morning (fine, it was 11:00 AM but I'm not working so its fine to sleep late!) I finally and officially booked my plane ticket on Vayama. It was with astute research, a keen eye and a whole ton of blind luck I managed to find a fairly cheap flight on Singapore Airlines.

But now it's hit me, I've set my path in motion, by actually booking my travel there, my future in a foreign country as an expatriate becomes all the more real.

Worries and fear start to set in the instant the elation is passed.

First question that springs into my mind is "Is my mom going to get all weepy once I tell her everything is set to go?" No mother wants to see her child move more than a car ride away and the last time I nearly left the country a nuclear detonation had less fire and energy than her reaction. The worries of a dissatisfied parent plagues every child. I've been reading ExpatFocus.com, and their section on the guilt of leaving your family really hits home!

Second question becomes "How am I going to fit 25-years of my life into two suitcases?" Seriously, do you remember when we were kids and someone asked "If you were stranded on a desert island and could have only one thing, what would it be?" This is the situation you face when moving abroad, without the luxury of a moving truck, packing becomes a balancing act of the cost of shipping the item against the item's cost. Instantly I know my desktop computer I've spent so long tweaking and modifying to my approval can't come, along with that amazing flat-screen television we got for the living room. I'm actually calculating how much suitcase space I'll lose in order to find some room for my Xbox 360, Kinect and assorted games and still have space left for my all time favorite books (I have like 30 favorites and I can only have 5). You can read up on some shipping tips from US to Singapore here.

Third comes down to "What clothes do I bring, what do you leave?" I've lived in six different major cities in my life (Philadelphia, Raleigh, San Francisco, Pittsburgh, Detroit, New York City) and other than San Francisco, every one of them have been in temperate climates and under the swinging pendulum from snowy winter to hot sun of summer. You know how you have that one outfit you look damn good in without any real effort, that's me with a thermal sweater, jeans and some converse. None of those will do in a country that is 85-miles north of the equator, that's less than the distance from Philadelphia to New York City! Now I have to transition my wardrobe to a country where 80F is the norm regardless if its December or July. Seriously check out this week's forecast.

Now these are just my three biggest worries, tiny and trivial ones continue to crop in occasionally. An hour ago, going through kitchen appliances that we're being boxed for storage at my parents, I actually was upset for half a second that I'd have to leave behind my coffee maker. Yes, Singapore has coffee, even 70 Starbucks locations, but still it's those tiny things that spring into your mind at the oddest moments that really catch you off guard.

So in order to placate some of my worries I've decided to take a stab at the two travel books that my boyfriend has provided to me, Neil Humphrey's "Notes From an Even Smaller Island" and his sequel a decade later, "Return to a Sexy Island". I know I am fortunate to have a personal guide to hold my hand as I enter not only Singapore for the first time but Asia itself, but still, maybe reading about someone else who has been through a similar experience could give me some perspective.

A trek through the wilderness

A chilly gust of wind caressed my cheeks, as if to bid farewell to an extended winter. The rays of sunlight that streamed through the still bare branches above my head provided a little comfort. I wrapped my jacket tighter around me and hurried after Ang Moh and his golden retriever Bailey. As we walked in the backwoods of Cork Creek Park I heard a rustling in the distance and spied five white-tailed deer prancing through the long grass about 10 m away.

My mind wandered to Singapore, and I imagined that I was trekking along the unpaved paths at Bukit Timah Hill, and through the secondary rainforests at Mandai. As I imagined the mosquitoes buzzing in my ears trying to break through my defenses, and the rivers of sweat pouring down my face, I remembered why I never took leisurely strolls like this in the Singapore jungles.

Of the top things that I would miss the most about the U.S., the great outdoors would rank fourth (after burgers, Mexican food and Netflix). The open expanses that stretch as far as the eye can see, fields not earmarked for new condo developments, and animals that roam free – like the five deer I saw in the woods. Okay, maybe Cork Creek Park is not the wilderness, and as I’m constantly reminded by Ang Moh and his family, Yardley, Pennsylvania is not the country… It’s apparently a suburb of Philadelphia. But to a city-boy like me, being in proximity to farms, cows and horses is as country as the Magnificent Seven, West Virginia and the Blue Ridge mountains.

In an attempt to see as much of the U.S. of A. as I can in the next 3 weeks, yesterday, Ang Moh, HTC (a Singaporean friend living in New York City who had come to the suburbs for a visit) and I explored Peddler’s Village and New Hope – a collection of quaint artisanal shops. Peddler’s Village seemed a little more planned-out and reminded me a little of Singapore and the deliberate urban planning that goes into developing cultural enclaves like Chinatown, and Little India. New Hope, seemed like a more organic settlement (the first settlers arrived in the 18^th century), and vaguely reminded me of Haji Lane and Arab Street with its vintage clothing and artisanal shops. Most of the shops were closed – it was a Tuesday afternoon and still chilly out, but I could imagine the town coming to life in the summer with families picnicking on the banks of the Delaware River and groups of teenagers piling into the ice cream parlors.

As I make my rounds to bid a fond farewell to the country that I’ve called home for 4 years, I look forward to re-discovering the new and sexy Singapore 2.0 as described in this WSJ article. I’ve always been a glass-half-full type of guy and am excited to return to the motherland and be part of its continued transformation. We don’t have the suburbs in Singapore but we have our heartlands. And I truly believe that as a society, Singapore is on the cusp of a cultural awakening, and at a critical existential moment in our journey as a nation. Where blind trust was once placed in the hands of the ruling government party, there is a palpable shift in the winds as more courageous Singaporeans take on the unfamiliar burden of ownership and responsibility for the future of our country. 

DOMA: Defense of (Gay)Marriage Aspirations

So first things first, the one question that everyone from my best friend to my mother to that odd hobo who rides the subway in only a blanket (okay that last one is made up) has been asking me is "Why can't your Singaporean boyfriend stay in the United States? You're American and gay marriage is legal in New York state, just get married!"

If it was that simple you'd instead be asking, "Why is he running down the street screaming and ripping his shirt off? Is he happy?".

Time for a little lesson on the long and loving relationship between the LGBT community and the quirky federal government of the United States of 'Merica (as my best broster Phinn calls our great nation).

In 1993, Baehr v. Miike came before the Supreme Court of Hawaii, and the court, being fair minded, logical and even possibly a decent group of human beings, declared that unless the state government could find a compelling reason to declare same-sex marriage illegal, they couldn't block it. Of course the knee-jerk reaction from the government followed, if Hawaii could find the legal high-ground to allow same sex marriage, then it would set a precedence and allow other people in other states to bring their own cases, opening the door for a legal push for marriage equality.

Of course, the always kind and caring Republican Party decided that it was in everyone's best interest to moderate societal development and in 1996 enacted the Defense of Marriage Act (DOMA), setting into federal law that "...no State, territory, or possession of the United States or Indian tribe shall be required to give effect to any marriage between persons of the same sex under the laws of any other such jurisdiction or to any right or claim arising from such relationship."

In summary, this became the founding bedrock by which the federal government can and still does legally refuse to recognize the marriage/union of same-sex couples who wed in states where same-sex marriage is legal in cases of taxation, property ownership, adoption, medical decisions and yes, the one that affects us and 36,000 other bi-national couples, sponsorship by an American spouse of their foreign born significant other.

Even if we've been together for three years, been living together for almost two years, have toyed with the ideas of marriage and children like every couple does as they progress through the stages of any healthy relationship, it doesn't matter where the federal government is concerned. 

Yes, the Obama administration has declared that they will no longer defend the law if challenged, the Immigration and Naturalization Service will "pause/freeze" deportation proceedings on married same-sex couples when one spouse is American, and the Supreme Court of the United States has said as of March 27, 2013 that they will start hearing cases against DOMA, we are still faced with the a terrible situation of legal discrimination.

A law on the books is still a law that can be enforced even if most everyone is not enforcing it. 

Now we run into the question that my mother brings up in that worried, motherly way that is vaguely unnerving and concerning at the same time. "Is Singapore a better place for you two to live in?"

Yes Singapore is not a mecca for the rights of the LGBT-community, there are still laws on the books that make job, civil-service and military discrimination legal, the culture is still a few years behind understanding that gay men don't solicit every man they see for sex or are campy, effeminate prissy queens. 

But it is more welcoming to international immigrants than the United States and let's face it, when it comes down to it, financial security is one of those major bedrocks that help long-term relationships survive into senile bliss. America can not provide us with jobs and a source of income to sustain us despite our level of education. 

Singapore however openly welcome those from abroad, but like many Asian countries, there is an older generation where the idea of two men/women together is something that is best treated with averted eyes and fervent gossiping behind closed doors, coupled with a younger generation of open-minded individual who are a wonderful mix of acceptance and live-and-let-live mentality. 

And let's face it, I've only made it as far into the Pacific as Hawaii, so the idea of travel and adventure is helping to temper most of my fears. 

So there we have it, the history behind the reason why in the land of the free we are still not equal, and why we must leave to find a chance for opportunity and security, in another country that has less rights but potentially a better chance of living our lives. 

International Incident in the Works

So like any grand idea, this one came about over copious amounts of alcohol when my two favorite Singaporeans tried to teach me some lessons on Singaporean culture. Long story short, I am a terrible student.

But one of the ideas that came out of this discussion over fruity drinks and beers was for me to write down my experiences in the far east. See I have a sarcastic humor and most people say I'm as lovable as a shovel to the face. The sole reason I'm moving is that the one person in the world who can make my sarcasm alleviate just enough to make me nearly, kind of, sort of, almost seem like a human being is...

...the Singaporean I'm head over heels, crazy in love with.

About a month ago we both found ourselves victims of the recession, out of work, living in an expensive Manhattan apartment, with few job prospects and bills raining down on us like dollar bills on a bachelor party stripper. Worse yet, one of us was facing the end of a work visa that was to expire. Now as an international couple we face a problem most couples do not, one of us was only in this country on the grace and goodwill of the federal government, only as long as they could convince an American company they were worth being hired over a native-born citizen.

After weeks on the prowl like a diabetic in a cupcake store and a dwindling deadline we came to the final decision that the welcoming arms of the Statue of Liberty were not enough to keep us in our home, around our friends, a close but respectable distance from my parents. It came down to the moment where one of us would have to leave the country or become an illegal alien, subject to arrest and an immediate deportation by the INS with those stereotypical unmoved, scowling guards you see in those crappy rom-com movies.

That is until we came to the conclusion that while New York City and the good ole U.S of A could not provide for us, the welcoming, skyscrapers of sunny Singapore possibly could. Singapore, a mecca for immigrants, where one in three people living on this island city-state are foreign-born.

The decision to make a move 9531-miles (15,339- kilometers, damn I have to learn the metric-system!) was a lot easier then you think, the man I love is there which means I'm just a hop, skip and a 23-hour plane ride away! But after the decision was made, the worries started to set in...

Will the Singaporean parents like me?

Will I be able to comprehend Singlish?

Can I survive in a country where it is 86F every day of the year, being so fair that I am nearly transparent? (Seriously I'm so white, put me in front of a lamp and you can see my brain!)

As of yet, I can't answer a single one of those questions.

But over the course of this blog we can figure that out together, the sheltered American white guy in a hot, tropical island country in Southeast Asia.

Here we go!

4 weeks to go... NYC to SGP

My hope for this blog is that it will be poetry. Inspired by astute observation and honest reflection it will be our underground parlor to share our thoughts about transitioning from New York City to Singapore.

To provide context to our readers, my boyfriend and I are uprooting ourselves from New York City after a year and a half in the Big Apple and moving 9,531 miles to Singapore. For me, I will be bidding farewell to wonderful friends in NYC and returning home to a different city than the Singapore I left 4 years ago.

Perhaps it is I who has changed just a little bit too. For him, it will be a first foray into Asia.

I am excited to introduce my corner of the world to the "ang moh" traveling to the Far East and will be the best guide ever as I introduce him to the wonders of Singapore and Asia - the tastes, the smells, the traditions and the Asian psyche. It will be an adventure for us and we look forward to sharing our journey with you.

Singlish Glossary:

Ang Moh: caucasian; (Hokkien) red hair