I
t is a misleading stereotype to
consider ‘Expat Life’ as glamorous
these days. Our lives do not roll
out like in a Somerset Maugham
short story (or the films Casablanca
or Under the Tuscan Sun). In today’s
global economy, the ‘expat package’
exists for few, and the romantic notion
of seeing new and different things is
often superseded by concerns of health
and safety; pollution and terrorism. But
living abroad is still a luxury, in that we
are able to make family and life choices
more or less on our own terms. After
all, we brought ourselves here and
(hopefully) knew what to expect.
Here in Hong Kong, we send our
children to private schools considered
‘posh’ by hometown standards, but
we pay dearly and have little choice in
the matter. Taxes are relatively low, yet
on the other hand we spend more for
rent and for our children’s schooling!
We travel to exotic places for every
holiday, mainly because there is
nowhere else to go in tiny Hong Kong,
and the thought of another staycation,
when so many exotic places are within
a few hours flight, makes that option
seem pointless. Salaries are generous,
but not when you consider we live in
one of the most expensive places on
Earth. We have access to the kind of
domestic help that is hard to come
by in our hometowns, but we need it
because our circle of family and the
support they offer are absent in the
expat enclave. Resilience is actually
a hallmark of the expat subculture.
In fact, a friend of mine once
characterised an expatriate professional
as ‘the educated equivalent of a
California lettuce-picker’. That being
said, we manage relatively well – but
how do we react when someone in our
family is laid low by a traumatic illness
far from home?
Hong Kong has been good to me;
it is where I met my husband, started
my family and developed a satisfying
career in educational publishing.
Having arrived in the years before the
Handover, I always saw my departure
date as so far off in the distance I never
health
gave it a thought. When the time came,
I fancied I would write a Letter to the
Editor of the South China Morning
Post to say thank you to the place I
had grown to love with a passion. But
life, as it often does, did not roll out
the way I had expected. An expat wife
learns to deal with the common trials of
marriage, family-life; birth, parenthood
– without the support of family at hand.
But I don’t think trauma is something
one expects to have to deal with in an
expat milieu, though some things come
as a surprise no matter where you live.
I was 50 years old when I
experienced a massive stroke one
lovely morning in mid- to late-August,
2015 – about a week after returning
from a lengthy summer stay in my
Canadian hometown. Our two children
had just left to catch the 6:30am
ferry commute; my youngest was
starting her second year at a new
secondary school, and the eldest
was off to a three-day IB Diploma
Programme retreat. It so happened
that my husband, Darrel, had a
morning meeting in town (he worked
closer to home) and so we had the
rare opportunity to share a weekday
breakfast. We were standing at the
living-room window admiring the view
of the South China Sea (as we did
every day) when I felt a sensation like
a shirtsleeve slipping down my left arm
and hand, off my fingertips. I looked
down at my arm before touching it
hesitantly with my right index finger.
Something was wrong. “Uh, Darrel…
I think I’m having a stroke.” The
quiet gravity of my tone must have
resonated with him; my husband
needed no convincing. He reached for
his cellphone as I turned towards the
bedroom, although later he explained
that by then I was already having
trouble walking and he was helping me.
Then I sat on the bed and looked up at
him with the phone in his hand, joking
feebly about whether or not I should try
to change out of my pyjamas. That is
my last memory of my first life. When I
woke up, after six days in an induced
coma, I was living what I call ‘Life 2.0’.
Spring 2019
35