The Migrant Questionnaire #2 | Edward

“When you find yourself at a ‘home’ which doesn’t feel like home, it brings into question your whole sense of identity.”

Leaving one’s home and discovering other cultures is both brave and an uniquely personal experience. This is a mosaic of stories and insights on roaming the world from other expats and migrants. We’ll also bust some myths about the expat life along the way.

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The second Migrant Questionnaire is here, today with Edward. He writes the newsletter Chop Wood, Carry Water, about sustainable work, money, and lifestyle design, as he puts it. Check it out and, if inclined, subscribe here. Edward is also a multi-country expat (or immigrant?), with interesting views not just on moving abroad, but also on the feelings and the readjustment of moving back home. Enjoy!

Photo credit: Edward

Where were you born and in what places have you lived since then? 

I was born in Limerick, Ireland, the home of the short and traditionally indecent verse of the same name. Limerick can’t rival Dublin for literary fame, but I like to think we hold our own with names like Frank McCourt, Kevin Barry, Kate O’Brien and, of course, the Maigue Poets after whom the limerick poem is supposedly named.

I lived for several years in Australia, and also spent a few months in Italy, which was enough time to learn the lingo, but not quite enough to claim any real fluency in that beautiful language. Down under, I lived in Melbourne and Tasmania, two locations which suited my lifestyle at those particular times. This experience of moving around, between and within countries, taught me that there is no such thing as a perfect place, but there is somewhere you can go which can give you what you need at a particular stage in your life. 

How long have you lived outside your country of birth?

In total, I was out of home for 6 years, which in hindsight seems both very long and very short. I devoted the latter half of my twenties to the sunburnt country, which is a substantial chunk of my life, but the passage of time has a way of compressing things so that now, looking back, it all feels like it happened in the blink of an eye. 

By chance, I flew in and out of Australia on the same date, exactly 6 years apart. I don’t believe in fate, but leaving when I did felt right to me. Even if there were people and places I was sad to leave behind, I knew the moment might not come again, so I decided to go.

How did you go about making connections and friends in the new places you lived? 

I had three distinct experiences.

In Melbourne, I had a somewhat ‘ready-made’ social circle, as lots of Irish and UK doctors worked in all the hospitals, and I had flown over with quite a big group of friends from university. We didn’t need to network or put ourselves out there as we were self-sufficient and there were enough of us to hang out together. After a couple of years, however, as people went home, the numbers dwindled, and we lived among a dynamic and transient group of friends, which is characteristic of expat life. 

In Tasmania, the experience was very different. Being on a small island, there were not necessarily huge groups of people to choose your friends from, everybody was sort of in it together. As a result, I made close friendships quite quickly, perhaps due to a lack of optionality, and we had a lovely group of natives mixed with expats who had married in, people from different countries, Tasmanians and other Australians all hanging out together, which was great. 

In Bologna, Italy, the home of tortellini and ragù, we always felt very much like stranieri. My friends there mainly came from the Italian school, and we peered at the locals from a safe distance, without really envisaging making Italian friends. The language was a barrier, but even as our speaking skills improved, we mainly stuck to ourselves. It would have been easier to integrate if we had jobs and were set on fully establishing ourselves in Bologna, but the reality was that most of us were on a gap year or extended sabbatical, and we weren’t really going with the intention of remaining there, with one or two exceptions. 

What was your biggest cultural shock? 

Ironically, my biggest culture shock came when I moved home to Ireland – they call this ‘reverse culture shock.’

I think what made it so jarring was how blindsiding it was. When you are away, you retain memories and details about your country of origin and when you return, you find that they are no longer accurate, or that the passage of time twisted and adulterated your perceptions, or that you were simply wrong.

You get used to living life in a certain way, and when you find yourself at a ‘home’ which doesn’t feel like home, it brings into question your whole sense of identity. You feel ungrateful, lost, and full of self-doubt. The people from your home country might see you as an outsider, and you might not feel accepted anywhere. The good news is that it goes away, but you may never fully see the land of your birth the same way again. 

When did you feel the most as an outsider and why? 

There is a psychological concept known as ‘the vanity of small differences.’ It means that people who are actually very similar can be made to feel very alien towards one another, owing to subtle tribal differences.

Since Australia was so culturally similar to Ireland in many ways, it was ‘easy’ to fit in initially, especially compared to the difference between Ireland and Italy. The reality, however, was that there was a vanity of small differences at play. The assumption that the Irish fit in seamlessly in Australia is not quite right, since there are many subtle but very significant differences.

I remember being introduced once as being ‘originally’ from Ireland. My first thought was, I am not ‘originally’ from Ireland. I am simply from Ireland – there is no ‘originally.’ The speaker probably thought he was being gracious by implying I was now Australian, but my internal reaction made it obvious to me, on some level, that I had never truly assimilated. Even though there was no fault owed to the speaker, when trivialities like this began to irk me, I knew that I was headed towards a flight home.

What was a favorite journey you took?

It will always be a train journey.

Two examples come to mind, one in Ireland, the other in France.

In the latter case, a pleasant surprise that our comparatively cheap tickets on TrenItalia (yes, Trenitalia run trains in France) entitled us to large seats in a quiet carriage and, would you believe it, ‘complimentary’ prosecco.

The other train journey was in Ireland, not long after I came home, going to Belfast for the first time and seeing the rolling green hills out the window. At the time, Irish trains could not offer catering on board, but since this train was technically going to the UK this did not apply, and so the arrival of the tea trolley was an unexpected treat. A series of gaffes by the catering staff kept us laughing, as did a rather ludicrous overheard conversation — it’s the small things.

Finally, for balance, I will mention a car journey to a secret location in Donegal. All I will say was that the little car climbed and climbed into the fog where only a few metres of road ahead were visible, as well as lots of sheep, before we descended into a beautiful valley — it was like something out of a movie, or like arriving in the Irish land of eternal youth, Tír na nÓg.

Tell me about an inner journey you had to take while adapting to a new place.

I have always subconsciously been searching for the perfect place.

Everywhere I went, I affixed my lens over the surroundings like a great magnifying glass, seeking out virtues and flaws. With time and experience came the realisation that everywhere, even all of the fabulous ‘Top 10 best cities to live in’ are all problematic places, in their own way.

What changed was an ability to see the flaw in the diamond that made it special, especially back in Ireland. The rain used to get me down, and still does, but every drop I see reminds me that the water maintains the famous green of the landscapes, and I have come to see the influence of climate on shaping the cynical yet upbeat Irish character, which I fall in love with every day.

Where do you feel most at home today, and why? 

Even though I don’t live there, my home city of Limerick still does really feel like home. There is something about the accent, the outlook, the soul of the Limerick native that makes me feel like I am a kid again, and I love it. The laugh, the wink and the joke, they all have a particular flavour which is unique to the locale, and I can’t get enough of it.

I guess it testifies to the homing instinct of the human, and the pleasure in familiarity. I’ve been far and wide, hitting every continent except Antarctica, but the nasal tones of a Limerick anecdote delivered over a cup of coffee or a pint, are hard to beat. 

What is one myth about the expat life that you’d like to bust? 

Expat life is so personal, and so different for everyone that I don’t personally have a tidy image of what it is supposed to look like.

Some of my friends are in Europe, drinking cafe au lait and taking a siesta; others are in Australia, working in healthcare and enjoying an amazing work life balance; some are in New York, shuttling through Manhattan like little ants on their daily commute.

The only myth I see is that any expectation can be… expected. No two expat experiences are the same. There are those who always dream of the old country, of the rain drumming on the roof when the fire is lit, of pints with friends and the comfort of familiar voices, and there are those, unlike me, who never look back, who forget all the trappings and idiosyncrasies of the home which they know they will never know again. 

What tips would you give to a person who is contemplating emigrating for the first time?

Go with an open mind — life and the passage of time will make many decisions for you.

When you arrive at your destination, listen to those who have done it before you. Your parents’ advice at first might sound out of touch, but remember that even if they didn’t go abroad, they know many who did. If you feel a pull or a resistance, consider that it might be something within you, rather than where you are that’s making you feel that way.

Finally, don’t look back, but if you do find yourself looking frequently in the rearview mirror, like I did, it may be that the right thing for you to do is go home. Returning or staying, you will have lived a richer life for the experience.

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