Counterpoint - September 3, 2003

Every issue, every event – global, national and local – has a point and a counterpoint. You are given the point all the time in news and analyses. Now get the counterpoint


Remembering – and staying in touch

I was rushing out of the car park, intent on keeping an appointment, when I met someone who lives in my building. I said a breezy hi and how-was-your-holiday. I was expecting her to say the usual it-was-good-but-hot kind of thing when she said, very softly, actually it wasn't very good. I saw pain in her eyes. What happened, I asked, my own voice dropping. My sister died, she said.

For a moment, both of us were quiet. I was shocked. She was remembering.

My sister was very young, she died in an accident, she said, her eyes filling. We had to rush home after the call came. My sister has left behind two babies.

As we talked, my eyes filled too. In response, in empathy. Because I too have a sister. Because I love her very, very much. Because I am away from her as well. And because, like every expatriate, I fear the call-at-midnight.

The call that can so easily shatter our happiness, our peace. A disembodied voice that speaks of illness, accidents... worse things.

The call that plucks us from our self-contained lives and puts us in a plane, nervous, terrified, praying. Desperately hoping it is a false alarm, fearing it is already too late.

We have chosen to come away but we remember the people we have left behind. That is why the regular calls and letters and e-mails are invaluable. Maybe we don't say anything earth shattering each time we call, but we do share – for a precious few minutes – the rhythm of each other's lives.

We know what they are doing. They know what we are doing. The little things we talk about become significant. And we knit our lives through these conversations, week after week, month after month. That's why when we visit after months, even years, we're not out of touch. We easily go back to being close, laughing together at small things, completing each other's sentences.

We are here; we are lucky. We are working well, living well, making new friends, exploring new opportunities. Many of us enjoy luxuries here that we would never dream of at home. We are part of a thriving city and a hospitable country and yes, most of the time, we are happy. Happy we got a break.

But sometimes, particularly when we are alone, we stop whatever we're doing and siiiigh. Somewhere in our hearts and souls is a little corner that is not here at all. It's back home, in the country we were born, in the city we left behind as we moved to better lifestyles.

We remember acutely the way things were and, for just a second, we long to be back home.

That is why when we meet someone who is just back from a vacation we ask the same questions: How was it? How was my city?

Did it rain? Did you visit that swanky store? Did you eat in the Chinese restaurant that has just opened?

They answer. We listen and ask more questions, trying to imagine what our city looks like right now.

That's why we read newspapers that come out of our city, devouring stories that have nothing to do with our daily lives.

That's also why when we meet people from the same place, our conversation invariably goes back to our city. We discuss what we did, what we ate, what we saw – when we lived there.

We discover mutual friends and hangouts – and laugh. For a few minutes we are gloriously alive, remembering the best things about our past.

This, in more cases than not, sets the foundation for firm friendships. Allowing us to stay in touch with our roots while living in the global village.