Australians living overseas face impossible pull amid COVID-19 crisis
For so many Aussies, living overseas is a rite of passage. And with the outbreak of coronavirus, I was faced with the painful choice of staying in my new life or returning to my old, writes Maggie Kelly.
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Recent weeks have played host to some heartbreaking decisions.
For those of us who had been living abroad, choices needed to be made urgently. Rich or poor, old or young, long-term expats or the recently arrived; we were united by one impossible question — do we stay, or do we go?
As two travellers on the road, we decided to go. My partner and I slid — Indiana-Jones-style — out of Italy, then Germany, then the UK.
Everywhere we went,
border closures came slamming down on our heels, leaving our eventual escape home to feel nothing short of miraculous. By the time we touched down in Australia after 27 hours in transit, the only emotion left to feel was relief. I quite literally got to my knees and kissed the ground.
As the days have passed and the fog of jet lag has lifted, however, our immense relief has made way for a sort of heaviness; the overseas dream is over.
Anyone who has lived abroad will testify that it takes a superhuman effort to uproot your life and replant it again somewhere foreign. A difficult process of recalibration must occur. There are visas to apply for, endless paperwork to file, months of nervous waiting for approvals. Then there are the bouts of loneliness, isolation, and intense, swirling homesickness that sees you crying over Vegemite toast. It takes months of dutiful practice to make your new home, home.
But the effort is all so very worth it when finally worth it when it falls into place. You meet all sorts of fantastic and absurd people, go on all kinds of adventures, feel an alien magic you would never find at home. It is terrifying and electrifying and intense, all in perfect measure. Every ounce of discomfort is worth that feeling of being so very alive.
Last week, that magic was suddenly snuffed out. Years of dreaming and planning and hard work took just a few minutes to disappear as we booked our flights.
A month ago, we were plotting trips to Norway, Poland and Portugal: today, I’m scrolling through rental properties in the suburban neighbourhood I grew up in. It’s tough not feel a grit of disappointment.
Around me, everyone is celebrating our return. Friends and family are scheduling catch-ups for when our isolation period is over, previous clients reaching out to collaborate. Even online retailers have registered my sudden homecoming, with local brands suddenly offering me discounted swimwear.
In the morning hours before jet lag seeps in, I can see the silver lining. I walk outside to a wall of cheerful familiarity: frangipani and jasmine, kookaburras, crickets, and blue sky sunrises.
By nightfall, however, a phantom inside me wakes up with the European sun. Stuck in isolation, I have no choice but to play a highlights reel from our short and sweet taste of life abroad: the snow-capped mountains of Bavaria, the anchovy pizzas in Rome, the Dutch lessons, my icy winter bike rides to work where I would just beam at people out of pure joy. Thinking of our time away hurts with a similar pang to remembering loved ones who have died. What big plans we had.
Instead, we flew from Italian exile to Australian exile, and this April will be our sixth month in wintry isolation together. It would almost be funny, if it didn’t feel so tragic.
Our discontent is not an easy point to raise. It seems churlish to complain about being home and having our health when so many people are suffering. And certainly, we are beyond grateful that we have made it out safely. But, like so many other people in our position, I have to admit to the bittersweet nature of it all. Leaving felt like yesterday, the 10 months we spent abroad like a dream. Did it ever really happen?
It took just over a day to physically uproot ourselves from Europe back home, but I suspect it will take months for the rest to catch up. My brain is somewhere in Amsterdam, my dreams somewhere in Italy, and my heart somewhere in Sweden. Emergency evacuation or not, they’ll remain put, until they too are ready to fly home.
Maggie Kelly is a columnist for RendezView.com.au