Accidental Repatriation in a Pandemic
A year ago, we left expat life in Hong Kong on one of the last flights to the U.S. as the pandemic started to spread. Returning after 15 years abroad, I absurdly likened it to the last helicopter evacuation from the US embassy during the Fall of Saigon, the photo of which I’d seen so many times hanging in the quiet room at the Hong Kong Foreign Correspondents Club. My wife and I were so nervous shuffling our two small boys through security at the airport, thinking we might be turned back. We’d only booked the flights the day before, following the news that the US was cancelling inbound flights from Asia.
With bags, strollers, toddlers and passports in tow, we breathed a huge sigh of relief when our documents were stamped and we were ushered through customs. Now what? We weren’t sure when we were returning or what our next steps would be, only that we wanted to be back with family in the US.
After it was obvious we couldn’t return to HK, our live-in helper assisted movers and packed up our belongings, which we are finally unpacking this week. After relocating 24 times in one year, finding safe places for our toddlers to socially distance and run free during covid, we’re settling down in Florida. Now that we have been vaccinated and can see end of the pandemic, we’re reflecting on a year that has challenged us and been so devastating for so many.
The pandemic was front and center for Hong Kongers and those living in Asia as early December 2019. I had colleagues in Wuhan and other parts of China, and we were scenario planning and working from home as early as January. Everyone wore masks of course, just as they always do in Asia when sick, to protect others. My wife is a high-risk type one diabetic and we’ve been extremely cautious.
We went from super-pandemic-vigilant Hong Kong to the U.S., where bizarrely wearing a mask had become a political statement.
After landing we were rudderless. We traded a 33rd floor flat in super-dense, cosmopolitan Hong Kong island with bland corporate housing in suburbia, USA, simply trying to keep the supply chain of toilet paper, noodles and oatmeal running smoothly. We held our children and cried when Andrea Bocelli sang Ave Maria during the Easter Sunday broadcast.
Looking back, we embodied the expat cliché. We traveled frequently in Asia (our four-year-old has been to 10 countries) and our circle of friends was a diverse mini United Nations. We went out two or three times a week and had boozy weekend brunches. We fancied ourselves woke enough to understand that status as an “expat” versus an “immigrant” is largely based on skin color and nationality.
We miss our live-in helper desperately! It’s a common withdrawal symptom among those who repatriate, with the collective understanding that complaining about no longer having a live-in helper is not a good look, especially in a pandemic (not quite as bad as the spectacularly tone-deaf column from a well-to-do FT writer on early covid prep in London: “Trebling our usual order from the Freddie’s Flowers delivery service was the obvious place to start.”) Indeed.
My wife and I have reached a new level of trust and understanding, coping with demands of small toddlers (as a principle we don’t negotiate with terrorists, but with cramped covid protocols, we had to adapt). In lockdown we had a lot of time to reflect on our past, on poor choices and on pain that had festered. Supporting each other, and with help from a counselor by zoom, we’ve worked through some issues, and while not completely done (when does one ever finish working through issues?), we’re so much more of a couple than we ever were. I look back and see how emotionally selfish I was in ways I couldn’t comprehend at the time. The dynamic life of expats was a distraction from what I now know was the need to be a more open, more connected and a more vulnerable partner.
Like all parents of small kids in lockdown, we entertained them with screen-time. I fancy myself the curator for our children’s TV shows and at this point could be reviewer (Dora Season 8 is a tour de force of delicioso! Num Num Num! Octonauts, an undersea Steve Zissou-like adventure, has sublime casting: Barnacles is a leader’s leader in his role as polar bear captain, and there isn’t a technical challenge Tweak the southern rabbit can’t handle). I could go on. We subscribed to learning platforms Noggin and ABC Mouse which feels good in that they are educational, and have programs that include all our favorite characters: Blaze and the Monster Machines are hanging out with Paw Patrol, and Shimmer and Shine? What is the cartoon crossover witchcraft?
My wife started a platform called Global Diabetic to inspire other people with type one diabetes to live their best lives. She has followers around the world. Literally, there are children on the planet today because their mothers have seen my wife make it look possible to manage two high-risk pregnancies. That’s given her a higher calling and a needed distraction from the juvenile boys in the house (which includes me).
So many have lost so much and we are fortunate in that we’ve been able to safely vagabond. Last year we spent hours on Airbnb, finding places remote enough where we could let the boys roam, and yet close enough to Instacart. Our Airbnbn scrolling switched to Zillowing, and coincidentally the day we got our vaccine is the day we closed on a new home in the Florida panhandle in a community known as 30a, named after a small county road famous for being the location of the Truman Show.
Our little world is starting to open and return to normal, just as it feels like America’s place in the world is also returning to normal. The cliché that expats learn more about themselves and their country while living abroad is absolutely true in our case.
It’s going to take a while before we and our kids know how to socialize properly (they’re called “pants” and you wear them to “meetings”), and feel comfortable in a fine dining situation (what’s a “date night?”). We understand we are so very lucky, that we’ve taken our privileges for granted and we’re trying hard to be the best versions of ourselves.
We miss the carefree nights at the Hong Kong FCC, but it’s damn good to be home.
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Trevor C. Hale is the CEO of Fruition Global Communications, a communications and media firm he started with his wife Michelle. Born in a small town in Alabama, he has lived and worked in the US, Europe and Asia, including 11 years in mainland China.
