Today marks the end of an era in my family. At this moment my parents are in the air somewhere over the Middle East or Eastern Europe; this is their last flight home to England as they won’t ever be going back to Saudi Arabia. After twenty-three years or so, my dad has been forced to retire, as he has just reached the company’s compulsory retirement age. They’re pretty upset to be leaving - even my mother, which is ironic, because she always hated living there. But it must be pretty scary to leave everyone you know and the life you’ve had for so long, to go back to a country where you don’t know anyone and hardly even have any family any more.
The house I grew up in from the age of eight has been cleared out and packed up. I can hardly imagine it. No doubt some Saudi family will move in now, and it won’t be our home any more. Once they touch down at Manchester Airport, I will no longer have a current Saudi connection, just memories. Now I’m just like anybody else. Now more so than ever, I’ll be making those virtual trips back, courtesy of Google Earth. Circling over the equator, zooming in over the Arabian Gulf then slowly pinpointing the exact, seaside location of my compound. I do that occasionally, with a little shiver of excitement and nostalgia as I get to peek at the neat little rows of houses that I know so well, hidden away in a community that only the few know exists.
Maybe I’ll have to go work in the Middle East just to feel right again. The curse of the expat! Once you’ve been one, you will never be entirely normal again. And I’m not talking about Australians who go to live in London, for example. I mean real expats who live in countries with privations and bizarre customs that leave a permanent mark on you. I can’t imagine my father blending in to English society again. I mean, he’s so weird, he only just got by in Saudi Arabia’s expat community! In a world of tax returns and reality TV and credit cards he’s going to feel like he’s landed on the moon. I hope he’ll figure out the way ahead.
Now this is really mean, but I must admit I’m glad I’m not going to be there in England with them to lend emotional support. My mother is difficult at the best of times and doesn’t believe in bottling up her feelings when she could take them out on someone else. The neighbours might have to move out!
At this point I suppose I should be feeling very old, having retired parents. I guess I just don’t accept it. They certainly don’t.
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