The Outsider

Being an expat is a crazy experience. Until now, I've taken it for granted that I belonged to the culture in which I lived. Here, I am an outsider.

You probably wouldn't know it to look at me; I've taken great care to adopt the local norms and customs, and everything about my appearance (most days) screams, "Londoner." But you'd know it the moment I opened my mouth. And more importantly, I'd know it.

British and Canadian culture aren't wildly different, of course. I could have easily picked a more extreme leap, say to Korea or Russia or Zimbabwe or something. But they're different in many small, subtle ways, and those subtle differences eventually add up. I'm beginning to realize that the people who surround me every day have all grown up in a very different reality than I have, and that their common experiences bond them together while segregating me. I can find and create my own common experiences with people here, but it requires concerted effort.

I came here claiming that I wanted to land a man with a hot British accent. Instead, I've landed myself a wonderful American man. It's amazing how much his accent soothes me, and how much it matters to me that we both grew up on the same continent. I never would have thought that would be relevant to me at all, but there's so much that we share that's different from everyone else around us. Things I never would have noticed or cared about if we'd met across the pond (although I would have noticed all his other amazing qualities).

I wouldn't say I'm homesick yet, but I would say I'm learning more and more to appreciate where I come from. I'm fortunate that I get to live here and experience this new place... I'm even more fortunate that I can hold onto little pieces of home.