Monday, November 20, 2006

The Three-Year Itch

Diplomatic life is strange... not so much when you're in the middle of living it; but when you've been out of it so to speak for a while, which I have been in a sense, you start to notice things that you once thought were perfectly normal ... but in reality it's not. I get that my childhood and subsequent upbringing is less-than-normal; but one aspect that I have come to notice about myself as a result of the Diplomatic lifestyle is what I've dubbed FSS: the Foreign Service Syndrome. It's manifestations have drawn attention to my sporadic and uncertain lifestyle, many a times where I've found myself explaining away my neurosis without really taking a step back to wonder why I actually do what I do, and is it really because I'll always be a bit of a diplobrat? Or is it just because I am simply plain weird, regardless of where/when and how I grew up?

One aspect of the FSS that manifests itself often in me is the title: the three-year itch. It is this feeling of wonder in the base of my head... the wonder of 'why am I still here? Isn't it time to go?'. The last time I felt this strongly to move, pack all my things and disappear to a foreign country was in 2003; and again it surfaces in 2006; and before I felt it in 2000... after moving to Canada in 1997. And it's not just the feeling of moving countries; I can't belong to an organization or group or community or JOB for that fact for longer than three years without the FSS creeping up on me to tell me that it is time to go.

This concept of FSS raises a lot of questions, most of which I really don't know how to answer... but I'll try. 'Why am I still here?' Simple: Education. It is cheap, it is plentiful, and it is exceptional. It's not that I don't like Canada; I love Canada. Canadians must know that they, well we, live in the greatest country on the face of this planet for reasons I'll never fully be able to explain. Canada is exquisite. It is beautiful, it is brave, and it is free; sure the PST and the GST takes away 14% of my money, it is so cold right now in my apartment that the heat is on full blast plus my space heater is struggling to reach its preset temperature of 30 degree Celsius and in some parts of the world people either don't know where or who we are or they think we are Americans... but I can break my arm tomorrow, walk in to a hospital and get it fixed without having to wiggle out my wallet from my purse; I can travel anywhere in the world without fear (for now... and where I'd want to travel; I'm not stupid) and I can say and believe what I want without the risk of condemnation. No... it is not because I am sick of Canada; Canada is incredible. I am so lucky to be a Canadian, to be born free and to stay that way, and although I probably won't work here, I'll still consider Canada the closest thing I have to a true 'home'. But my education is the only reason I have stayed behind because it is actually my golden ticket to freedom.

Which brings me to my second question: 'Isn't it time to go?' ... almost. The beauty of a Canadian degree in my chosen field is that I can go anywhere and work anywhere, but until I get my degree and pass the boards I'm stuck. The only time I can travel is on vacation or to see my family, which is nice mind you, but it is not the same feeling of relocation, of a fresh start, of fresh faces and places and experiences just waiting for you... that is, until you leave again in 3 years.

I guess what I miss about the FS life is the idea of a fresh start: that all the mistakes you've made, all the people you don't like, all the places you've been to that make you sad or you simply don't enjoy will all be left behind in lieu of a new adventure. True friends stay in touch, especially with creations such as Facebook and emails and whatnot... and there is no feeling like the feeling of unlimited potential that you get after moving to a new city, a new, state, a new province, a new country, or a new Continent. Each new environment breeds possibilities, some of which you had before and some of which you'll never have again; but all of these possibilities would simply not be had you decided to stay put.

This rush of potential is my drug; I am hooked on the idea of starting over, of going somewhere where nobody knows my name or where I've come from or where I am going... even if only for a few weeks until I acclimatize to this new environment I've decided to conquer. So in light of these tremendous opportunities that have been my norm for the better part of my life... is my three-year-itch really that strange? I certainly hope not... you have no idea what you're missing if it still is.

Monday, November 06, 2006

Are You Ready To Begin?

Home. It is a funny concept to me.. but not because I don’t have a home per say… like, I live in an apartment, but the idea of a place so familiar, so welcoming and inviting as to have the ability to draw one back after years and years away is … well, foreign. Maybe because for the greater part of my life, home was only home for 3 years, and then it was time to go somewhere new. It causes great confusion to most people I meet that 'home' for me can and does change at least once every 3 years. It is also confusing that although I say where my 'home' is, it's not where I was born, where I am from, or even where I am going. To me, home is where my parents are... and it just so happens to change a lot.

My name is Carrie. Not really, but you get the point. I’m 22 and right now I live in Canada. My current ‘home’ is somewhere in the tropics; meaning my family is a good 8 hours away by plane, a trip I make twice a year. For the first 12 years of my life I lived overseas: various parts of Asia with a brief stop in the Americas; and for the next 12 years I will be in Canada finishing my undergrad in a health science field. So why did I live in so many places? The answer is simple: my parents are diplomats. Everyday ordinary people who have been appointed to represent a government in its relations with other governments, or more importantly, people who use skill and tact in dealing with others. They have been in the service for 30 years, meaning my older brother and I have also been in the service for our entire lives.

At first glance the diplomatic life looks glamorous: movies such as Lethal Weapon 2, The Constant Gardner, and to a lesser extent James Bond make it seem as if diplomats have it easy: We’re rolling around in the tax-payers money, jet-setting to exotic places with people, houses, cars and money at our disposal, attending sexy parties in designer gowns and enough jewelry to power a small island hanging from our necks. Well let me tell you… if the dip life was anything like I had just described, I wouldn’t be sitting here writing this: I’d be enjoying every second of it!

But if you look deeper, you’ll see the opposite.

My parents left me 3 years ago on post after spending 7 years back in Canada. This would turn out to be the first post that neither my brother nor I would accompany them. My brother Greg and I stayed in Canada to pursue a better education than we could receive in a third world country. Yes, the tropical island paradises are third-world countries once you step outside the front door of the resort. That means my closest biological family member is 2 hours away by train or car and has been for the past 3 years. My parents are a plane ride away in a different time zone... Hell, not even in this hemisphere. And I'm here. At 19 most teenagers move away to university; far enough to gain independence but close enough to come home if they really needed to. In my case, I didn't leave the nest: the nest left me.

So I am alone. The foreign service life is in a word, lonely. Family wise, I am alone here; my brother is alone, my parents are together but my father is often away on trips, so there are points in time where my entire family is separated from each other. And it’s been like that for as long as I can remember.

Does it bother me? Sometimes. I miss my parents and I miss my brother… but the life I’ve lead thus far at the beck and call of the government, I’ve become so used to being alone it’s at times hard to function otherwise. Everyone in my family is used to doing their own thing; to keeping themselves occupied with work or school or other social activities that although we know that we are family by blood, we’re family mostly in name. We know each other. We love each other. But we don’t see each other very often. The Foreign Service life splits families apart in more ways than one: divorce is high, family distress is high, and just wait until you hear about the children, such as myself, who grow up moving every 3 years which is, if you think about it, long enough to establish roots and finally feel like you belong... but not long enough for you to reap the benefits of these new-found ties that you eventually break, no matter what promises you make to yourself or your friends.

A relatively young diplomat and I were talking one sunny afternoon when I arrived 'home' for the first time. It was/is his very first post, and he has a young family; 2 children, around the same age when my brother had already lived in 2 countries and I was going to my first post... so 5 and 4 years old. He was confiding in me his worries about his children: How would they grow up? Would they be traumatized by the lifestyle he chose to lead? Would they be forgotten in the hustle and flow of the business of diplomacy? But most importantly, would they turn out to be ok?

I remember looking at my brother as he worked the room with his easy charm, good natured humour and intelligent and witty conversation as I sat in the shadows hoping not to get noticed, knowing that I was failing miserably. How could I answer his question without wondering myself, how did I turn out? The honest answer is ... many of the Foreign Service children, or Diplobrats, are... well, weird. We can't help it; we have no honest roots or lifelong friends or even a house that we call a home. We're here one day and there the next and who knows what else will happen? The only friends we do make are other Diplobrats, and there is no guarantee that after this post is done we'll ever see them again... and that can go for the local friends we have.. or had, I should say.

I could and can answer the young diplomats question 2 ways: the first being yes... your kids will be just fine. What an incredible opportunity you are giving them, letting them experience different cultures without the shock and awe of families who never leave their small town or see the world, but with enough shock and awe that comes with seeing, and I mean REALLY seeing and experiencing another culture and another world. Not only this, but these children will learn diplomacy skills: how to deal with a variety of different people which in my opinion, is a skill you can't live without in the PC world. I mean, when you think about it that way, we're the luckiest kids in the world, and if they turn out to be like my brother, they will have benefited tremendously from this lifestyle.

But my other answer ... is I don't know. Your kids might not be fine. They might resent you for uprooting them every 3 years. They might hate where they are posted. They might not be happy where they are. They might not make friends (and yes, that does happen). They might be miserable. They might be able to stand something or someone for 3 years and then all of a sudden get this enormous urge to leave. They may turn out to be so maladjusted and awkward and maybe even scarred due to the life you're binding them too until they can actually fight back or have a say in where you go. If you think about it that way, we're the unluckiest kids in the world.

I know what you're asking. Where do I fit in to this? Did I benefit from this lifestyle? Maybe. Do I personify answer # 2? Not always. Am I maladjusted and awkward? You tell me.

You think you know? You have no idea. This is the diary of a Foreign Service brat.