You're afraid of _leaving_ a war zone?

First of all, Dave, it's not a war zone. I prefer defining it as a post-war conflict zone, but previous disclaimers on the accuracy of my statements (not to mention political correctness) still apply. These are personal impressions and they don't try to look like well-researched, knowledge-based, undisputable truths.

Second, afraid is probably too strong a word. But yes, the idea of leaving this place does make me a bit squeaky. Nervous, if you like.

Some of it obviously has to do with the going away, leaving behind, starting over aspect of it – I've been whining and wondering and reflecting on it more than enough. That part is not necessarily specific to those leaving a place like this, it's just the nature of coping with leaving in general.

But RRX (Repatriation and Reintegration of eXpats, credits for the term go to Alex) is a complicated matter. Or so I think; I actually never had to do it. But I know why the thought is scary.

Besides the obvious emotional ties that one either has to cut off, redefine or ignore, going back to the real world is an unsettling concept, because... because summertime and the livin' is easy.

I know it sounds blantantly ignorant and superficial, but come try live in a place where it's 24 degrees all year long with a cool breeze most of the time, and then tell me you didn't like it. 24 when everybody is freezing their body parts off, and 24 when everbody's brain is melting away during the dog days. You can't help but think you're constantly on holidays. Downside of the great weather: you lose the concept and control of time. You're in a time warp.

And then you're also in a bubble. Because, weather aside, this is a very easy life! Your limitations in movement, choice, people, can be such a blessing. All you have to do is go to work. You don't have to do any housework, you don't even need to cook if you don't want to, you don't need to be bothered with things like having your car washed or fueled, in principle everything is provided for. Or, as you soon find out, there is a way to have it provided. Grown-up concerns like buying a fridge or choosing an insurance are so, so far away. Even if you have an actual (grown-up) life back in the real world, you're not there to deal with it. You're not there when the fridge is delivered, you're not there when the car needs to be inspected. Somebody is filling in for you.

Remains your free time then. That is, if you have any. If you don't want to, you can just work 7 days a week – I'm sure there is always more to do, and in fact many work through the weekends, regularly. I've seen many people being really passionate about what they do – I'm fascinated by their passion, and most of the time also by their work, but again, I'm easily amazed by people who are experts in something I have absolutely no clue about. Knowledge, my friends, is impressive. Passion and dedication are downright hot.

So if you work a lot, you don't ever have to bother with social obligations. You work, you order in (even your food choices are made easy: either indian, lebanese, or a pizza. Then repeat.), go to sleep. Wake up, eat, have coffee, no need to spend much time on deciding what to wear because your wardrobe choices are also limited, and go to work. Repeat until R&R. You don't need to interact with people more than your job absolutely requires it. You will be labelled as just another workaholic and left in peace at that.

But let's say you have free time. You can choose to make it all your own, to be antisocial. You can read and study and work out and not talk to anybody for two days. Nobody would notice. And if they will, they will just acknowledge it as your weirdo thing. (Everybody has a weirdo thing. If you're not a weirdo, I don't know what you're doing here. Maybe you're weirdo thing is that you're normal. That's creepy.)

But ok, you're weirdo in a different way and actually like being around people. Breaking news: it's super easy! Your choices are – surprise – limited, but that's why it's so easy. You will bump into the same people over and over again, and you assess them quickly, as they assess you. If you don't like somebody, you don't need to try or pretend; social obligations are different here. Those whose company you actually enjoy, well, you hang out with them. Tadaa! Soon you will have a group of people you just call „the usual bunch” but you actually mean „comfort zone”, and you never have to enter a room, a bar, a party without knowing that your people will be there. What is very comforting about this is that you will have your designated place in that usual bunch, and although you may think you don't like it, like I was trying to fight the foster parent role for a while, it actually does feel very reassuring to have a place. To have defined who you are, even if in a very specific context.

So that's the easy life of a soon-to-be-repatriated expat. I think by definition all of us should be categorized as soon-to-be-repatriated. Because soon, we will leave.

And that's when the RRX programme comes in handy (or would, if it actually existed). Why?

Because, to sum it up, you're throwing back the poor expat to an environment where they have to pay taxes (and figure out how), have a flat of their own and take care of it, either go through the troubles of getting their own car, or get used to public transport again, having the overwhelming choices of more than 3 restaurants, supermarkets to buy their own groceries, God forbid a kitchen of their own with functioning devices, 30+ TV channels and endless possibilities of entertainment in their free time, freedom to move around short and long distance; where the cars parked outside the bakery don't reveal who is inside as they used to, where walking into a bar or a party means a whole bunch of unknown faces, where the statement „I live across from the church” doesn't trigger the answer „ah, next to the Argentinian house!” as it used to, and where they have to make their choices again. Not only in terms of toilet paper, but also in terms of people. They have to assess and evaluate every new person in every situation, because the possibilities are pretty much endless.

No wonder the poor expat soon feels they have to reassess and re-evaluate themselves and their place in this new reality. And that is unnerving, because all their points of references have been shifted. Not only do they wonder who they are, but also where, why, how.

So, dear audience, be patient with your Repatriated eXpat. They are nice people, but need recovery time.

Because your friendly neighbourhood expat can live in a place like this