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The Expat and Why

The Expat

It’s easy to blend in on paper.

It’s harder to do once you open your mouth.

I live in a strange world now. One where I cannot fully communicate with the majority of people in my life. Even at the nicest, most expensive, and upscale grocery store, I can only say hello and thank you to the cashiers.

This strange world has a new alphabet, with many different characters and spellings. For example, the other day I bought what I thought was hand lotion. Sometimes the wind gets nippy and my face was feeling dry. I rubbed the lotion on to my face for several days, and it continued getting more dry by the day.

I asked my girl what it was – turns out it was soap, not lotion.

Well, that explains it.

Ordering food at a restaurant sometimes requires pointing and gesturing at things on a piece of paper, much like a child screaming, “I want, I want!”

My electric beard trimmer died the other day, refusing to spin up. An hour of my Wednesday was spent trying to find a new one. Three convenience stores and two miles of walking later, it was unsuccessful. Another hour on Thursday morning and I found something that seems to be suitable for trimming a modest beard, but then again – that could change real fast.

Despite all these petty struggles, life is pretty good. Except for one thing. I keep asking myself WHY.

Why am I here?

Why did I make the choices I have?

God damn it, why couldn’t I just have stayed a little bit naive to the world, and I would have been ignorantly miserable.

Part of me thinks it would have been a lot easier.

So here I am, writing this from my apartment while looking out at the communist-style apartments that line my kitchen window.

Wondering why everything worked out the way it has. Why couldn’t I have found girls like these in America? Why can’t I have the best of both worlds – the modern amenities and ease of living in America, as well as the healthy masculine/feminine culture that’s present here. Why did I have to leave my friends and family behind to find some balance of sanity in the nuclear family culture?

Why am I here?

Do I want to run through dozens, or hundreds, of girls in a pursuit of endless physical pleasure sans any emotional connection? What will that do for my soul? Breaking hearts takes it’s toll on both parties, and what will be left of mine after ten years of it?

Men before me have done it, and judging off of their writing – they don’t seem all that happy.

I will continue to fight my inner battles and war on what my code of ethics and morality is. I have no idea where I will go in the world after July. No idea what I want from girls and relationships. No idea if I am angry at my homeland for making it this way, or if I’m just happy to be the hell outta there.

I realize time and experience will provide me many of the answers. Now, I just have to wait.

At least I have lotion now.

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