Over the past month, we’ve been settling into the news of our assignment next summer to Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia. After many fraught weeks of bidding and countless “what if” conversations, we have an idea of what the next three years might hold for us. Or so we think. If life in the Foreign Service has taught me anything, it is that the best laid plans…often go awry.
I find myself somewhat uncomfortable with the unavoidable naiveté of this moment, of having absolutely no clue of what lies ahead. I remember getting our first assignment to Yemen in 2007 and the many assumptions and ideas I had about what those two years would hold. I certainly wouldn’t have predicted never setting foot in Yemen, or being separated from Dan, or living in Jordan for an unexpected year as a solo parent. Our Egypt experience was no less surprising, what with two revolutions and evacuations, so it stands to reason that Malaysia will likely offer up its distinctive disorienting brew. Even Washington, seemingly predictable, has had its own political “revolution” in our time here.
The rhythm of Foreign Service life is an odd one, as it routinely doles out emotional and social and professional earthquakes. Sometimes these are welcome. If you are in a post or job you hate, or are struggling with friends and community, there is hope on the horizon that it too shall all pass. But when life is good and fulfilling and somewhat even keel right where you are, then constantly restarting the process of anticipating the next thing is sort of a mixed bag. There is a subtle shift in relationships around you as some friends begin to withdraw, anticipating your departure and figuring that it is probably better to invest in families who are going to stick around. Other friends, God love them, adopt the attitude of making the most of the remaining time that you’ll be in town. Conversations around the family dinner table start to orient towards the move in a way that can distract from fully living into the very good present, but they are necessary conversations to help with the real need to process and contemplate the immense changes ahead.
One of the biggest challenges I find in this here/there moment is trying to form a picture in my mind of a place and a culture that I have never experienced. Constant cross-cultural disruption creates a particular kind of yearning to read the tea leaves of what lies ahead in order to manage the anxieties and worries about what cannot be predicted or pictured now. One week’s vacation in northern Thailand in 2014 doesn’t really tell me anything about living in Southeast Asia. Having grown up in the Middle East, I have some sense of (and love for) its particular brand of big-hearted, hot-tempered, vibrant chaos, so I could predict some of what life would be like in Yemen and Egypt. But Malaysia? I’ve got nothing.
For me, this tea leaf reading happens on a macro and micro scale. There are the obvious big questions: How will the kids adapt to a new school? Will we be able to find friends and community quickly? Will Dan’s job be what he hopes it to be? Will I be able to keep a professional toe in the water? And then because of how I’m wired, my mind dwells with frightening obsession on the mundane as well: what will we eat for breakfast the morning after we arrive when we are jet lagged in a new apartment and don’t know the first thing about the grocery stores or what is available? Do we put bug spray on every single time we leave the house to ward off the possible mosquito bite that gives us dengue two minutes after we arrive? How will Theo manage wearing a school uniform comprised entirely of clothes that he does not wear under any circumstances because they are deemed too dressy and uncomfortable? Will I be able to figure out driving on the other side of the road? Will the heat and humidity kill us? The list is endless. Most people would be caught up in the excitement over the new adventure. Me, I’m already trying to figure out the meal plan and clothing options for our first weeks there.
There are some ways to fill in a picture of sorts before we go. I have been able to connect with friends and friends of friends who have lived or are living in Kuala Lumpur. I’ve been added to some Facebook pages specific to KL that have started to give me a sense for what the different stores and malls and neighborhoods are. These things are not particularly exciting, but they are comforting and necessary. Building a life in a new country is not about finding the best vacation spots or hottest places to eat. It involves a painstaking collection of quotidian information so that you know where to go for school supplies, or plug converters, or replacement appliances, or cereal. Without Target at the ready, this is critical stuff.
But even as we work to fill in this picture, which will still likely be nothing like reality when we get there, there is so much life left to be lived here in our beloved Arlington. We have the good fortune right now of being in fulfilling jobs, surrounded by great friends and neighbors, with eight months left to enjoy them. We can imagine our future high-rise apartment or the new school campus, but I hope we don’t spend too much time trying to divine the future that we miss the joy of being right where we are.
Jessica Robertson Wright 