The quiet ache of living far from home
Twelve time zones is a strange kind of math. Your parents' morning is your evening. Holidays arrive as video calls with lag and a slightly frozen smile.
When Alex's consulting offer came through, we told ourselves we were ready. We packed the apartment in three weekends, sold the couch that had somehow become a personality trait, and boarded a flight with two cats in the cabin and a ridiculous amount of carry-on snacks.
What nobody prepares you for is the ordinary loneliness: not having a friend who can just drop by, not knowing which pharmacy carries the brand of toothpaste you like, realizing Mid-Autumn Festival decorations are gorgeous and also that you have nowhere familiar to go.
We've learned small rituals help. Saturday phone calls with Molly's sister. Alex's mom mailing a care package of ranch seasoning and the weird cereal that doesn't exist here. Writing this blog, honestly — putting the feeling somewhere other than the 2 a.m. ceiling stare.
Singapore has been generous to us. Homesickness doesn't cancel that out. Both things can be true in the same week, sometimes in the same hour.