Sunday Mornings

Sunday morning is probably my favourite time of the week when H sleeps in while I have the time to read, have coffee and do some thinking.

Last December, H was offered the job of a life time. One that is demanding and challenging – skill wise, one that will give him extra brownie points in his resume, one that interests him greatly, one that will secure us financially. But it is also an offer that demands us to make Angola a more permanent home. In another word, it will stretch me.

The job of an expat wife is lonelier than what it appears on the outside. If you hate Singapore for being so transitory, that people come and go, and often you dread making new friends because (1) you’re tired of making the same-old conversations, gingerly around each other (2) they often leave by the time you think you’ve made a good connection; my situation is not that different. It’s just I always thought the one leaving is better than the one left behind – and that is so not the case. At least in Singapore, I don’t get stared at, I was a part of a majority. Here, I am almost always the odd one out, the one imposed a heavy, negative, stereotype especially. Even Romania is thought as part of China. On my better days, I forgive Africa for being Africa. On other days, I seethe inside: for the ignorance/ lack of knowledge, for making me feel like I’m an attraction (and take photos of me), for commenting every single details of my belongings (from my mechanic pencil that doesn’t require sharpening, my note books that have good paper quality, or my digital french dictionary because who wants to slug a heavy dictionary to school every day?). Thankfully, I use a very basic handphone.

Anyway, after a month of weighing pros & cons and multiple long walks, we decided to turn down the offer. We made a decision and never look back. We were at peace with our decision. Little did we expect that the offer will come back, with even better offer. If I were a little bit more superstitious (and I already am), I would have thought it is meant to be. That it is a sign. Actually, we both think it’s a sign.

Up till this very moment, we have yet to make a decision. But the more I discuss with H, the clearer it becomes that (a) we want to stay as a family: that life is better when one comes home to a warm body, to hugs & kisses every day, and (b) even with that more financial benefits, our lives will not change dramatically: that we will be as expense-conscious as usual, that we will still prefer entertaining at home to dancing the night away.

I feel lucky. Really, really lucky. That H always put my best interest at heart.

(photo is courtesy of pinterest)


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