Denial and Isolation, Anger, Bargaining, Depression and Acceptance…the stages of grief first proposed by Elisabeth Kübler-Ross in her 1969 book “On Death and Dying.” Stages people go through, not always in order, not always all of them. Similiarly, there are stages to living overseas and again when repatriating. Different for everyone in duration, in order, in completion, but similar in character. A friend of ours described the stages of moving overseas as follows: the Honeymoon Stage, The Homesickness/Complaining Stage, The Coping Stage, The Acceptance Stage.

The Honeymoon Stage
You arrive. All is exciting, all is new. You are living out your dreams. You overlook the blemishes, the warts, the acne of the place. You notice the exotic beauty, the intoxicating smells, the lilt of foreign languages hitting your ears. You are drunk with the newness of it all, so different from what you are used to. Everything is a amplified…the skyscrapers so tall, the temples so ornate, the thunder so loud. You want the scream, “This is so cool, so sexy, so everything I thought it would be and more!” It is like a new relationship…you don’t notice the morning breath, no action is annoying, you are head-over-heels in love. Why didn’t I do this sooner? What was I afraid of? The world is my oyster and I’m ready to dine!!!

The Homesickness/Complaining Stage
One day you wake up and you want a bowl of Frosted Flakes. But you don’t have any. In fact, you can’t find them anywhere. No f-ing Frosted Flakes anywhere!!! And you want Frosted Flakes. They always had them at home.
You need a pair of scissors, a nice pair of scissors. You go to the pharmacy store. No scissors. You go to the hardware store. No scissors. You go to every store in the huge mall. No scissors. For God’s sake, there must be a store in this city of millions where I can buy a damn pair of scissors! Feel the frustration? Feel the anger?

You are used to Starbucks opening early so can grab that cup of morning-wake-me-up before work. But every Starbucks is closed up tight at 5:00 am. No lights on at 6:00 am. Same at 7:00am. Doesn’t anyone need a coffee in the morning as bad as me?
You miss your friends and family, Starbucks in the morning, shopping at Nordstrom’s. You miss knowing where to find scissors or Frosted Flakes. You quickly discover FaceTime is not a substitute for a grandkid hug or mother’s apple pie. You notice the garbage in the street, you don’t understand how to pay your bills, you come down with diarrheah. You yearn for the familiar, for the routine, for the day-to-day living you have known all your life. If not careful, you can find yourself on the first plane returning to your home country, or depressed, or just plain angry. You blame your spouse, you curse, stamp your feet, you cry, you complain. It is not paradise. The oyster doesn’t taste that great.

Coping Stage
You find a Mexican restaurant that is so good you cannot believe it. A friend takes your hand and leads you to the craft store and a whole aisle of scissors. You learn if you look hard enough you can find anything in this crazy city. When you finally find the Frosted Flakes you purchase every box on hand for it may not be there next week or ever again in that store. You are introduced to Indonesian and Vietnamese coffee and Starbucks isn’t so important. You develop relationships with other expats and locals. You begin to feel comfortable driving and your “bubble of comfort” expands. You begin to cope with the homesickness and you visit that stage less and less. You begin to believe you can make it, it is possible, it is doable. You want to get out of bed and see what is in store for the day. Big breath, sigh of relief.

Acceptance Stage
You wake up early in the morning and walk to the kitchen without turning on a light…you know the way. The coffee is brewed without a thought. You nurse the cup sitting on the porch looking at the twinkling lights of the city. Routine.

You listen to local news and wonder whether the Prime Minister will step down from office. You made it to IKEA without using the GPS. You know what grocery store to go to for vegetables and fruit, which ones have the best meat, the best seafood. You begin to feel like this adopted home is yours, that you belong, that you are part of the fabric.

You have picked up on the nuances of the local culture. You begin to see things you never noticed before….the cute little house on your walk to the lake, frangipani blossoms, mangos hanging low on the branches. You discover Kewpie Salad Dressing. You can’t get that in the States. You must have Roti Canai for breakfast. You look forward to three day weekends to easily fly away to an exotic beach. Being the only Caucasian on the subway is no longer a novelty. What used to feel foreign in now commonplace. You belong. This is home. Acceptance.