Coping alone and abroad in a pandemic
June 2019. Google had just offered me a role that required me to move overseas.
Over barely touched Thai food, my then-boyfriend said, “But we’re supposed to get married next year.”
“We’ll find a way,” I said, pretending to be brave. The thought of moving to a whole new country made me want to shit my pants. But I had to do it — the opportunity was too good to pass up. “Shanghai’s in the same timezone. It’s just a 5-hour flight. I’ll come back to Singapore as much as I can.”
His face crumpled. But he took it like a champ, and we ended the conversation with him supporting my move. We would make it work. We had to make it work. We loved each other too much.
A few weeks later, I packed my things, cried my tears, and moved to China.
I returned to Singapore to visit over Chinese New Year in 2020.
That was when the pandemic changed everything.
China closed its borders.
So, all of 2020, I worked remotely from Singapore. I got married. I spent more time that I ever had with my family. The company offered geo-flexibility. My colleagues provided moral support. Somehow, working from home worked for me — and I was well-aware of how privileged I was that it did.
Before I knew it, I was required to move back to Shanghai. But I was a different person now — scared of uncertainty, of not being able to come home, of becoming stranded overseas without warning, of catching Covid-19 while away. The pandemic had completely changed my priorities.
This time it was me who crumpled.
My husband held me and said bravely, “It’ll be fine. We did this before.”
My last night in Singapore, I bawled like a baby.
“You’re so lucky,” a friend told me, via text.
Present day, June 2021. He was sick of my Instagram photos, where I logged a recent trip to Hangzhou. Like so many people, he desperately missed travelling.
His text made me feel strangely emotional.
In Shanghai, normalcy has for most part resumed. The world is still in semi-lockdown and most international borders are still closed, which means domestic travel is huge now. In China, there are endless options for a getaway.
Yes, being able to travel is lucky. But in today’s world, to be home is the true blessing. Travel is a nice distraction, but I miss home. I miss my husband and my family. And, unlike in the pre-pandemic world, I can no longer casually decide to just go home. Now I have to consider the (lack of) flight availability, quarantine measures, and testing requirements. There are financial consequences to all that, too.
Once upon a time, working overseas was likely perceived to be an exciting prospect. Now, it can feel lonely and alienating. Certain days can be emotionally crippling.
For what is the point of travel — and any of life’s wonderful opportunities — if you’re doing it without those you love?
I get invasive thoughts like that far too often.
When I was younger, I got panic attacks from just the idea of socialising with strangers.
But living overseas is a different beast. And I was acutely aware, during my flight out of Singapore, that I did not want to live fearfully. I did not want loneliness dominate my thoughts. I did not want my insecurities to colour my long-distance marriage. And I didn’t want my anxieties to keep me from new experiences.
Despite the challenges of being alone, of missing home, of imposter syndrome at work, I wanted to stay healthy and happy.
Above all, I did not want to be overwhelmed.
It all boiled down to One Simple Thing:
I have to focus on staying in a ‘better-feeling’ place.
And so I had to be crystal clear on where to focus my attention. Finally, I distilled this clarity to the following habits:
- To avoid negative spirals, I steer my thoughts with my feelings.
When I was younger, I often allowed myself to get into a spiral of negativity just by following the breadcrumbs of my anxiety. Now I pay close attention to how I feel. The moment a thought makes me feel awful, I try not to dwell on that thought. Or I change the subject completely. If I cannot be outright optimistic, the least I try to do is focus on keeping my mood neutral. This habit has helped me curb most of my lizard-brained anxieties. - I meditate at least 15 minutes every single day.
Meditation was the one thing that kept me sane over the last year. It helped me figure out what stability feels like. I started in 2020 as a means to cope with the fallout of the pandemic, but I stayed realistic about it — meditation can be daunting for beginners. So I started by meditating thirty seconds. Then a minute. Then five minutes. And so on. I downloaded Insight Timer to track my progress, and have clocked 5000 minutes since. - I go on gratitude rampages in a journal.
I open my gratitude journal when I’m 1) in an exceptionally good mood and 2) when I’m feeling exceptionally down. In both cases, having gratitude for even the smallest things help amplify positive feelings. There’s always something to be thankful for — good weather, a nice colleague, a text from a friend… this allows me to shift my perspective in just a few minutes. - Above all, I choose not to play life on hard mode.
In any given situation, I choose the easiest option available to me.
“You’re right,” my friend conceded, after I explained the challenges of missing my support system. “The grass is so much greener on your side, though.”
That’s funny because I have a high opinion of the grass on his side of the fence. Missing travel, missing home. Everyone’s missing something. It sucks. But this stalemate isn’t forever. We just have to be patient.
Take it easy. You’re not alone.
