According to Wikipedia (1 million opinions can’t be wrong!) An expatriate (in abbreviated form, expat) is a person temporarily or permanently residing in a country and culture other than that of the person's upbringing or legal residence. The word comes from the Latin ex (out of) and patria (country, fatherland). I’m most definitely in that group. I was born in Canada but for the last six years I’ve lived in New Zealand. I don’t even contemplate it much these days, but every now and again it hits me that I’m living miles from where I stared my life.
This realization usually comes about when I see something Canadian on the news. Last night it was a delightful little story about how Canadian PM Stephen Harper directly quoted a parliamentary address by the then Australian PM John Howard – a mere 48hrs after Howard made the original speech. You’d think he’d have his own opinions, especially seeing as the speech was an attempt to urge the Canadian parliament to join the US in the war in Iraq! This blog posting isn’t about the trifecta of village idiots (Bush, Howard and Harper) it’s actually more about the reality of living overseas from your home and native land, as the song goes.
More often then not, the bits and pieces we see in the media about Canada are stories like what came out yesterday (the news graphic they used was quite amusing and a little embarrassing – a kangaroo with moose horns attached – as soon as I saw that I knew I was in for trouble). The other stories that tend to get traction are large hockey fights, snowstorms that shut down cities and fluff pieces to end the newscast – things like clubbing baby seals.
But what’s it really like to be an expat? Here in Queenstown we have quite a large non-kiwi sect of the population and the results are very interesting. I think it’s the distance makes the heart grow fonder factor – this town is full of very patriotic folks. Take my usual Wednesday night activity – I play ice hockey down at the local rink. As a kid I played hockey in Canada (we all do) but by the time I was 18 I’d moved onto other things. But take me out of Canada and my desire to get on the ice intensifies to a fever pitch and all of a sudden I can’t get enough of it. And I’m not alone – I play hockey with players from all over the place – Canadians, Americans, Czechs, Sweed’s, the odd Australian, Pomms, and even some Kiwi’s.
Maybe it’s like living near an airport – at first the planes keep you up all night; but move away and you need those planes. There's a fabric that knits into the identity that is my heritage – that garment is a patchwork of hockey games, roller r’s, snow days, hearing The Hip on the radio and poutine on the menu. Maybe it takes leaving to appreciate what is really important – and maybe what’s really important aren’t the big ticket items you expect them to be. Maybe what makes up your identity are a thousand little things that on their own seem almost silly. Flickers of memories and a self imposed perception of what we’re supposed to do. Is it odd to feel more Canadian then ever living 13,000km from the town I grew up in?
Years ago I had a Canadian flag stitched to my backpack – it’s a badge of honour for Canucks overseas. It’s not there anymore – I don’t need it. My Canadian flag is stitched to my soul.
This realization usually comes about when I see something Canadian on the news. Last night it was a delightful little story about how Canadian PM Stephen Harper directly quoted a parliamentary address by the then Australian PM John Howard – a mere 48hrs after Howard made the original speech. You’d think he’d have his own opinions, especially seeing as the speech was an attempt to urge the Canadian parliament to join the US in the war in Iraq! This blog posting isn’t about the trifecta of village idiots (Bush, Howard and Harper) it’s actually more about the reality of living overseas from your home and native land, as the song goes.
More often then not, the bits and pieces we see in the media about Canada are stories like what came out yesterday (the news graphic they used was quite amusing and a little embarrassing – a kangaroo with moose horns attached – as soon as I saw that I knew I was in for trouble). The other stories that tend to get traction are large hockey fights, snowstorms that shut down cities and fluff pieces to end the newscast – things like clubbing baby seals.
But what’s it really like to be an expat? Here in Queenstown we have quite a large non-kiwi sect of the population and the results are very interesting. I think it’s the distance makes the heart grow fonder factor – this town is full of very patriotic folks. Take my usual Wednesday night activity – I play ice hockey down at the local rink. As a kid I played hockey in Canada (we all do) but by the time I was 18 I’d moved onto other things. But take me out of Canada and my desire to get on the ice intensifies to a fever pitch and all of a sudden I can’t get enough of it. And I’m not alone – I play hockey with players from all over the place – Canadians, Americans, Czechs, Sweed’s, the odd Australian, Pomms, and even some Kiwi’s.
Maybe it’s like living near an airport – at first the planes keep you up all night; but move away and you need those planes. There's a fabric that knits into the identity that is my heritage – that garment is a patchwork of hockey games, roller r’s, snow days, hearing The Hip on the radio and poutine on the menu. Maybe it takes leaving to appreciate what is really important – and maybe what’s really important aren’t the big ticket items you expect them to be. Maybe what makes up your identity are a thousand little things that on their own seem almost silly. Flickers of memories and a self imposed perception of what we’re supposed to do. Is it odd to feel more Canadian then ever living 13,000km from the town I grew up in?
Years ago I had a Canadian flag stitched to my backpack – it’s a badge of honour for Canucks overseas. It’s not there anymore – I don’t need it. My Canadian flag is stitched to my soul.
sk
2 comments:
Awwwwwwww.....
(sniffling proudly)
You honeydripper, you.
Until you come home Scott Kennedy, WE STAND ON GUARD FOR THEE.
What's it like having Halloween in the Spring?
that's the thing - they don't really 'do' Halloween here! nobody gets dressed up, not even kids. they only really know about it from TV and movies...
i knew you'd keep watch while i was away - keep up the good work, eh!
S
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