Coming Home

A friend of mine is a third culture kid – someone who’s grown up in another country before coming back to their home country. In a recent conversation, she remarked that my sister’s children would probably be the same, considering their current expatriate status. 

I was surprised to realize how much I hated the idea. 

It shouldn’t have been that surprising since I myself had to make the decision to come back to Malaysia after getting my degree in Australia, when most people were still contemplating the possibility of migrating and starting a new life post degree. 

Up to today I still have a lot of people asking me why I didn’t take that option. 

It wasn’t a decision that I had to think long and hard about. 

At the end of the day I wanted to be near family. My parents were getting older, and despite them still being healthy and independent, there may come a day where they may not be – and I felt that need to be there for them should that day ever come. I wanted to be around in their time of need, not someone who had to fly over oceans in order to be by their side. I wanted to be with friends, a support system that I found invaluable, and despite having made new friendships in my time abroad, some which I have maintained close ties, my oldest, dearest friends are still back in the old neighbourhoods, in those comfortable areas of home – and those were ones I wanted to surround myself with as I grew older. 

I chose to come back because I was selfish ad I wanted to be surrounded by loved ones. 

Because the better pay and the better lifestyle could not compensate for the ones I loved, and all I wanted was to live a life with my loved ones in it, no matter where it was - and as it was, they were all here at home.