One of the first old friends I bumped into was Kenneth’s dad, as I call him. On greeting him, he was a bit bewildered as to why I was living in Portugal of all places. And honestly, I do ask myself that question quite often.
I struggled to really explain to him why I was there, mainly because it boils down to a lot of factors and gut feeling, and the reason has changed over time. The witty answer is “to find my brother’s spouse,” but that’s a story for another day.
Anyway, my mother stepped in to explain, instead, why I wasn’t in the UK, as maybe she thought that would be easier for him to understand. And of course I knew it would, because I remember the lengths his own son Samuel had gone to to obtain his wife’s right to reside in the UK.
“The UK government won’t give his wife a visa…” she started. His whole demeanour shifted from understandably puzzled to “oh, I completely understand, I’m so sorry.”
It made me think of how many similar winding paths church members have been on which, on the face of it, can’t be easily understood.
Why are you here?
Why are you dedicating your life to this or that mission?
Why did your blessing not work out?
It makes you wonder how deeply you understand and can empathise with those around you.
In many ways, I feel rejected by the UK, my mother. The country that gave me my spiritual foundation, where all my childhood memories were formed — the country that claims to be so supportive won’t allow my wife residence here, doesn’t recognise my children as British citizens, and has become prohibitively expensive for the vast majority of people to live a semi-decent existence.
And simultaneously, I seem to see foreigners everywhere — especially the single-male-with-no-family types, or the “I want to sell or do cocaine with you” types, or the “welcome to my vape shop, actually a front for a prostitution ring” types, or the flip-flop-wearing, always-on-the-phone types, or the tweeting-out-on-the-street-corner types, or the pyjama-wearing, overweight, Uber Eats–ordering types.
In my home town, where I grew up, I hear Arabic spoken more than I do English now. I no longer recognise anyone when I walk down my street; the coffee shops and bakeries have been replaced with shisha lounges and sari outfitters.
Wouldn’t the countryside be nicer? Maybe, but at that point, why stay in the UK if you’re moving away from where you’re from and what you know? I was practically interrogated by a Portuguese friend of mine, who lives in London, as to why my family decided to live in the Portuguese countryside — as if it needed justification, when the alternative is the current state of the UK.
Was living in Portugal or Japan lonely? Sure.
Not understanding what people are saying sucks.
Never fully feeling accepted by a country sucks.
Not understanding why things are done a certain way, when you would do it differently, sucks.
But nothing sucks more than being in your own home and it not feeling like home.