Sarah Wallock“Returning Home from Abroad: Tears and a Big Reunion” is part of a month-long series I am doing on my readjustment into the US after living in New Zealand for 2 years during Covid-19.
I had a pretty big weekend. I moved continents and countries.
I left New Zealand and went long-distance with my boyfriend to see my family after 2 years apart and pursue a new job opportunity. I left my friend group. I moved out of my homey apartment. I sold and donated half of my stuff. I squeezed everything I own into 2 bags and one bag for my new snowboard. I left my favorite coffee shop. I left my dance crew that I created. I left the mountains and the lake.
I was going home to my family. I was going home to see many wonderful friends all over the state and country. I was going to visit my childhood home. I was going home to the beach, the waves and the ocean. I was going home to my favorite taco place. I was going home to move closer to home. To live surrounded by different mountains and lakes.
Tears
How do you say goodbye? If you have any insights on this, I am very interested. I am not entirely sure myself. “Hey fellow traveler and friend, thank you graciously for being my friend while we both lived in a foreign land for an unspecified amount of time during a pandemic. Cheers and see you somewhere in the world next. Best, your 2021 bestie.”
If you cry does it show you care? If you don’t cry are you doing something wrong?
I was feeling good, actually really good, just going through the motions of leaving. Something felt so right. I was starting to make decisions with my head and not my heart and it was a hard transition to make. Packing my room was an absolute nightmare, not because I had too much stuff, but because it signified a massive change. Why does it feel like owning less stuff somehow would make me free? I am not entirely sure…
After I packed everything up into neat little piles and suitcases, I waited. I waited to leave. I had been waiting since August 2020 for a new visa or job opportunity, so at this point I was used to waiting. But it didn’t make it any less mind-boggling. So all I could do now was wait to leave New Zealand.
Leaving Day: Queenstown
At the airport in Queenstown, I felt like I couldn’t breathe. My chest tightened and I thought at any moment I could throw up. Queenstown was my home and held so much comfort, but I knew it was time to move on.
Somehow, I was on the plane. The plane was backing away from my grocery store, my old dance studio, my friend’s houses and my life. I kept closing my eyes to check if the moment was real. I thought if I closed them long enough I could turn back time or get off the plane. I shut them even harder. Nope, nothing. There we went. The plane turned to fly out, my chest was constricted, and we zoomed into the sky.
Once we were up, I could finally rest easy. I looked down at some of the most beautiful mountains I have ever seen and strangely, I knew I made the right choice. Between all of the neighborhoods below, which held different memories, and the lakes and rivers I had swum in, I knew there were bigger mountains somewhere else. I was hungry to climb them.
Finally, my chest lightened up, my breathing went to pace, and I popped on a podcast and went about my life as if I was flying on an average day, not moving across the world.
The Layover: Auckland
I love a bit of solo travel so landing in Auckland was pretty fun. I still had not processed the fact that I was “gone.” When I walked into the international terminal, there was not a soul in sight. It felt like I was arriving on the last plane in. The realization came creeping in that the airport must be this quiet everyday because of the pandemic. Empty.
I cleared customs and walked through the international terminal with my jaw open. It was like a ghost town. I was sure my flight would be empty and I could lay across all the seats like a queen.
When I got to the gate, not so much. Hello all of Auckland and the NZ Navy student tour! More like, an entirely full plane.
The Long-haul Flight: Across the Pacific
In my second flight, I was at peace for the majority of my 12 hours. I was dozing in and out of sleep to episodes of “Modern Family” until I started chatting with the lady next to me from Germany.
She was heading back to visit her family in Germany and would be flying for 24 hours. When I started telling her my story, my chest tightened all over again. It was just as difficult this time around. That thought, “what in the world have I just done?” came creeping back in.
“It’s going to be hard,” she told me confidently. “I’ve done it many times and it’s always hard. 2 years away? Yeah they’ll definitely be a lot of culture shock.”
Culture Shock
Culture shock is the feeling of disorientation experienced by someone who is suddenly subjected to an unfamiliar culture, way of life, or set of attitudes.
Oxford Languages
That word. There it was again. Culture shock.
Okay, here I am. I am WAITING for the shock! When’s it gonna happen, where’s it gonna be? Is the tightness in my chest, culture shock? Is being in transit across the world, culture shock? Will being home be constant culture shock? Do seasoned travelers even experience culture shock?
Next week’s piece will chronicle the issue of culture shock more deeply, as I still am pondering many questions.
In Transit: 12 Hours of Flying
When we were 30 minutes from landing, I had to regulate my breathing again. Out and in. Out and in. I was so excited and nervous and overwhelmed with joy. When we flew over grey LA, tears welled in my eyes and they just sat there. The concrete buildings, grid streets, and smog in the atmosphere, upset me deeply. After being in a place so naturally beautiful, green and lush, the city life was a truly unsettling sight. At least I am moving to the mountains… I thought to myself.
We touched down and I could finally breathe again. Ahhhh, here we go. Give me the culture shock! I’M READY FOR IT!
After a 30 minute long and uncomfortable wait at Customs, I reached the front of the line. I was asked my name and told “Welcome home.” Why did he have to say home!? Then came the waterworks once again. Not dramatic movie star tears, but just quivery wet eyes. I don’t know how my face suddenly turned into a leaky tap, on again and off again. I was in a confused state.
LAX: A Place I Frequent
I grabbed my luggage and headed to the curb to met my friend, Devon. We jumped into an embrace and I let out one final mini sob of relief. Relief of not fighting for my legal status anymore, relief of being in California, relief of being around a loved one, relief of finishing my border crossing, and relief that my new life was beginning. Although the feeling of deep relief was unfamiliar, everything else was. Aggressive drivers, sunny weather, tall palm trees, hoards of tourists, and large green freeway signs.
Within seconds, everything was back to normal. It was back to the way it always had been. Devon and Sarah driving around LA, listening to funky music, laughing about everything and nothing and planning every meal for the next 2 weeks. No time had passed.
From the moment I saw Devon, everything was okay again. No more tears, no more unexpected bouts of anticipation or sadness or confusion, just pure cruising and a wonderful wave internal calm. Four days later, this peacefulness is still the case.
The Big Reunion
I was SO nervous to see my parents after two years.
First, let’s get a few things straight.
- There was a global pandemic
- There were no flights for much of 2020
- My partner is from a different nationality, which means, we had to remain in NZ to stay physically together
- If we left, we could have gotten separated for an unknown period of time
- If we wanted to migrate to NZ (which we did at certain points), the visas would restrict our movement
Just a few fun points to think about living abroad and some of the sacrifices we made to stay Covid free and physically together. We missed our families deeply but we were confident in our decision to stay abroad. Or as the US State Department said, “remain abroad indefinitely.”
I kept imagining the moment I would see my parents again. Every night before bed, I would think, what’s it going to be like to see them again? Everyone will hysterically cry. I was so convinced. Our love is so profound and deep, it has to be tears!
I don’t know what I was thinking, or what dramatic TV I’ve been watching, or how much I simply built something up in my head, but that surely wasn’t the case. Let’s get something else straight, I wasn’t living on a desert island without Wifi. Even though I lived abroad, I talked to my parents all the time! Hello Wifi!
LA to Santa Barbara: A Drive From a Past Life
Devon and I drove. And drove. And drove. And sat in traffic and finally made it to my freeway exit. She’s driven to my house hundreds of times and I’ve driven to it thousands.
We pulled up to my driveway and I was so relaxed. I got out my luggage and heard the garage door open.
The week before I had thought: What will they look like? Will they look different? Will they sound different? It HAS to be different, I thought.
My parents walked out in a comfortable Southern California swagger and squeezed me hard. They looked the absolute same. We all walked inside and somehow, everything felt so normal and so right.
Roasted veggies for dinner, guacamole on the counter, See’s candy ready to be eaten. There was even a personalized gift basket, themed for my new job in the mountains, that was patiently waiting for me on my bed.
This scene could have taken place on any given day in my childhood or a summer day when I was visiting from college. It could have even existed two years before, when Nick and I spent the summer at home in California. But it was happening today.
Some things never change. God, does it feel good to be home.
