Foreigners and Exiles: this fits, and doesn't.
I am a foreigner, and an exile, but don't let those words mislead you. After fourteen years here, I am also an active part of my community. I participate -- limitedly, but with notable effect -- in government. I live in "their" language (and not in English), i play give-and-take with my neighbors, and i give -- personally, face-to-face -- smiles and satisfaction and goods and services at least as much as i take, at least enough to deny any abuse of my alien status, of the wealth and power i supposedly enjoy by virtue of my American birth. So how can i say i'm a foreigner? Nor an exile, really, because i'm comfortable with my life here, and as i sense things (though i can't really know), happiness seems easier here than it would be "back home". So in this way, the name fits -- and does not.
But then there's the problem of the plural: there is only one of me, but the name suggests many. It isn't presumption. As an established exile i happen to know a great many other foreigners and travellers. Sometimes I serve as a doorway for them, helping them to adapt and manage the strange ways of this land, whether or not they decide to settle. This a pleasure, a very great pleasure, freely given -- and because most leave within a year or two, and i am not the sort to correspond, our relationship ends when they return home. Thus, it turns out that for most of these fourteen years i have only known foreigners and exiles. So the name also fits.
It's not easy being a foreigner; i don't think i can repeat that often enough, because there are so many ways and places that it's forgotten. Too many Americans think of their exiles cynically, as people who have left behind a blessed land of wealth and freedom and opportunity to take advantage of less-informed, rather primitive and doomed peoples (unless, that is, the exile has moved to Europe, where they're mostly considered more sinfully indulgent than anything else).
If the exile in question has chosen to live some place like Mexico, or the Philippines (or Latin America, or the rest of Asia, or Africa, or basically anywhere else in the wide world, including Australia), then there is always the suspicion that some unforgivable sin is involved, something well beyond indulgence, perhaps something carnal. It may only be a suspicion, but it flavors every exchange, and before long becomes quite a stink.
Honestly, i sometimes encounter traces of the same suspicions in myself. Two years ago, for instance, i encountered on the 'Net a "successful" (as she described herself) American woman who lives in a Mexican resort-town. Rightly or wrongly, after our exchange i immediately suspected her of some wrong-doing. Perhaps the feeling was irresponsible; after all, i too am an exile, and a foreigner, and i know how the prejudice goes. Yet one could respond with the opposite assertion, as well -- i, too, am an exile, and a foreigner, and so who'd understand better what reasoning or behavior is sincere, and what isn't? The question could only be answered by examining her life and my reactions, and this log, this poly-log (better than a dia-log) might perhaps help provide an answer, or at least some guidance to a better question.
Thus, the name fits.
Except that here i arrive at another problem: i'll not restrict myself to words about foreigners and exiles. Even if i could i wouldn't try. I'm in this because it's fun, because it feels good, because i like to ask questions and i like to write (which has not always been true; nor reading...). There is no way i could restrict myself to rants about the small things of my personal life and remain interested. I have had too much time to mull over my life here, and there is much my freedom pushes to declare. So in these pages i will speak as critic, as judge, and as counsel; i will do so because, although i am a happy exile, and a content foreigner, i am also a native American, who sometimes longs for a distant home that has is obscured by my past, and seems to erode more quickly every year.
I am a foreigner, and an exile, but don't let those words mislead you. After fourteen years here, I am also an active part of my community. I participate -- limitedly, but with notable effect -- in government. I live in "their" language (and not in English), i play give-and-take with my neighbors, and i give -- personally, face-to-face -- smiles and satisfaction and goods and services at least as much as i take, at least enough to deny any abuse of my alien status, of the wealth and power i supposedly enjoy by virtue of my American birth. So how can i say i'm a foreigner? Nor an exile, really, because i'm comfortable with my life here, and as i sense things (though i can't really know), happiness seems easier here than it would be "back home". So in this way, the name fits -- and does not.
But then there's the problem of the plural: there is only one of me, but the name suggests many. It isn't presumption. As an established exile i happen to know a great many other foreigners and travellers. Sometimes I serve as a doorway for them, helping them to adapt and manage the strange ways of this land, whether or not they decide to settle. This a pleasure, a very great pleasure, freely given -- and because most leave within a year or two, and i am not the sort to correspond, our relationship ends when they return home. Thus, it turns out that for most of these fourteen years i have only known foreigners and exiles. So the name also fits.
It's not easy being a foreigner; i don't think i can repeat that often enough, because there are so many ways and places that it's forgotten. Too many Americans think of their exiles cynically, as people who have left behind a blessed land of wealth and freedom and opportunity to take advantage of less-informed, rather primitive and doomed peoples (unless, that is, the exile has moved to Europe, where they're mostly considered more sinfully indulgent than anything else).
If the exile in question has chosen to live some place like Mexico, or the Philippines (or Latin America, or the rest of Asia, or Africa, or basically anywhere else in the wide world, including Australia), then there is always the suspicion that some unforgivable sin is involved, something well beyond indulgence, perhaps something carnal. It may only be a suspicion, but it flavors every exchange, and before long becomes quite a stink.
Honestly, i sometimes encounter traces of the same suspicions in myself. Two years ago, for instance, i encountered on the 'Net a "successful" (as she described herself) American woman who lives in a Mexican resort-town. Rightly or wrongly, after our exchange i immediately suspected her of some wrong-doing. Perhaps the feeling was irresponsible; after all, i too am an exile, and a foreigner, and i know how the prejudice goes. Yet one could respond with the opposite assertion, as well -- i, too, am an exile, and a foreigner, and so who'd understand better what reasoning or behavior is sincere, and what isn't? The question could only be answered by examining her life and my reactions, and this log, this poly-log (better than a dia-log) might perhaps help provide an answer, or at least some guidance to a better question.
Thus, the name fits.
Except that here i arrive at another problem: i'll not restrict myself to words about foreigners and exiles. Even if i could i wouldn't try. I'm in this because it's fun, because it feels good, because i like to ask questions and i like to write (which has not always been true; nor reading...). There is no way i could restrict myself to rants about the small things of my personal life and remain interested. I have had too much time to mull over my life here, and there is much my freedom pushes to declare. So in these pages i will speak as critic, as judge, and as counsel; i will do so because, although i am a happy exile, and a content foreigner, i am also a native American, who sometimes longs for a distant home that has is obscured by my past, and seems to erode more quickly every year.
posted by Mr. Stone at 2:23 PM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home