Photo: Thanh Luu
Ever since my application for a long-term EU residence was denied a few weeks ago, I’ve felt as though the past three years of sacrifices had become a life sentence. Everything I had denied myself while waiting to move to my dream country has suddenly acquired clearly defined outlines. The weight of every book I refused to buy because “I’ll be moving soon” has never felt so heavy. The enormity of my decision not to date — a choice I reaffirmed every day for the past three years that led to countless days of loneliness — amplified tenfold in a matter of hours. Avoiding social interactions or building a community because I didn’t feel comfortable with the language — and not working on my language skills because “I’m not staying” — suddenly stared into my face with unprecedented gravity.
Postponing joy until some long-awaited milestone isn’t something groundbreaking. We’ve all been guilty of it at some point in our lives or other. Sometimes it isn’t even a choice — all we can do is wait. Other times, it’s the ancient wisdom teaching us that patience pays off and delayed gratification brings bigger fruits. The Dream, after all, is worth waiting for.
But the cost to this virtuous self-denial is living our years only half-present. The Dream and The Wait are two sides of the same coin.
Ever since I decided where I wanted to move and started taking real steps towards making it happen, I’ve been aware I was only living half a life. I compensated for it by enjoying to the fullest what I could enjoy: solo dates, girl friendships, slow mornings, quiet evenings, living alone for the first time in years. But there was so much that had to wait until I moved, which is when my real life would begin. I’d start building a credit score so I could get a loan for a house someday. I would start dating so I would have a chance at finding love again. I’d live a life that was truly mine.
Whereas for the past three years I’ve been living… what exactly? A borrowed life that I knew had an expiration date? Yes, that sounds about right. The day would come when I would finally be moving, and then I’d need to find a new home for my books and house plants, clothes and other miscellaneous possessions, get a passport for my cat, and start a new life in a new country where my ribcage wouldn’t be constricted from the awareness that I shouldn’t fall in love, I shouldn’t get attached, I shouldn’t get too comfortable because this isn’t my final destination.
We’re reluctant to put down roots when we’re in transition — I’ll be the first to admit it. Many students on exchange programs, people in temporary jobs, and expats in transit have experienced the pull of a relationship, a community, or some earthly comforts that they didn’t feel free to accept because “they’re not staying.” But every “no, thank you” makes our lives a lonelier place to be, slowly chipping away at our identities, raising the question: where do we belong? We no longer fully belong in the present, yet the future isn’t quite ready for us to step into.
Listen, are you breathing just a little, and calling it a life?
Mary Oliver
Learning that what I thought would happen and finally allow me to claim the life I wanted isn’t going to happen — at least not for some years — has shed an ugly light on the emptiness that has formed in place of those bits of life that I had a good reason to postpone. This emptiness doesn’t taste like regret, though. I stand by my decision not to seek love now and sentence myself to choosing between my relationship and The Dream later on. Some aspects of my reality aren’t even choices — I can’t force myself to feel as if I belong in this country I’m living in, and heaven knows I’ve tried.
What my emptiness does taste like is grief. I grieve the life I’ve been dreaming about for years, but I can’t start living it because of some legal limitations over which I have no power or control. I grieve the choices I had to make under the guidance of my values and intuition — hard choices, albeit the right ones. I grieve the culture I long for because I count on it to finally make me feel like I belong.
Most importantly, I grieve the time — every day spent waiting for my life to acquire the shape I’ve been picturing for it for the past few years. Like a Disney heroine, I, too, sweep my floors, read my books, paint my walls, brush my hair, and wonder: when will my life begin?
It’s frightening how quickly the years spent waiting are slipping away, and there’s no guarantee The Wait will amount to something. What if it becomes the blueprint for the rest of life? A familiar template for a restless existence in a state of suspension.
Is there anything, then, to make it feel less like doing time and more like, well, living? Even in restlessness, even in a rootless existence, there’s joy to be found. Human connection, however temporary, can still uplift and bring fulfillment. An ice-cream cone on a hot summer day still brings that innocent childish pleasure. It’s in the interest of anyone stuck in transit to become as receptive to life’s small joys as is humanly possible, because that is the secret to making it to the other side of The Wait.
I’m grateful for the miracles I am allowed: the fiery sunsets visible from my apartment windows, a room of my own where I can write undisturbed, and a best friend who is pure grace in human form. But boy, am I sick of existing in the world of delayed gratification. It infuriates me that my timeline for finding love, among other things, is in the hands of the local authorities that make residence-related decisions, and yet I shudder at the thought of falling in love here, knowing that its ending isn’t a mere possibility but a guarantee. After all, “I’m not staying.”
A life in limbo is full of longing — a thirst that should be possible to satisfy, yet the well never has enough water. Isn’t it a tragedy that there are things we crave that are out of reach? Things that aren’t just whims, but desires that have been tried and tested by time and circumstance over and over again, and they’ve only come out stronger for that? Desires we can’t tame because they take root in the very essence of our nature, our spirit.
For the record, this isn’t me telling you to light the good candle or use the fancy perfume without waiting for a special occasion. This is me recognizing we don’t always have the luxury of living our lives to the fullest. There are periods of waiting that require — even demand — sacrifices. There are moments when the life we crave feels so close, but not close enough for us to step into it and finally start living it.
And so, stuck in limbo, we wait.
We do our best, taking in the joys our present life allows us.
We let ourselves grieve the time spent in a state of suspension.
And we hope — for the love of tomorrow’s dawn, we hope that The Wait will soon be over and our life will begin.
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