I’m sitting alone in a cafe in Doha. The airconditioning is doing a spectacular job of keeping the room (encased in glass) chilled, outside is a swirl of humidity and 45 degree heat. There’s a stretch of ice blue water between me and the Doha city skyline. I’m on a man made island commonly known as The Pearl. With my laptop open I occasionally stop between key strokes to gaze across the water – jet skis, dhow boats and luxury yachts make their way across the water.
I’m sharing the cafe with about ten others, mostly men. I am the only person who doesn’t have a shisha pipe resting in the corner of my mouth. I don’t mind the smell, but I love the sound – bubble bubble bubble. With indoor smoking, piping hot weather and the murmur of arabic in the background I could not be further from Australia.
My phone sits face up on the table – I’m alone but connected.
When I began this expat life twenty five years ago “connected” had nothing to do with technology and hand held devices. Dial up internet was expensive, slow and unreliable – catching up with family was a Sunday evening phone call with a list of reminders. My parents would tell me who’d they’d run into “down the street” or where they were going next week “Say hi from me…”.
Is “Say Hi from me” redundant now? When we all have the ability to DM, text and share is “Say Hi from me” somehow lazy, irrelevant?
My geographical discombobulation is amplified by alerts from Australian news sites. Footballers who are being delisted, where Australia’s most notorious criminals went to school (seriously that’s an article) and a hit and run close to home – I immediately take a look at find my iphone to confirm what I already know my four children are home safe and sound. Best to check. Isn’t it?
This expat life is so far from the one I began and while the technology initially appeared to make life so much simpler my fear is it’s actually done the opposite. With each update from another land, another life, another long distance love or friendship, this simple life becomes more layered and confusing. I am constantly reminded of people who are now out of my reach.
While we once carried our families in our hearts we now also carry them in our pockets. I video message with girlfriends watching them walk down familiar streets to get to the office. I talk my children through heart aches, job interviews, doctors appointments and five kilometre runs. I love that I can see them, hear them, giggle with them – but are we really equipped to shift and move between the two realities?
The waiter hands me a gift “I’m sorry I didn’t order this” I think he’s made a mistake “no it’s for you, you’ll like it” he smiles. It’s a small dish of Muhallebi, a middle eastern milk pudding. He’s right, I love it – and just like that I’m transported back to reality. I’m sitting alone in a cafe in Doha.
