Let’s face it: the romantic idea of being an expat, sipping wine under Tuscan sunrises or navigating Tokyo’s neon wonderland with mysterious cool, is mostly a Pinterest-fuelled fantasy. In reality, it’s figuring out how to use a washing machine with German buttons, or bribing your microwave to just please not explode this time, figuring out that you can’t run the kettle and the toaster at the same time, as it will short the electrics (true story). But over time, I learned that home isn’t a place. It’s a strategy. A bit of improvisation, a smidge of cultural curiosity, and more than a few hilarious missteps. So, here’s how I made each country I landed in feel less like a prolonged travel mishap and more like a place I belonged.
Step 1: Create a Ritual (Coffee Helps)
Everywhere I moved, from Australia to the Middle East to Ireland (even when travelling the globe), I started by crafting a “first-week ritual.” In Australia, it was ordering coffee and Avocado on toast at the same café daily until the staff knew my name (or at least “the weird one who grins a lot”). In Dubai, it was morning coffee at the local international coffee chain (they’re everywhere)… And, in Ireland, I even managed to get them to know my order when I walked in. Doppio espresso….
Rituals ground you. They tell your brain, “This is your life now.” Even if that life involves highly suspect laundry detergent and incomprehensible bus schedules.
Step 2: Master the Art of Saying “Sorry, I’m Foreign”
It’s incredible how many doors the phrase “I’m new here” opens. Sometimes literally, like when I couldn’t figure out how to unlock my apartment in Dublin. Locals are surprisingly generous when they realise you’re not incompetent, just… delightfully misplaced.
In Singapore, I got lost in a seven-story electronics store and wound up in a karaoke booth with three salarymen who thought I was part of their work party. Did I sing? Absolutely. Did I know the words to any of the songs? Not even remotely. But I learned one critical thing: when in doubt, commit with gusto.
Step 4: Butcher the Language with grace
I am fluent in exactly zero languages, but I am enthusiastic in about six. My French makes toddlers cry, and my Arabic once caused a shopkeeper to ask if I was proposing marriage (I wasn’t). But I showed up, I tried, and I kept trying.
I can now say, hello, goodbye, thank you, please and a few other choice (if not printable) words in about 12 languages.
Step 5: Adopt a Local Vice (Or Hobby)
Every country has its quirks. In Belgium, it might be beer tasting (be careful – it’s strong stuff). In Australia, people were complaining about the shortening of words: arvo, servo, smoko… (an art form, really). In the UAE, I took up salsa lessons. It is not a local tradition, obviously, but it is a wonderful ice-breaker and is like attending the United Nations – everyone from everywhere with a common interest. It’s a great skill to have; you can find classes/socials all over the world.
Still, I immersed myself in what locals loved. Even if I did it terribly. That’s how you bond: not over shared skill, but shared delight.
Step 6: Forget Perfection
Here’s the thing: you will never fully know your new country. You won’t understand all the unspoken rules, you’ll mess up etiquette, and you’ll probably use hand gestures that mean something wildly inappropriate. In my experience, if you do make a monumental idiot of yourself (I’ve done it more than once) when committing some local tradition faux-pas, explaining that you are still totally ‘fresh off the boat’ will give you a lot of leeway…just remember not to do it again!
Accept it.
Embrace being the outsider who bumbles their way toward belonging. You’re not building a flawless replica of your past home; you’re stitching together a new one, with fabric that’s colourful, mismatched, and probably covered in sauce stains from a failed cooking adventure.
Bonus: Decorate with Intention (Even if You’re Minimalist-ish)
One tiny trick that worked wonders? Plant life. Every country I’ve lived in, I’ve bought a potted plant. It became my anchor. Even if everything else was temporary: visa, job, friendships, my little green companion grew roots. And so did I. I give this advice freely as it was given to me, and I stick to it religiously. However, sadly, I do not have a green thumb (or I forget to water them), so I have left a trail of dead plants in my wake despite trying!
Final Thought: You’re Not “Starting Over.” You’re Adding Chapters.
Being an expat doesn’t mean shedding your identity. It means stretching it. Adding languages, customs, and laughably bad karaoke performances to your story. Each country leaves fingerprints on your soul and smudges on your passport.
So go ahead, make your next home out of coffee rituals, cooking mishaps, and heartfelt attempts to pronounce street names. Your version of “home” might not fit on a map, but it’ll live perfectly in your heart. Eventually, you will find that ‘home’ is not about the place, but about the people that you meet on the journey.
