Woes and joys of being an expat

My life is one big expat story. I was raised in the English community of a French-speaking province, by a single, Peruvian, Spanish-speaking mother. But my father is Anglo-saxon Canadian from an old-school English family, and who is a die-hard francophile whose new life is completely Francophone (his children, his job, his neighborhood, his friends, etc.).

Never felt really Canadian, because no matter how patriotic I could ever be, I am from Québec. (i.e., that special, special, special place in Canada, that when discussed, must always lead to some kind of disclaimer or post-script).

Never felt really Québecois, because I studied at private English schools and grew up living in English neighborhoods (i.e., even after I became bilingual, my accent wasn't right, my CV was too snooty, my choice of current neighborhood, my general optimism and goodwill, made me the spoiled, rich little Anglo who had it easy, etc.).

Never felt really Anglo, because I grew up in a South American home (i.e., Christmas was celebrated on the 24th, we danced at parties, we HAD parties, old-fashioned ideas about male/female roles/relationships, we went to Peru for every Christmas or Spring Break, etc.).

Never felt really South American, because inevitably, I had Canadian values and habits (i.e., I was punctual, sincere, honest, took people at their word, hated make-up, found soft drugs harmless and pre-marital sex a pre-requisite to any long-lasting relationship, etc.).

For years, my search for a sense of belonging/community/identity was closely tied to my self-esteem, even though I was mostly unaware of this deep need. I hated the feeling of always having to explain myself. Not know where a particular expression I used came from (is it an American thing? a Canadian thing? a Québec thing? an ignorance thing?). Not being able to keep up with pop culture in any country or language. Of having to explain myself, my name, my linguistic ability, or not. Nowadays, people still think I was lucky.

To make things worse, now I am an expat. I married an Italian (who, btw, is blond, doesn't like soccer, is not attached to his mother, who cooks, cleans, and is generally a kind, sensitive, generous man).

Yup. I live in northern Italy. But I work in Italian Switzerland. At an American School. But I don't teach.

Yup. So I am starting a blog. The craziness that is my life and what goes through my head has to go somewhere, right? I am the living antithesis of a stereotype.

Enjoy!