American Expats in Argentina: One Year Later

WATCH THE VIDEO ABOVE

A year’s gone by since we left the U.S. to come live in Argentina. In the last twelve months I’ve seen the good and the bad, and experienced so much. I’ve found myself both fascinated and annoyed by this culture’s way of life. In some ways, Argentina is similar to life in the States, but in other ways, they are nothing alike. 

Although life has managed to drag me in all sorts of direction since birth, I’ve never been very good at adapting to change. I was reluctant to come to Argentina because I knew that it wouldn’t be easy for me to adjust to Argentine culture. Ultimately, I didn’t have a choice.

One Year Ago: me with my husband on the right

I’ve always known you have to do what’s best for the people you love. From a psychological standpoint, my husband needed a change. He’s been through a rough couple of years, and I’ve seen how much that’s changed him, and not for the better.

Coming to Argentina gave me the opportunity to provide us with a permanent roof over our heads. It also allowed him to get the treatment he needed for his Darier’s Disease — a genetic curse passed down to nearly every male in his family. It gave him the chance to experience a new culture, too.

I suppose I’m grateful for all of that. And yet, it’s been very rough on me.

In the last year alone, I’ve learned how different the laws, customs, and values are down here, and it's not what I'm used to. Lately, I find myself clashing with everyone. I'm angry all the time. Just recently, I almost came to blows with someone at the public hospital because they felt that their condition took priority over my husband’s and wanted to cut us in line. I'd probably be in jail right now if the hubs hadn't stopped me.

At the University of Cordoba, I attempted to find more information on the different career programs, but I couldn’t find a single person who could offer any kind of constructive advice. This is nothing like my experience at Miami Dade Community College in Miami or Valencia Community College in Orlando.

As far as the job search is concerned, I still can’t find one. At this point, I'd settle for cleaning floors. Actually, I wouldn't. I've always worked in the Admin field, and I didn't uproot myself thousands of miles just to clean floors in a foreign country. But the Argentines laugh at anyone over the age of 25 looking to apply for a job at a bank, an office, a convenience store, a Walmart or a McDonald’s. Age and gender discrimination is totally normal and legal! I’ve found that the best job offers are in the capital of Buenos Aires. So you’re probably asking yourself, “Why don’t you move there?” There are things that tie me to Cordoba, like my parents and the properties they need me to manage. We're also too broke to move to B.A., at least for now.

Meanwhile, I find that the more time passes, the more disconnected I feel from my old life in the United States, and the traditions I’ve learned to value and cherish. My friends and family are barely hitting likes or commenting on anything I post on social media, which means they're moving on and forgetting all about me. 

I guess I can't expect them to act any different being that I'm so far away. The only thing that would possibly bring me comfort is the realization that I’m adapting and integrating into my new life in Argentina… but I’d be lying if I told you this was true. I’m a man out of place. It feels as if some great force has taken me out of time and space. I’m trapped in a limbo that I can’t get out of. I’m neither here nor there.  I don’t know who I am here, or whether I’ll ever learn to be okay here. 

The few things that actually brought me comfort are starting to slip away, too. My dream of becoming a successful writer is virtually dead. I have no one rooting for me to succeed. Everyone here says my writing is simply a hobby that I shouldn’t invest much time in. That’s probably because people in Argentina don’t seem to have dreams. Everyone’s lives are already laid out for them. You grow up. You find a job at a young age, get married, have kids, retire, and die.

I’m also at that age where I know I’m going to start losing people sooner rather than later. My father’s mind is starting to go. My mother doesn’t notice it or maybe she refuses to notice it, but I see it. Although he and I have never been able to have a civilized conversation without screaming at each other, I don’t know if I’m ready to not have him in my life. Healthwise, my mother’s been having respiratory problems, but the doctors are having difficulties pinpointing what is wrong with her. Despite this, I think she’s probably got another twenty years left in her. Most of my cousins, who never left Argentina, have their own lives and their own problems. Worrying about me is not a priority and as a hurtful as that sounds, it makes sense. I never grew up here. I’m a foreigner and a perfect stranger to them. They owe me nothing.

Then there’s my husband. Recently, he had a health scare. A trauma surgeon mistook a growth in his hand for Cancer. In 2008, his grandparents and father died of Cancer. Seeing as to how his dad died so young made us come to terms with the possibility that my husband’s expiration date might be sixteen years from now, relatively the same age his dad was when he passed. Fortunately, the diagnosis was incorrect. The hubs dodged the Cancer bullet for the second time in the last two years. One thing that I’m sure of is that I couldn't handle living here if I lost him. Hell, I don't think I'd go on living without him.  

One Year Later: me with my husband

Alright! So, this wasn’t the bubbly one-year expat blog entry I intended to write, but at least it’s honest. I owe that much to those of you who follow my blog. What will our second year in Argentina bring? Oh, I hope it comes with a job, new adventures, new opportunities, new friends, and THE LIFE I SO DESPERATELY NEED RIGHT NOW!

Oh… and me losing ten pounds wouldn’t hurt either. I’m just saying. That double chin is getting more noticeable.