Rehab For Expats To De-Pat

Ever one to be full of fabulous entrepreneurial ideas, I have been pondering one lately which I believe has great untapped potential. The thought came over me yesterday as I contemplated the resounding success of my post on the 20 thingses I will miss about Xījiãpō.

My complex, mysterious brain threw forth the idea that there should be rehab places for the Expaterati, to assist in the transformation from expat to normal person, via means of extreme re-immersion. (Clara says re-patting, like any major change, is “an opportunity for transformation”, and I suppose she could be right. Still sucks though.) The rehabs would have the geographical locations of small, dull villages in whichever country the expat is returning to. Being from the UK, I will use this as my example for illustratory purposification.

So the rehab would be in a village far away from London, to make it as difficult as possiblé for the ex-expat to access excitement, diversity and vibrancy during the therapeutic process. They would be installed in fairly average accommodation (fully staffed, of course – let’s not push people completely over the edge!), and required to undertake mundane, but purposeful activities throughout the day. These could include volunteering at the post office (which would be super useful because I don’t think the Royal Mail have paid staff anymore), working at the village shop, doing dog-walking for local residents, or other more specific employment related to individuals’ skill-sets.

If the ex-expat has children, there will be absolutely no school bus, and therefore thusly a significant proportion of waking hours will be dedicated to ferrying said children around and sitting in traffic. Car stereos will be locked to the most tedious local radio stations, and phones or other devices will not be permitted in vehicles.

There will also be a strict requirement for community participication, including, but not limited to, organising events such as church fêtes, disseminating information on woefully boring local issues, and providing foreign language tuition for village residents, in the event that any languages were picked up during expathood. Community involvement notwithstanding, the insular nature of the locals and their strong indecipherable accents will mean that at no point will the ex-expat feel a sense of belonging to the community, and will therefore thusly experience alienation, rejection, and an inability to build relationships with anyone in said community. It may sound harsh, but this would be a particularly important aspect of the treatment, adopting, as it does, the evidence-based technique known as swamping, wherein the patient is exposed to the very thing they dread. No pain no gain, babeses!

There will also be a series of mindfulness-based DBT courses, all of which must be completed in sequence before the ex-expat is assessed as ready to leave the rehab. These will focus on issues like:

  • Being a small and insignificant fish in a large rancid pond
  • Surviving without a tan, or even a healthy glow
  • Not constantly referring to the awesome places where one has lived, and how much better they are
  • Concealing one’s light behind a bushel (in my case, the bushel is going to have to be mahusiv)
  • Getting used to the drudgery of long days, particularly if re-patting from Singas, where the days dash by
  • Only meeting new people occasionally, and accepting that they might not realise how profoundly fascinating you are

Depending on the specific presentification of the patient, there may be restrictions on behaviour or permissible activities. For example, it may be necessary to disallow alcohol consumption, the smoking of cigars, dining out, or the playing of social sports. Any activity which sustained or brought meaning/ structure/ pleasure to the ex-expats life whilst abroad will need to be eliminated for the duration of rehabilititation.

The final essential component is group and individual therapy. Clara always says that Drama and Movement Therapy is the best way to “bypass the ego and explore the deeper unconscious aspects of the self and the soul”, so that’s a must for inclusion in the treatment. Individual therapy with highly trained analysts – preferably Jungian – would need to happen up to five times a week, depending on how expatty the ex-expat is. The most expatty patients will be assigned therapists of the very highest calibre, who will take absolutely none of their sh**. Because a huge pile of that, there will inevitably be.

So I am hereby sharing my brilliant idea with the world, and I think you’ll find that it will soon be a huge success on Kickstarter. Investors, feel free to get in touch, though I will need to retain 51%. I am wondering about the name now… Perhaps The Hard Times Clinic. So heart Charlie Dickens. He should’ve kept his sentences shorter though.


Image credit: http://internationaltimes.it/

Image credit: http://internationaltimes.it/

Nearly four yrs since we lost you. If only you had gone to rehab, Ames babes. Then we’d still have lovely you. I was at a Four Seasons in Bali when I heard the news. Cried my heart out into that infinity pool.

Advertisements

Hot Sexy Pics, Anyone?!

I am interrupting my Shocking Expat Unfoldments three-part series to tell you about something v smart I’m doing for my marriage this week, which you should definitely do too. Given the state of perpetual marital bliss in which I find myself, I have been preparing a ground-breaking piece, entitled Expat Marital Bliss and How to Achieve It, and today I would like to give you one sneak-preview piece of advice.

Marriage among the Expaterati, as even a half-baked expat will know, is a tricky business. Certainly here in Singers, you don’t have to be here long to hear first-hand tales of marital woe. There are a number of fascinating explanations for this, and I am thinking of doing some investigatory journalism on the subject, and then making it into weekly serialised podcasts. Contact me to take part in an interview on the subject of “Expat Marriages Gone Bad”.

In the meantime, I will offer you one key explanation, as follows: the majority of men who are expats are really not up to scratch. Yes, ladies, that probably doesn’t include your delightful hus, but you will note that I have documented a scientificated study of the eight types of expat husband, and therein lies ample evidence of the point I am hereby unequivocally demonstrating.

Putting this issue aside, I want to return to what I am doing this week in pursuance of wifely amazingness. I have booked an exclusive Valentine’s photo shoot with a renowned photographer here in Xīnjiāpō who makes women super look hot. I will be presenting Don with these awesome photos as a gift on the 14th of Feb over a few glasses of Veuve Click, and hey presto, marital bliss achieved. Nailed it for another year! That, girlies, is how it’s done. You’re welcome.

 

If you're lucky you might be able to book her on a different date too (not helper's day off LOL)

If you’re lucky you might be able to book her on a different date too (not helper’s day off LOL)

 

Unusual Encounter at the Gym

It has been a rainy coupla days in Xīnjiāpō. Gravity feels like someone has turned the knob up, and it has been quite a challenge to maintain one’s usual high levels of productivity. Needs must, though, because the Ebola Halloween party is nearly upon us, and my team and I still have an awfo lot to do.

At least my costume has arrived. It really suits me. I would’ve made a good nurse. Or maybe more a doctor. Here it is:

HT_sexy_ebola_costume_jtm_141027_16x9_992

I can’t believe people actually believed the other sexy Ebola nurse costume online was for real. Come on!! It’s totes tasteless! There are just so many hoaxers on the internet these days.

Despite the rain and the heaviness and the party, I managed to muster the energy for a good canter on the treadie. Can’t have the saggage setting in! I’m a bit low on exciting treadmill chunes right now. My gym playlist badly needs up-dating (suggestions plz, dear readers!!). There’s nothing interesting on TED Talks other than Esther Perel, and I’ve already memorised every Tony Robbins talk available on YouTube.

So, I had to watch CNN. Also useful because Don and I are going out tonight, and it will be handy to have something to talk about. Then I began to wish I hadn’t watched it, because there was this awful story about how Chinese people can now also catch Ebola. This is really scary news. There are a lot of Chinese people. Argh.

Thank goodness we have raised close to S$200,000 in ticket sales alone for Friday; and that’s before the raffle, which should double that figure. Hopefully that will be enough to hurry up and get that vaccine sorted out. I mean, what are these medical people doing?? Guys! We’re in a bit of a rush, here!!

After my run, I did a few push-ups and planks to keep the armpit sag and bingo wingos at bay. A tall Caucasian guy came over while I was doing them – I had clocked him earlier on the treadmill directly behind me – and he started doing push-ups and planks too. With quite a bit of grunting, and loads more reps than I can do. After stretching, I got up to leave, and he got up too. Then he said, “You inspired me”. Hmmmmm. What, now?!

I was somewhat taken aback because people don’t usually talk to each other at the gym, right? So, I blurted out, “Yes, it’s a very heavy day today”. He grinned, and held the door open for me, while I wondered wth I had meant by that. I’m a mystery at times, even to myself. Because I didn’t know why I had said that, I made a quick dash for the changing rooms. True story!!

Splashing my face with cold water, I looked at myself in the mirror. I did look quite hot, so perhaps he was coming on to me. Was he?

Then I noticed that I was wearing my new MILF tshirt I got in Chinatown the other day. I wonder if that had anything to do with the unusual encounter.