~4 min read.

I live in Geneva. I struggle to live in Geneva! My French is terrible, the administrative systems are challenging to navigate, I’m a vegan in the land of milk and cheese, and generally I confuse the locals with my Mr. Bean demeanour. Yet I love the international atmosphere here and expat life. I think some of us are born with itchy feet, and over the years, it’s become easier for us to follow our itchy feet. More and more people have accents that don’t match their skin colour – which is a delight!

Mauritian Dad

My Dad’s parents immigrated to Mauritius from China, to seek their fortune. They set up a shop on a sugar farm, selling groceries to the workers. His mother spoke Hakka, a Chinese dialect, so this was officially my Dad’s first language. But at school he learnt English and French, and spoke Creole with his friends and nine siblings. In the evening he would help his Dad in the shop. He sat atop a giant stack of old newspapers from the UK, and would fold the papers into small containers for produce to be sold to customers. But he would get distracted as he marvelled at the seemingly endless stories within these papers. So much was happening in these far off lands! So at 19 he set off and moved to London. After the sharp shock of the first winter, he settled into his life, relishing in the starry lights of London.

Kiwi Mum

Meanwhile, in New Zealand, my mum’s family were packing up their things to move to London. My grandfather was originally from London, but left at aged 11 as an evacuee at the beginning of WW2. He was sent to Monmouth, Wales, where his sister always remained. But my Grandad also had itchy feet. Towards the end of war he was in the Merchant Navy. During a short trip to Auckland, he met my grandmother. Three days later when he had to depart, he proposed. As soon as he could, he returned to New Zealand and they married and raised my Mum and her two brothers. But of course, itchy feet! There’s never that, “We’ll stay here forever now” feeling. So when my Mum was 18, they all went to London.

The melting pot

At a party one day, they met. My Dad was drawn to this beautiful vivacious woman, who like him, sought something a bit different. My Mum fell for the quiet, exotic looking Chinese man, “with fantastic hair”. As those who build a life with someone from a different culture know, it’s not always easy, but they made it work. And being from mixed backgrounds seeped into my identity. As a child, when we saw a map or globe, my Mum would make us point out where she was from, where my Dad was from, and where I was born. It always marvelled me – the sheer distances.

My rich life

My parents provided abundant richness to my life in their own ways. My mum was stern and loving – and always encouraged me and my siblings to be whatever we wanted, as long as we were good people. Not imposing lifestyles on us may have been a strategic act of rebellion from a linage of stereotypical Jewish mothers! Nonetheless, whatever the motivation, her attitude was gorgeous. And even more appreciated when I saw that she struggled to keep at times – especially with her desire for an army of grandchildren!

My Dad, a lone accountant ran his own small business, focused on working every hour he could to finance the costs of raising of four children*. “As soon as the money came in it went out again!”. Accounting wasn’t my Dad’s passion. It served a purpose – providing for us. We were his passion.

Like a true spoilt child, I’ve greedily lapped up everything I could from these attitudes. I’ve followed what my passions are (maths and data!), to become highly educated, with the privilege of seeking work based on what make me happy. So now I sit in this hyper-global city, sometimes feeling on top of the world, with enough money for a great life, and surrounded by fascinating people. All of this, not just because of the parenting I received, and the lucky hand of genes I inherited, but because of life decisions my parents made – because of their priorities and their itchy feet. I relish being a spoilt girl with it all! And I’m eternally grateful to my parents for giving me everything.  

*I acknowledge, as a Boomer with an aptitude for maths, my Dad had significant economic advantages. Nonetheless, it was also a time where it was an unquestioned fact that as an outsider, he would never be promoted past a junior position in a large accounting firm. So even if the economy now makes a single income household with four children a near impossibility, some things get better.