Identity crises in a Pandemic: An Emotional Introspection

In March of 2020, I face-time my partner back in London from Perth, Australia I was sobbing. No, that’s an understatement. I was bawling. I don’t think my partner had ever seen me cry like that in the three years we’ve been together. I wasn’t such a mess even when my step dad passed away six months earlier (although I think I still haven’t allowed myself to process that grief properly). In fact, it’s been over 5 years since I had a proper cry (on the floor at Heathrow Terminal 5 saying goodbye to an ex-lover—but that’s another story). I definitely have not become a cold-hearted person who can’t feel anything. In fact, what adds to the complexity and richness of my existence is that I feel too much. I am a feeler. And during this pandemic, I was feeling all sorts of things. 

The crying had become a regular fixture during our daily calls. I realized that I was crying for a purely selfish reason. I was too caught up in my own thoughts to feel guilty or be remotely embarrassed about it. I was sh*t scared. What’s going to happen to my partner and job in London? Will I lose my permanent residency in Canada? Do I even know the Australian way of life to permanently live here anymore? All real concerns to me at the time, however champagne sounding some of it may come across. I had to make a snap decision that at the time felt permanent and came with permanent consequences. It was the closest thing I’ve felt to an anxiety attack. I wasn’t sleeping, my cortisol level was high and I  spent my time with friends talking about my predicament. I dreamt up every possible worst case scenario and spent most of my time awake trying to convince myself that this is all happening for a good reason. 

I was back home in Australia for my mum’s medical procedure. Looking back, this became my saving grace. The only time I was actually calm and present was while interacting with her. Sure, I lost my cool at times and felt guilty for putting my own worries above hers. I didn’t like myself very much whenever this happened. For the most part I managed to keep it together when I was with her, prepping her and assuring her that everything will be ok, something that I didn’t quite believe myself at the time. I told myself that I needed to be here, wanted to be here with my dear mama for her procedure, and during a pandemic at that! Wasn’t being a dutiful son a big part of who I am? The answer is a resounding yes, but I wasn’t sure I was ready to accept what the cost of this decision would be. 

Was the pandemic really asking me to dilute my complex sense of self just to survive? I, a Chinese-Indonesian immigrant, spent years cultivating a layered and multi-faceted identity so I could be accepted as a real Australian and most recently a Brit. I was now being served notice to pledge my allegiance to a single country. I’ve lived a big chunk of my life in fear of being judged as the outsider, constantly pouring myself from one container to another while trying to hold on to my sense of self and fending off perceived contradictions. I’ve been doing this for so long that I don’t know how to confine myself in a single container with a fixed label. This wasn’t just an existential crisis that I could mull over whilst drinking wine or taking a pilgrimage to some remote corner of the world. No! Countries all over the world were closing their borders and called for their citizens to either stay at home or to come back home.   

Fast forward to a year later, I am sitting down in my flat in London writing this article, markedly calmer and relaxed about this whole ordeal but still as conflicted about where I stand and who I represent. I’ve lost my Canadian permanent residency since and only recently managed to renew my UK visa after a lengthy process due to the pandemic. The route back to Australia is full of obstacles now. Countries and their citizens seem to be more defensive in their pandemic approach, closing borders and readily discriminating against ‘foreigners’ or people from where the virus or new variants are rife. Having proudly waved the flags of multiple countries in the past, and embodying the ideologies that they represent, I now find that to be a potential liability.

There was a period where the pandemic made me feel like a fraud. Maybe it still does. I’ve aspired to, and worked hard to live a life of gratefulness come what may, being present and trusting in the universe. Yet there I was struggling to walk the talk when I needed to the most. Maybe it was easier to live by this manifesto when you know there’s always a way out and when you feel like you have some control over the narrative (no matter how illusory that sense of control may be). But when it really mattered, I feel like I failed to trust the process and to be grateful for where the pandemic landed me. 

But that was a lesson in itself. I didn’t fail. I overcame that initial grief and desperation. I was simply in survival mode and I needed to experience every possible negative emotion from A to Z. The goal wasn’t to eliminate those emotions, it was to regulate them to get myself back into thriving mode. We can’t always be thriving. There will always be a stage in life where we are just trying to survive. And when you do find yourself in that space, embrace it. Be kind to yourself and accept that this is just a momentary moment of madness. Remember that as TCK’s we are forever navigating uncharted and uncertain waters, and we’ll inevitably be pulled into strong currents and struggle to stay afloat at times. Heck, there will probably be a shark or two to deal with as well! 

I now pick up the phone to face-time my mum back in Australia. I’m back in lockdown but I’m no longer crying. I still go through extreme waves of surviving and thriving, the only difference being that when the waves of despair come crashing in, I cheerfully ride it out.

Edited by Radhika Sharma.