A BALANCING ACT
Monita Pesumal reflects on the quiet sacrifices and unexpected treasures of life as a Sri Lankan expatriate
Living overseas is a privilege, yes; but it is also a balancing act – we navigate two worlds, shaping a life between what we bring with us and what we left behind
When I left Sri Lanka to live and work in the Gulf, I thought I knew what I was bringing with me: a few carefully chosen corporate outfits, passport copies, a couple of packets of Marie biscuits and an overambitious list of goals. I was elated at being able to start a new chapter – wide-eyed, hopeful and a little naive.
But what no one tells you is that some of the heaviest things you carry aren’t in your suitcase. And some of the most important things you leave behind can’t be seen.
This is a story that many Sri Lankans living overseas might relate to. It’s not only about the logistics of relocation but the emotional inventory that comes with leaving home, building a life abroad and realising – somewhere along the way – that you’ve changed.
I PACKED MY AMBITIONS Like many of us who venture beyond the shores of Sri Lanka, I carried my dreams with me – tightly held and carefully packed, between the mundane and the meaningful. There was a quiet fire in me; a belief that I was meant to build something more for myself – a future where independence, growth and opportunity weren’t merely buzzwords but real lived experiences. That fire is still with me; it just flickers differently now.
I PACKED A SENSE OF IDENTITY There’s something beautifully defiant about holding on to your identity when you’re away from home. I packed my favourite tops, my mother’s recipes and the lyrics of baila songs I hadn’t heard in years. I packed what I thought it meant to be Sri Lankan. But identity isn’t static – it evolves. And I soon learned that being Sri Lankan abroad means adapting and carrying your culture with pride while opening yourself to the world around you.
I PACKED MY FEARS TOO Every brave move carries a shadow. Mine came in the form of self-doubt. What if I didn’t fit in? What if I failed? What if I forgot who I was? These fears were never unpacked; instead, they’ve lived with me silently, teaching me to be gentle with myself, to grow through discomfort and to celebrate small wins – even when no one else can see them.
I LEFT BEHIND MY SAFETY NET Home is where you don’t have to explain yourself. It’s where comfort is built into your routine – the familiar roads, the people whom know you, the language that rolls off your tongue… I left all of that behind. In return, I gained perspective – the kind you earn, not inherit. And though I’d give anything to enjoy a cup of tea and fish roll on a rainy day again, I now appreciate just how special those comforts were.
I LEFT BEHIND MY PEOPLE This was and still is the hardest part. I left behind late night chats with my siblings, shared laughs over hoppers and family gatherings that didn’t need a reason. Video calls help but they can’t replace presence. They don’t fill the seat at the table or replicate the warmth of a hug. Every missed birthday or celebration is a little heartbreak I carry with me. And yet, I’ve learned to love deeper from afar and make every visit count.
I LEFT BEHIND NOISE Only Sri Lankans will understand this: the soothing chaos of home. The tuk tuk horns, the sizzle of a street side stall at Galle Face, the roar and pounding of an evening thunderstorm, the gossip from Aunty Rita next door… Abroad, I found silence. At first, it felt peaceful. But slowly, I began to miss the background music of home – the kind that reminds you you’re alive and surrounded by life.
WHAT I COULDN’T FIT IN MY LUGGAGE How do you pack a smell? The scent of our garden after the monsoon rains or the feeling of Christmas morning with its mix of sunshine, nostalgia and cake. You can’t. Some things are simply too sacred, too intangible. But they live in me, quietly showing up at unexpected moments – a song on the radio, a familiar taste, the way a stranger says ‘aiyyo.’
AND YET, I CARRY ‘HOME’ WITH ME Though I left, I’ve never really been without Sri Lanka. It’s in the way I speak, the way I share my food, the stories I tell, the values I hold and the jokes that don’t translate but still make me laugh.
Living overseas is a privilege, yes; but it is also a balancing act – we navigate two worlds, shaping a life between what we bring with us and what we left behind. And somewhere in the middle of it all, we discover who we really are.
I’ve packed dreams, fears, recipes and resilience. I’ve left behind familiarity, family, festivals and a version of myself that didn’t yet know how strong she could be. And in doing so, I’ve realised something simple yet profound: I may have left home but I also left behind a huge piece of my heart.