Mystories

image via arup.com

One night last November my husband walked in the door and dropped a bombshell.  His company wanted to relocate his project to Singapore.  The news commenced a panic-stricken flurry of non-activity.  No one knew if, when, or how the move would happen.  Our boys will each start a new school next year.  My dread of their departure from childhood suddenly shared mental space with a geographic move of similar magnitude.

I proceeded to plan lives on two continents.  High school registration here and emails to international schools there.  I absorbed more knowledge about the small city-state at the southern tip of Malaysia than I possess on nearly any other part of the planet.  We protected our boys from our uncertain plight.  My husband and I whispered in corners on weekends and spoke on cell phones from parking lots as we worked to preserve our life here while we lay groundwork for a life there.

I named this blog “Mystories,” because I wanted a space in which to explore stories from my existence and the mysteries of life.  Such public navel gazing demands the ability to share.  So long as we kept our Singaporean secrets, my missives diminished.  One week ago, we decided we could not continue to put our lives on hold for what one senior executive dubbed corporate “dithering.”  We won’t spend two years in Asia, but my husband will go for a few months to hire those who will run the project in his stead.  With luck, he’ll go this summer.  Our family can enjoy a prolonged vacation in Asia’s cultural melting pot, and I can blog about it.