There are parts of expat life people don't mention at first. Most of the time, you'll hear about the excitement of adventure, the new flavors, the breathtaking landscapes. But few talk about the moment, months or even years later, when it hits you: you're no longer fully 鈥渇rom here,鈥� yet you're not completely 鈥渇rom there鈥� anymore either. This is the true reality of long-term life abroad. It isn't only about adapting鈥攊t's about blending. Day by day, your life becomes a patchwork of languages, habits, and cultural references. You catch yourself starting a sentence in your host country's language and finishing it in English, French or Spanish without even realizing. That's when you understand what it really means to live between two cultures.
Integrating without losing yourself
Those who live abroad for many years quickly discover a paradox: the desire to feel fully integrated in their new home without erasing where they came from. You learn the language. You pick up on the codes. You respect traditions. You play along. And yet, there's always a subtle distance. You see things from two perspectives, which can sometimes come across as judgment. 鈥淚'm Swiss, and I've lived in Lisbon for 8 years. I speak Portuguese, I work here, and my kids go to school here. But when I say I think certain things are better organized in Switzerland, I feel like people think I'm ungrateful. It's not that鈥攊t's just that I now carry two worldviews inside me.鈥�, says Nadia, an expat in Lisbon.
And that's the complexity. You don't want to reject your roots, but you don't want to be locked into a fixed identity either. The problem is, society often doesn't follow. It loves neat boxes, clear definitions, and single flags. By nature, a double culture doesn't fit into those rules. 鈥淚 want to fully integrate here, even though I know I'll never be seen as a local.鈥�
Morgane arrived in Montreal with a working holiday visa, then stayed for a job, fell in love, and now has a child who calls her 鈥渕aman鈥� with a Qu茅b茅cois accent. 鈥淚 love this city. I feel good here. But sometimes it feels like there's a glass wall between me and others. I'll never be from here.鈥� She recalls a simple moment at the supermarket: 鈥淚'm at the checkout, I say 鈥榖onjour.' The cashier replies, 鈥極h, you're French?' As if I were just a tourist. But I've lived here for years, I pay taxes here, I complain about winter here鈥︹��
These little moments of friction are what make up daily life with a double culture. You feel at home, but not entirely. You want to belong fully, but also keep that spark of difference. And sometimes, it's exhausting to always explain where you were born, why you moved, and how long you've been here. 鈥淚 don't want to deny my roots鈥� but sometimes, it feels like they weigh me down.鈥�
David has lived in Japan for 11 years. He's married to a Japanese woman, raising two trilingual children, and working in tech. Over time, he's felt the strain of carrying two worlds. 鈥淚'm afraid of becoming a caricature. I want my kids to know my music taste, smelly cheese, and irony. But when I share these things, I sometimes feel like I'm imposing a culture that isn't fully theirs.鈥� So he navigates constantly between both. Sushi on Tuesdays, homemade cr锚pes on Sundays. Speaking Japanese at school events, video-calling his mother in Dordogne at home.
When two worlds live inside you
At some point, you realize your brain works in two, or even three, languages. You swear in Spanish but dream in English. You still jot down a shopping list in your native tongue, but read ingredient labels in French. And it all feels normal.
That's the essence of a double culture: a vibrant inner world where multiple versions of yourself coexist. You have to learn to let cultures clash, converse, and enrich one another. Some days it flows easily. Other days, you doubt everything. You wonder why you left, or why you can't bring yourself to go back.
But then there are days when it all clicks. You switch between three languages in an hour without even noticing. You become the 鈥渙fficial translator鈥� among your friends. You stumble upon a word in your adopted language that perfectly expresses something your mother tongue never could. On those days, you feel lucky. You know this friction-filled life has made you more flexible, more open. And you wouldn't trade it for anything.
鈥淚 came for six months. When am I leaving? I don't know", shares Sango, an expat in Mauritius. Originally from Douala, Cameroon, he moved to Mauritius for an internship, his first real step outside the continent. 鈥淎t first, I felt lost. I landed at the airport with my suitcase, my nerves, and no bearings. During the first weeks, I just observed everything鈥攖he way people spoke, their gestures, their habits. I felt like an undercover agent in a parallel world.鈥� The beginning wasn't easy. 鈥淪ocially, I didn't fit neatly anywhere. I wasn't French or British, I wasn't Mauritian, I wasn't a tourist, I wasn't a typical expat. I was just a guy doing an internship, with a Cameroonian accent.鈥�
But slowly, something shifted. 鈥淚 started going out more, talking with people鈥擬auritians, long-term foreigners, shopkeepers. I found unexpected connections. And I stopped trying so hard to fit in. I just let myself be.鈥� He finished his internship, but didn't leave. He was offered a job and stayed. Three years later, he's still in Mauritius. 鈥淲hat I love here is the mix of cultures, backgrounds, and languages. We celebrate Christmas, Chinese New Year, Eid, and Ganesh Chaturthi. I feel enriched every day. And now, thankfully, I speak Creole fluently.鈥� And when asked if he'll ever return to Cameroon, he hesitates: 鈥淢aybe. I think I will, but not just to 鈥榞o back.' Maybe to bring something new. Because here, I've found a part of myself I never knew existed.鈥�
Building your own culture
Living with multiple cultures means having multiple loyalties, landscapes, and memories. You learn to live with contradictions. And many expats eventually discover how to make that double culture a strength, not a struggle. At some point, you stop obsessing over 鈥渂elonging.鈥� Maybe that word itself is the problem. You begin to compose, to invent.
You don't become 鈥渁 French in Senegal鈥� or 鈥渁 Briton in Thailand鈥� or 鈥渁 Cameroonian in Denmark.鈥� You become a blend鈥攁 bridge between worlds. You choose what to keep. What to let go of. What to transform.
鈥淚 moved to Mexico. I married a Mexican man, and we have two kids. They speak both languages, eat croissants in the morning and tacos at night. I don't try to 鈥榩ass down' my culture anymore. I just share what I love, and I see what they do with it.鈥�, shares Claire, an expat in Mexico.
Maybe that's the secret: stop trying to be who you once were, and instead build something new. An identity that doesn't need validation, a flag, or a stamp.
Living between two cultures means being able to listen to multiple truths. It means understanding that nothing is universal, that gestures, words, and values are always tied to a context. And that this awareness makes you more human. You learn not to judge too quickly. Sometimes, to keep quiet and observe. To be surprised. To laugh at yourself. To see the absurdities in one system without idolizing another.
Maybe there's no final answer. And maybe that's the beauty of it. Because this fluidity, this movement between cultures, is what makes life richer.
So if you sometimes feel like a stranger everywhere, remember: you're not rootless鈥攜ou're multiple. And free. And maybe, one day, when someone asks where you're from, you'll simply answer: 鈥淔rom wherever I feel at home.鈥�
