Expat dating saigon muslim dating

I’ve run out of laundry detergent and walk over it find some.

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I stop by the supermarket on the way home from work.

My local supermarket is a fairly standard, western-style affair with air-conditioning and florescent lights.

She gestures to the bags of laundry detergent and mimes washing clothes with her hands; I watch for a moment and admire her perfect use of non-verbal communication. We wash our imaginary clothes together in aisle 5, smiling at each other in perfect accord.

I’ve almost finished washing my make-believe underpants when she is finally satisfied that I understand the use of the products on the shelf and leaves me to my deliberation.

This is not to say that I didn’t really appreciate that woman’s efforts to help me and everyone else that has gone above and beyond to aid this hapless stranger in a strange land.

I’ve lost count of the number of times people communicated with me through stilted English and French, mime, pointing, drawing, and once, animal noises.

If I don’t look too closely, I feel as though I am back in my country for a few moments as I walk in the door.

But as I stride past the aquariums overcrowded with live, gasping fish and rows of pigs’ feet, my nostalgia extinguishes.

A store employee notices that I’ve been staring at the laundry detergent for some time and decides that it must be because I don’t know what I’m looking at.

With most products in the supermarket she’d be right but in this instance the pictures of sudsy clothes tumbling in washing machines on the bags leads me to make a deduction I was reasonably confident in.

My husband, Ash was born in Sydney but grew up on the Gold Coast as well.

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