After six years of working for an oil and gas company in the Arctic region of Yamal, my husband’s contract came to an end in March 2022. Honestly, reaching that six-year mark from 2016 had already exceeded our expectations, considering how time-bound and uncertain job tenure in that line of work always is. For FIFO (fly-in, fly-out) workers like him—always on the go, working for 28 days straight, resting for 28 days, and living out of suitcases for half their lives—it always felt like you were only as good as your last hitch. It was never a question of if the company would tell you your services were no longer needed, but when. Looking back nearly five years later, I am reminded that all shows must come to an end.
As expatriates, my husband had always prepared us for a moment like that. We were ready for a graceful exit, determined to finish strong and finish well. Our flat in Moscow—a four-hour flight away from his workplace in the permafrost of Yamal—had to be emptied, with all of our belongings boxed up and shipped back to the Philippines. Because our family visas had expired and pandemic travel restrictions hampered our plans to fly back, the kids and I couldn’t even reunite with him in our cozy little flat to say our proper goodbyes to the few special friends we had made during our stay there. Instead, he had to do all the heavy lifting and packing on his own while I commandeered the whole operation remotely over a Zoom call. Talk about bittersweet!
After Rico left Moscow, our dear friend sis Marie of Moscow graciously helped bind and send off the remaining bits and bobs of our life there. We had our family belongings neatly tucked inside four boxes and shipped back home, only for us to never see most of them again. Aside from a few surviving items, almost everything was gone, ransacked, and stolen. Because of the war, people's behavior changed. Cargo handlers—not all of them, of course, you know who you are, mga kababayan pa naman—took advantage of the chaos. Two years later, we ended up receiving three boxes filled with random stuff that didn't even belong to us!
(Please click below to read more about the Russia-Ukraine crisis.)
Looking back to where our journey began in 2016, we never could have pictured how deeply that season would shape us. Before my husband had even said "yes" to the invitation from Yamal LNG—an opportunity that allowed us to live in Russia as a family—we had done extensive research online about Mother Russia. She certainly had a colorful history filled with unrest and bloodshed. We prayed hard for the Lord's direction and peace in our hearts so that our decision would be guided and informed. I must admit, at first, we had some apprehensions about the whole idea. Russia carried a reputation that many of us, including myself, had been led to believe through Western media, Hollywood movies, and what we were taught in school since our elementary days.
The reality we experienced, however, was quite different. Far from the cold stereotypes we had grown up with, we found Russia to be a deeply moral nation rooted in its Russian Orthodox faith—a religion often considered a sister branch to both Evangelical Christianity and Roman Catholicism. They upheld the family as the basic unit of society, backed by laws that protected traditional family values. Beyond its strong cultural roots, Russia was also an undeniable economic powerhouse. Back then, so many countries were plugged into its robust energy pipelines that the wealth of nations flowed steadily through them, especially across Europe. On top of that, the Philippines and Russia enjoyed strong diplomatic ties, backed by a reliable Philippine Embassy in Moscow ready to serve the thousands of OFWs living and working there.
Having lived there for those six years, we couldn't deny that a big part of us had become Russianized—if such a word even exists. I know it does! It’s the term I still use to describe how we slowly assimilated into the Russian way of life. We were never the same. I'm pretty sure fellow OFWs can relate to this, as we Filipinos naturally adapt and blend in wherever we are planted in the world.
Looking back now, closing that chapter in Moscow was really just the Lord preparing us for our next big assignment. The. Next. Big. Assignment. That season of waiting. Life happened—and due to the unprecedented disruptions in the oil and gas industry caused by the war, my husband had a hard time finding another full-time job abroad. He was not fully employed for the next three years, outside of a few short-term consulting gigs across the Middle East. Because those consulting stints weren’t enough to sustain our family’s needs over those three years, we had to rely heavily on our savings and investments—draining almost everything we had built. Yet it felt like we were standing on holy ground the whole time. But that, my dear, deserves an entirely separate blog post entry! Please click here.
Everything in this expat life truly is time-bound and full of uncertainties. Fast forward nearly five years, and my husband and I are now navigating a brand-new season living here in the UAE, where we recently celebrated our first year.
Going from the freezing winters of Russia to the desert heat of the Emirates—and from a bustling, full house to an almost empty nest—has reminded me all over again of the beauty of gratitude and contentment. Just as we learned to blend into Mother Russia, we are embracing this quieter, slower pace of life in the UAE, thankful for every season the Lord plants us in. We are standing on holy ground.
