In the late 1970s, my father left his home in Pakistan and moved to Saudi Arabia. He was not chasing wealth or ambition; he left because his father had retired early, and someone had to step up. He did, without question. Like thousands of other South Asian men, he took on the financial responsibility of getting his siblings married, supporting aging parents, and later, building a life for his wife and children in a foreign land.
I moved to Saudi Arabia as a baby and grew up there. We were not physically distant from my father, but emotional closeness was still a challenge. His days were long and exhausting, spent on construction sites and project locations in remote areas. He would return home drained, carrying the weight of both his responsibilities in Saudi Arabia and the ongoing pressures from back home in Pakistan.
There were missed moments not because of distance, but because of the demands of survival. His presence was quiet but heavy, always worrying, always calculating, always giving. The family’s stability came at the cost of his rest, his social life, and often his emotional availability.
Even when a father is physically near, the psychological toll of carrying a multigenerational burden casts a long shadow over family life. His silence became a language we learned to read, and his fatigue a presence we came to understand deeply.
My father is a civil engineer. For decades, he worked in Saudi Arabia’s harshest climates, under the unforgiving sun of desert towns and field sites, moving from one temporary project to another. His living arrangements were equally transient: portable prefab housing units on construction sites, just enough space for a small family, though he often lived alone. His life was built around deadlines and drafts, site visits and spreadsheets. Yet, as he reviewed structural plans by day, his mind stayed occupied with a different set of calculations: remittances to send, loans to repay, weddings to support, and emergency bills from back home. And behind every monthly transfer was the same unspoken message: “I’m still here. I haven’t forgotten.”
South Asian culture often romanticizes male strength and stoicism. Men are expected to provide, not to pause. To endure, not to express. From a young age, they are taught that emotions are a woman’s territory and pain is something to be swallowed. So, they stay quiet. They don’t speak of missing home, of pressure piling up, of relationships stretched thin by distance and stress.
And that silence costs them.
While fulfilling family responsibilities back home, these men often face loneliness, cultural isolation, and an aching sense of detachment in the Gulf. For many, the only outlet is a late-night phone call home or weekend tea with colleagues who share the same story.
But even at home, the cost ripples out. When a man is stretched financially, emotionally, and physically, it inevitably strains his relationships. The bond with his spouse begins to change. His children grow up feeling the weight of his absence, even when he’s physically there. Wives and children pay their own price too, carrying emotional burdens and quietly adapting to the spaces he can no longer fill.
According to the Gulf Labour Markets and Migration (GLMM) programme, over 17 million migrant workers reside in the GCC countries. A large number are from South Asia, especially Pakistan, India, Bangladesh, and Sri Lanka. In Saudi Arabia alone, over 1.5 million Pakistanis are working across various sectors. Overseas workers send home over $30 billion annually, a key pillar of Pakistan’s economy.
But behind those remittance numbers are real people. Real sacrifices. And a psychological cost that rarely features in economic reports.
A study in The Lancet Psychiatry found that South Asian migrant workers who spend years away from their families face higher risks of depression, anxiety, and emotional numbness. But even with these struggles, most keep going, quietly, without support, and often without anyone asking how they’re really doing.
What makes it harder is the perception back home: that living abroad equals luxury. The myth that these men are “rolling in money” persists, often fueling unrealistic expectations from extended family and community members. In reality, most are navigating the harsh climate, high living costs, limited personal space, and demanding work schedules, sending large portions of their income home while sacrificing their own comfort and well-being.
It’s time for families, relatives, and communities to show more sensitivity. These men are not just providers, they are individuals carrying invisible emotional weight. They deserve understanding, not judgment, compassion, not assumptions.
This piece is for my father, and for every man who left home so others could stay secure in theirs. The world owes you more than gratitude, we owe you awareness.
