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Published: January 26th 2012
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Everything Grown in the USA!
Except for those traitorous turnips As I cycled through the quiet streets of my parents' community near Phoenix, Arizona something felt off. I ran through a quick checklist in my mind. Brakes work? Check. Mirror adjusted properly? Check. Using the appropriate gear? Check. Then it hit me. As I gazed across the wide boulevard, the White Tank mountains visible on the horizon, there was nary a person to be seen. It was just me, pedaling solo, alone with my thoughts. Where were all the people? Where was the crush of humanity that ebbed and flowed around me as I wound my way through the streets of Beijing? It was eerie, strange, disconcerting....and wonderful. This would be the first of many lessons learned while adjusting back to life in the USA.
It's a curious thing, really, getting reacquainted with the culture of one's birth. Over the past five years, I've made numerous visits back to the United States, including an extended stay in 2009, but I never felt settled or as if I were putting down roots. I've mused before in this blog's pages about what it really means to be an American, about our civic duty to be patriotic and how those stirring words from
our national anthem, "
O'er the land of the free...." mean so much more to me now, but philosophizing about these issues whilst living on the other side of the world and now putting them into practice within the context of the immediate culture is quite another story.
At this moment, I am watching President Barack Obama give the State of the Union address to Congress and the nation. Although his speech is a bit heavy on campaign rhetoric, I find myself incredibly moved to be watching this televised example of democracy in action, and I am reminded why I am so proud to be an American.
Now if I could only remember how to act like one.
The first inkling I had that the readjustment period might be more difficult than I had anticipated came at the airport at my point of entry, which was Chicago. After the 12-hour flight (which followed an all-night karaoke sendoff from my coworkers in Beijing), I found myself standing in the meandering, miles-long customs line with no idea what the local time was. I waited for the couple ahead of me in line to pause in conversation, then politely interjected and
asked for the local time. They looked at me blankly. I asked again, wondering why the nice married couple with midwest-accented English was being so rude to me. Still nothing. Suddenly, my jetlag-addled brain processed the fact that I'd been asking them for the time in Mandarin Chinese.
Readjustment: 1, Merritt: 0
Inkling #2 came when nature called (does that make Inkling #2 sound like a dog? That would be a mouthful when calling it to come home-- 'Inkling Number Two-oo! Come here! That's my good little inkling. I digress). As many of you who have traveled internationally may know, once you've initially flown into the United States and passed through US customs, you need to collect all of your luggage, recheck it, and go through domestic security. As I was flying two days before Christmas, I just knew the security line would be a mess and so I diverted to the nearest ladies' restroom. After a verbal exclamation of joy over the abundance of toilet paper present in the stall, I turned around to flush the toilet on my own perogative (you may find that statement odd, but you have to keep in mind that Chinese restrooms
Phoenix Sister Cities
Ironically, Chengdu, China and Taipei, Taiwan are listed right next to each other often have rules posted on the walls, such as to flush the toilet and refrain from squatting on the seat). I couldn't see the manual flusher anywhere. I must have searched for a good 45 seconds before the automatic flusher kicked in, scaring me to death.
Readjustment: 2, Merritt: 0
Airports throughout the world are quite similar--mammoth buildings, planes landing and taking off, rolling suitcases, and people. Lots and lots of people. People running, people walking, people laughing, people crying, people eating, people sleeping. One would think that interpersonal interactions would be much the same when the environment (the airport) is nearly identical. Not so! After four years of living in a city the size of Belgium (with a population roughly twice that of the tiny European constituational monarchy), I had become a champion fend-for-myselfer. To be fair to Beijing, many of the pushing and line-jumping behaviors I witnessed were conditioned by a society burdened with an enormous population. Imagine how crowded the streets of NYC or LA are on a given workday. Now imagine those streets crowded with the 22 million people who live in Beijing. Exactly. Nevertheless, as I found myself facing a crowded arena, the behaviors I'd picked up in China automatically kicked into gear.
Readjustment: 3, Merritt: 0
Have you ever noticed how polite people are in the midwestern United States? They look you in the eyes and smile at you, even if they've never met you before. They say 'excuse me' while walking past you in tight quarters or if they accidentally brush against your shoulder. They say 'please' and 'thank you' when ordering food. It was like Disneyworld, a presidential campaign and Miss America all rolled into one, and I was getting seriously weirded out. I mean, they didn't even know me!
Readjustment: 4, Merritt: 0
A few days after my exciting reintroduction to American culture via the stellar Chicago O'Hare Airport system, my brother and I decided to spice up our vacation at our parents' home in the 'active adult community' in which they reside (there's some good ol' American PR at work) by walking up to the community "World Market" to buy a couple cups of coffee with flavor shots. I was looking forward to seeing some familiar foods in the aisles of the market--frozen jiaozi, baozi, kimchee, heat-and-serve bibimbap. We flung wide the doors of the market, stepped inside...and realized it was a glorified gas station. Major bummer. But, they did have coffee (though of the instant variety) and flavored syrups. We loaded up our cups freshly brewed (mixed) java, added some vanilla and toffee syrup shots and were good to go. WOW! I had forgotten exactly how much sugar is in American coffee drinks. And American desserts. And American breakfast cereals. Pretty much anything American-made, really. We jittered home and called it a day, but not before I tried to pay for the coffee with Hong Kong currency still in my wallet and thanked the market attendant for the coffee in Mandarin Chinese.
Readjustment: 5, Merritt 0
Things began normalizing just in time to begin applying for jobs on American soil. I was confident that my experience abroad could only help my applications, and sure enough, it did. My next blog posting will be from my new address in Minneapolis, where I'll be able to put my Chinese language skills and knowledge of Chinese culture to good use with a position at the University of Minnesota. I am thrilled to begin my next adventure and excited to start a new chapter in my life. It's time to begin exploring the language and culture of the strange new land of Minnesnowda. Perhaps my innate Norwegian-ness will emerge once I'm on Scandinavian-heavy soil. I had better start practicing a Minnesotan accent so I can blend in with the locals. But one thing will remain the same--I'll still be in the USA.
It's good to be home.
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anonymous
non-member comment
Reverse culture shock...
I remember having to study the menus at the fast food restaurants before I placed my order. Anyway, you promised you wouldn't end your blog. What can you promise by way of future blogs?