In Which I Return to the States After 6 Months Abroad (or: Reverse Culture Shock)
I don’t really remember the exact moment I fell into my groove in Beijing. So many days had passed where the struggle was real: signs don’t make sense to my non-Chinese tongue, the food is vastly different from any Americanese, seeing countless girls holding hands and couples wearing matching clothes to signify BFFs or relationships, working my way through seas of people and cars and tuktuks and motorbikes to get from point A to point B. Most of the experiences novel and exciting and full of moments — some eye-opening, some inspiring, and some WTF?! I’ll never forget the moments when, hanging with my Chinese friends, I’d point out the white people. I mean, I’m supposed to be deeply immersed — what are THEY doing here?
Yet, when I landed in Chicago after 6 months overseas and 3.5 in China, I’ll never forget the surreal moment while having dinner with my parents at a steakhouse on the way home. I looked around and caught myself chuckling. “What’s so funny?” my parents asked. I told them the tales of pointing out the white people, and, as I looked around the steakhouse, I saw nothing but white people. Hard not to find the irony in that, let alone the new found feeling of culture shock. After 6 months of feeling lost and confused, speaking international English, haggling with hawkers, and really no sense of what’s up or down, I found myself in an unfamiliar familiar place where I can actually read the signs, the people look and act like me, and the food comes from a memory seemingly as distant as my childhood.
The places I’ve been, the people I’ve met, and the experiences I’ve had in the past 6 months have been incredible. And, upon returning to my hometown in rural Michigan, it felt as if time had stopped. With the exception of a new boat in the driveway and slight signs of aging, it was as if nothing had changed. Such a trip: did I actually travel the world for 6 months or was it all just a dream?
The only sense of a reality check were the stories I could tell people of my adventures, as well as people coming from far and wide to visit. I talked to a few people that I’ve known since a child, including one woman that I’d grown up with in church. I hadn’t seen her in some time and randomly ran into at the local winery/brewery. The distinctive flinch when I told her I’m living and working in China was a telling sign of the disparity between where I’d grown up and where I’ve been: “China? Why on Earth would you ever go there? Is it safe there?” (ah, biased western media, don’t ever change). Or even the moment when I walked into the local Chinese restaurant, attempting to speak Chinese and ask for chopsticks, only to be greeted with a “hi” and a 10-minute search for the mysterious utensils. I won’t even touch upon the puzzled comments from my Chinese friends when I posted pictures of the meal, asking them to identify it (apparently “Szechuan beef” is very different depending on which side of the globe it’s ordered).
I was homesick. I wanted to return to China. She has welcomed me with open arms, and I enjoy her for all her faults and enduring qualities. And it makes me wonder how other internationals feel, in particular the Chinese? After all, they have a term for those who’ve gone away to study at university and come back to work: returnees or 海归 (“haigui”).
How does it feel to have been somewhere that maybe your circle has never been, somewhere that’s changed your persona, your perspective, your worldview?
Any internationals that have gone through this, I’d love to hear your perspective on this.
Although I enjoyed and appreciated my time home in the States, it feels great to be back to the place I’d set out only months before — to continue my dreamlike life — and back into my groove.
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