What does it feel like to have culture shock? Is it an electrical zap? Is it a chronic dull ringing? Is it like a gong banging around in your head? Does culture shock wear off gradually, or are you just left sizzled?
Culture shock is like that friend who creeps up on you from behind and taps you on one shoulder and you turn in the wrong direction, and then it does it again and you turn in the other direction, and the third time it happens you’re ready because you’ve learned their pattern, but the next time they change the pattern and trick you yet again. It makes me question things just when I thought I had it all figured out. I’m constantly comparing, noticing minute differences and asking why why why? And noticing the similarities as well, because sometimes those are just as surprising as the differences.
I don’t feel shocked. I feel like I’m in a constant state of inconsistency. Sometimes I am hopelessly confused, sometimes I can tackle anything, sometimes I think that I think I have found the meaning of life, sometimes I see myself as one grain of sand on a beach that never ends (that’s when I’m being dramatic), sometimes I am convinced I have discovered the secret to happiness (oh but I have!), sometimes I wish I had a punching bag. I miss home more than I have in the rest of my life put together.
Or maybe none of this is culture shock, and my mood just fluctuates because of the malaria pills I ingest every Friday at 1330 hours – which also give me crazy/eerily realistic dreams, among other side effects. This is the excuse I use for myself when I find myself in my house needing to force myself to go outside, and trying to remember why I shipped myself half a globe away from my comfort zone instead of just opening an ice cream shop like I had originally planned.
Getting asked a question in the local language and then, when I don’t understand, receiving laughter but no translation? 9 volts.
Walking through a market and hearing a chorus of “whitey! whitey!” from all around? 14 volts.
Having a quick trip to the market for onions turn into a 4-hour rendezvous because I stopped to say hi to my neighbors on the way and ended up sitting in a plastic chair in their yards chatting and eating cookies and holding baby bunnies that they are raising? Priceless.
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