Sunday, June 22, 2014

What to Expect When the Expat Visits

It's a strange time, when the expat visits. She looks mostly the same. She sounds a bit funny. Did she always talk like that? What do I act exactly? Don't worry. I have a list.

What happens when the person in your life who lives over seas comes home? How should you prepare? What sort of ready proofing of the mind should you undertake?
In truth you cannot actually prepare for such an oncoming storm. However, you can know what to expect.

WHAT TO EXPECT WHEN THE EXPAT VISITS

1. Do not insist that she doesn't have to take her shoes off when she enters your home. It will only cause her intense anxiety. Allow her to take them off at the door and don't look at her strangely. Really, it'll make her feel better.

2. She most likely will start her sentences like this, "When I was in…", "In (enter country name)…". Yes, she's become that friend.

3. If you really like a piece of jewelry or clothing item she's wearing and ask where she got it, don't be upset when her answer doesn't include a store close by, as in not even the same country.

4. Be patient when she searches for the right expression or word to respond to something. She doesn't get to practice her English skills as much as you. She's forgotten words and…stuff.

5. Along those same lines, be patient when she speaks in a different language. She might not realize it. Gently remind her that you have no idea what the hell she said. Her accent might be off as well. Oh, and her speech will be slow. She teaches ESL for a living. It's her job to speak slowly.

6. Do not be surprised if she hasn't seen that movie/tv show, heard of that band or their music and no, she might not know that song.

7. She will marvel at electric ovens, dryers, the vegetable and fruit sections of the store, and other sorts of sorcery. (Long hours will be spent in the veg and fruit section at the grocers.)

8. The lack of a bell (around the :55 second mark) at the table of restaurants will frustrate her. You people actually wait for the waiter?! Nonsense. Complete nonsense.

9. She might get upset at you for not running the red light. I mean…no one is coming.

10. Do not say anything along the lines about Asian kids being well behaved, and never ever say "ching chang chong" or anything close to it. Punching is an acceptable response to such ignorant things.

11. Things such as fresh air, blue skies, larger breeds of dogs, cute little neighborhoods with grassy yards, thunderstorms, Target, clothes and shoes that she can try on, and black coffee might move her to tears of exquisite happiness. It's the simple things in life. I cannot stress this enough.

12. It will actually puzzle/relieve/upset her as to why no one is staring at her.

13. She carries toilet paper with her everywhere. She's not used to bathrooms having toilet paper stocked.

14. Before she takes a shower she'll ask if the hot water is turned on. Where she lives it's only on if you push the hot water button.

Overall, the most important thing you can do for the expat in your home and amongst your ranks, is to be patient. She's going to experience reverse culture shock. What you think is her home, hasn't been her home in 2.5 years. Rice paddies, kimchi, chopsticks, cute Korean people with their horrid coffee, buses, and hangul are her life. Expect differences. Expect confusion. Expect an excitement (read OVERJOYED feeling) to be home, yet an out of place feel that she can't explain.

Hand her a good cup of coffee or a glass of sweet iced tea, and sit down to have a chat with the expat in your home.

Friday, June 6, 2014

Take a Look. It's In a Book.

Ok, who finished that post title by singing the Reading Rainbow theme song? If you didn't, get out. Just leave.

Anyway.

I remember the moment it happened; that moment my life absolutely and irreversibly changed. I was sitting in my dorm room, sophomore year. I shared a room with three other girls, and it was one of those rare moments when I was alone. I was failing chemistry. I was going to be on academic probation. I hated majoring in Biology and it obviously hated me (that bitch), but now I sat in my empty room, crying, because I'd just come to the realization that I would have to change my major. I wanted to so badly, but so much of me felt weak and lost in that decision. I was a quitter with that change of major, and even worse, I had no idea what I was going to study.
I had to call my parents earlier that day to tell them that their daughter was an absolute failure, and the required chemistry class was kicking my ass. And as I sat there in my room I remembered my dad saying, "Do something you love." I hated hearing it at the time because I thought it didn't help, but a 20 year old in a dirty dorm room doesn't have many options so, she listened to her dad and gave herself a pep talk.

Ok, Jennifer. Calm the hell down. No, stop chatting on AIM. Focus. What do you love? What are you good at? Stop crying! You have to be good at something. No, reading isn't a major. WAIT. Yeah it is.

The next day, I went to the English department with my change of major form. The assistant said oh so sarcastically, "You're the third bio major we've had today." Well I'm so glad I have started a movement. Anarchy is sure to follow.

I've loved reading since always and it can get to an unhealthy level at times.
For example:

  • Book quotes don't work like movie quotes. You can't use them in conversation. I learned this the hard way.
  • Comparing men to Mr. Rochester, Henry Tilney, and Mr. Darcy is just…crazy. I don't still do that. No way. Of course not.
  • Telling your friends that Mr. Rochester is your ideal man. That dark, mysterious, byronic hero totally does it for you. The stares you get with that answer.
  • When you throw a book across a room or you sobb uncontrollably and your mom comes running in, "what's wrong?!" only for you to reply "DOBBY DIED!" Crap. Spoiler alert.
  • I refused to accept a world where people don't dress in period clothing, give sonnets to lovers, or go a wizardry school. It's just not fair.


Seriously, I let books control my emotions far too much ,and you shouldn't even look at me, much less engage with me, when a character has died or my favorite book has ended. I'm just not in a good place for social interactions.

From words and punctuation come worlds and people, friends and lovers, and it's all mine to discover. Their dialogue bounces around in my head in the voices I've imagined for them. A complete escape into something that's deeply personal for both the author and the reader. My books are a comfort to me. I find peace and adventure and a much needed break from mundane existence within them. Sadly, they're all boxed up in America right now. But I want to pull out T.S. Eliot and read "The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock", and remember reading under trees at UNCG or Brontë and Austen when I'm feeling lonely and romantic. I remember the covers and dog-eared pages of Yeats, Harper Lee, Silas House, Rowling, Funke, my university copies of Shakespeare and Dickinson covered in notes.

So it's pretty much a damn dream come true to get a Master's in English Lit. Words are magic. Words have power. Words carry culture and show depth of society. I'm beyond excited to go to Stellenbosch, South Africa and study the words of Africans living in a turbulent, thriving, mega-diverse world. What's even more exciting is that I get to look at the writings of my own people (people from the southern US) and compare it to those of South Africans. But, I need to stop. That's for another post, because if you're anything like my family then you're absolutely wondering why in hell is an American going to South Africa to study English Literature. Oh friend. I have an answer for you.
But for now I'll just leave you with images (not my own) of my future home.







The blog will need a rename come February. Boerwors and cereal?