Around the middle of January, after completing my second month in country, I realized I was starting to really like Macedonia. The thought of going home at that time was not as strong and a tiny sad feeling would come over me at the thought of not being here any longer. The very basic, initial things that I noticed when coming here were no longer "problems"; I had adjusted to the sanitary conditions, the different food, the constant jangle of unfamiliar speech all around me. I had taken enough showers, eaten enough meals, attend enough trainings, washed and folded and put away my clothes enough times, woken up in the morning enough times, to feel comfortable. I was more caught up in a secondary and deeper shock - that of culture. For instance, what motivates people, the unspoken cues on how to act, when someone says something and they are really saying something else, the deeply ingrained invisible beliefs that cause certain behavior. At times I felt more and more like an outsider, as I began to be more aware of people often doing and saying things that seemed very odd or confusing to me, but seemed to elict no reaction from anyone else.
Here I am referring to the iceburg analogy of culture. Culture is very similar to an iceburg in the sense that there is a part above the surface that is visible, like clothing, volume of speech, the amount of personal space maintained between people when speaking, the treatment of children, etc. This was apparent to me immediately, as it would be to most people. The part that was trickier was running up against the hidden part. Sometimes even when I understood the words, or when I was speaking English with a Macedonian person, many times I still just didn't get it. And they didn't seem to know where I was coming from, either. I had and continue to have light bulb moments occasionally, where I suddenly am immersed a little more deeply into the culture and something slaps me across the face as I realize, ohhh, so that's why.
And of course, all this has caused me to take a deeper look into my own culture. I wish that six months ago, someone would have suggested I write about American culture, and what that is in my eyes. It would have been interesting to read my prior thoughts on that, because I feel that I have gained such a deeper understanding of what culture is through living amongst people who have such a different culture. I know I would not have had the insights on personal space, independence, autonomy, the motivation for success, etc. Sometimes I picture Macedonians I know fairly well, like my homestay mother, with me in California. I think she would be confused as to why people are so brisk in their walking, their talking, why people are so driven for financial success, why people send those little subtle hints that they have something to do now and must go, why people would undertake huge projects without asking for help.
This would have never even occurred to me before last November. I would feel at home in that kind of culture, but I don't think I could ever be in my own culture again without having such a much deeper insight into people's actions, and into my own. The whole thing about this is, we all do things for reasons that we don't bring up. We don't need to, it isn't confusing. Why do we go wash our cars, why do we stop by Ralph's at 11 p.m. on a Friday might, why do we walk on campus when we don't have class? These are all "duh's" to people living in the culture and don't provoke any thought. Here, I see people doing things all the time that I have no context for - like, why are people standing over in the center in the middle of the day, why do people sit on the bus for twenty minutes and not get annoyed that it isn't going yet, why are stores closed at 3 p.m.!! I remember with dismay my sometimes lack of patience with foreigners and exchange students when I lived and worked in San Diego. They looked lost, and I probably look lost.
For example, my fifth day living in the apartment I moved all the furniture around myself. It looked ugly the way it was, and it never occurred to me to wait any longer to "fix it". It took a few hours, but when I was done, I felt so proud of having accomplished something. My apartment finally felt like "mine". My landlord and her husband (who is my boss) stopped by soon after that, and they were shocked and dismayed that I would have taken something on like that. They tsked and frowned for so long I started to feel annoyed. I tried to explain myself, but I don't think it was a language barrier that caused the blank looks on their faces. I think it was the culture. They can't imagine all the things I have accomplished alone in my life, and how important my autonomy is to me. Their jaws would probably drop in shock if they knew I used to drive from San Diego to Grass Valley from 11 p.m. to 8 a.m. alone just because I felt like it. Why would I ever call a stranger in the middle of the day for help, when I don't need help?
These days, the thoughts of fleeing home when I have a bad day are fewer and farther between. Of course there are still those days where I think, seriously, another year and eleven months, here? Doing what? But I think that now, since I am better adjusted to being here, and I am not making those constant comparisons between home and here any longer, I tend to look at coming back home more realistically. Now my comparisons aren't, at home I can flush toilet paper, and here I can't. At home I can speak my native language, and here I can't. At home I hung out with American guys who I understood, and who understood me. At home I had a car, friends, and here I don't ever know what's going on. Now it is more like, at home I have no job, and here I have one. At home I would have to live with my parents and save up my money to move out, and here I have my own apartment. At home I have no car and no medical insurance, and here I don't need a car and my medical insurance is great. Ah, that stable, reasonable, disciplined Lisa you know so well!
These are not comparisons designed to make one place better than the other in my mind or anyone else's, as were the initial comparisons. Now when I consider these things, it just seems a lot more reasonable for me to be here, even when I have bad days, even when I feel frustrated. I don't want to quit doing this, the most ambitious thing I have ever done. I can't face coming home only because I couldn't hack it here. All those amenities I would be appreciating would just make me feel small, and selfish. I am not a quitter. Things that seemed impossible and made me want to go back to bed when I first got here are now easier, sometimes even simple, and everyday. Maybe my challenges that I am facing now in six months will seem humorous.
Now, when I think about going home, I wonder about the reverse culture shock more than anything. I wonder how I will feel about the huge sterile spaces, the glitter and cleanliness, the fast-paced life, how expensive things are going to be, the materialistic advertisements everywhere bombaring us as consumers. I think the high expectations of others, the perfectly paved streets, and even sidewalks will be immediately noticeable to me. The efficiency of everything will probably seem like a dream. I worry that the way things look will shock me into silence. We are so truly rich, compared to many places in the world. If I had to be "broke" in any country, I would be broke at home. I don't think, that when I see young couples with two or three little kids, working for minimum wage, that I will judge or pity them. They may not be wildly successful according to "our" standards, but they are living better than half the world, and they have each other.
To me, home is home, and it is a part of me that is impossible to separate from my memories. And I don't want to, there will never be anywhere else truly for me. I am living as half the person I am right now, just to try and make a difference to other people, and to myself. Now, I just am more realistic about coming home. Everything must be put into perspective, and from here, home looks pretty far away. However, I know that it is still there, because a little part of me is still there, too. You should check back with me as I pack to come home, but don't be surprised if I get off the plane and jump back into California with a smile on my face, and a more tolerant feeling in my heart.