Home:  The World (but fairly happy for the time being in Forest Grove, Oregon)

Expat-dom: 4 years in Japan, 1 year in Romania, 1 year in France, 6 months each in Korea/Australia, 4 months in South Africa

Country Count: 44 (Top 3: Croatia, Slovenia, Japan)

Hey KatJ.  I’m not a blogger, but I’m a fairly talented rambler, so here goes.

Ugh, coming home.  Coming home from overseas bites.  It reminds me of the “Sludge Test” in high school when the H.S. chemistry teacher would give you this black, oily, hairy blob and then (through a series of tests you’ve studied all term), you would come up with all 17 ingredients (motor oil, bubble bath, sand, etc.) .  “Reverse culture shock” has all these hidden emotions that eventually burble up to the surface….

When I’ve come home from long sojourns overseas, I feel ___.  No, it’s not frustration.  It’s not hatred (although I have felt that a fair bit in the past).  It’s not exactly shame (but I have felt that, too).  It’s like someone made you swallow a bubble and that bubble is pumped up inside of you, right up under your skin.  And the littlest things just make you want to explode sometimes from the inside out: consumerism, materialism, indulgence, grandiosity (the SIZES of everything), superficiality, political ignorance, geographical stupidity (Australia versus Austria, among others), etc. etc.  When you mix all of this with homesickness, wistfulness, and desire to be “anywhere but here,” it’s pretty heady stuff.  At least it was for me.

One breakdown I had in particular was when I returned to the States from Japan.  My friend dropped me off at Safeway to grab some shampoo while he waited outside in the car.  After 20 or so minutes, I emerged, with nothing in hand, except tears and (probably) snot from a fairly colossal meltdown in the shampoo aisle.  SO many kinds, sizes, flavors, colors…do I have oily hair?Normal?Dry?Blended?Colored treated?Curly?Straight?Flyaway?Small bottle?Big bottle?With attached conditioning pack?Without attached conditioning pack?Hairmasque?Dandruffcontrol?  In my neighborhood store in Fukuoka, Japan, there were maybe 6-7 choices, none of which I could read anyway, so who cared?  In Romania, I bought whatever was *there*.   So, in this situation, the balloon was pumped up and all it took was a choice between PertorSuaveorHeadandShouldersorAussieorTresSemmeorPaulMitchellorInsfusiumorPantene orNexxusorVidalSassoonorWhiteRainorSt.IvesorVo5 to set it off.

It’s also a challenge to be one of the only people you know who travel.  People asked me all the time:  “So how was it?  Did you have fun?”  And my mouth would slightly hang open, and I would be thinking: “Ummm, yeah. I was in the middle of South Africa where nobody had apparently gotten the news that Mandela had been elected and the townships still had curfews and black taxis/white taxis.  *Yeah, I had fun*.”  It chokes you up when this magnanimous experience you’ve just had is whittled down to a couple of polite sentences to a disinterested few.  Your family and true friends will save you—the ones that really want to know how you drank tuica and played Uno with school principals and how the Japanese customs officials bowed and excused themselves out of the room when they discovered your trove of feminine products.  (Ha!!)  When you return home from overseas, those who really know and love you will envelope you like a blanketJ. 

And this especially includes Patrick and Brandon—what a gift to be able to give each other “reverse culture shock” therapy at a moment’s notice.  I did 99% of my traveling/living overseas by myself, so maybe these words are streaked with a bit more spit and fire than most people, who knows.

I did manage to find solace….  I talked with other expats, joined language conversation groups, and made new friends with people who had the same obsessions.  I planned my next overseas trip almost as soon as the plane skidded along the tarmac.  When I got homesick for Japan, I went to Uwajimaya and ate Udon, when I was homesick for Romania, I sang to my Romanian rock CDs and made ciorba while making care packages for those I left behind.  I kept busy with work.  I had purpose and a whole list of plans. 

So, there are my two cents.  Just get together with lots of friends and lean on your familyJ.

I’ll be thinking of you,

Amy