We headed back to America three months ago, and as soon as my feet hit American soil, or by that I mean Airport floor, I felt the bizarre feeling most people must feel after they’ve grown accustomed to a new place, and return to an old one. I felt like I had somehow jumped from one universe to another. Everything was familiar and unfamiliar all in the same moment. I was almost immediately repulsed by commercialism and vanity, and then realized, that it was just “America” and I used to fit in here pretty well!
Days went on. We went to the dollar store, and I was overwhelmed at the availability of every candy I had dreamed of all year, and filled my grocery basket like a child with Nerds, Sweet Tarts, and mints. Restaurants we’d longed for were a five-minute drive away… and we had a CAR to drive to them! We went to Wal-mart, and I was floored at the unending possibilities of everything I could buy! All in ONE STORE! Then grocery shopping happened, and I felt like I was 18 again and didn’t know a thing about what to buy… there were just too many options! And how did you buy the fruit and vegetables? Did you have to weigh them? Put them in a bag? Put a tag on them?
Then the moment came when I saw my family. Everything was right in the world again. My 3-year-old sister even remembered who I was! Our last month in Canada was filled with Christmas festivities, and I treasured every moment as long as I could. The culture shock had worn off, and I felt home again.
HOME?! Universes collided. I had only weeks left before I went back to China. I didn’t want to go. I was terrified of missing everything I had still not quite grown accustomed to being so accessible. And my family. The thought of leaving them left a knot in my stomach. Did I spend enough time with each person? Did I make the most of the time I had? Could I make it another year apart from them? I wanted to stay home, not go home.
We headed to the airport, three days after Christmas. My stomach felt like a brick had somehow been thrust down my throat and was quite comfortable making itself at home in the bottom of my stomach. Would I be ok? Would the culture shock overwhelm me? Would it feel like “home”?
We arrived at 3:30am last Thursday. The next few days, I walked around, a bit like I was in a dream. Universes had shifted again. Instead of cars filling the streets, scooters, 3-wheeled wagons, bicycles, some cars, city buses, and 50-year-old looking trucks filled the streets. Vegetable sellers sat on most corners, and the old Chinese people filled the air with music, and dancing. Then I caught a whiff of the shao-kao (street meat) cooking… my stomach started screaming. I was CRAVING Chinese food! Any kind would be fine!
We stepped into a restaurant. “Do you like goat?” the owner said. “We’re Canadian.” I replied, somehow convinced he'd asked me where I was from. “Oh, can Canadian’s not eat goat?” Ok. Little rusty on my Chinese. We ended up leaving that restaurant, because we didn’t want goat… not because we were Canadian. HAHA! How embarrassing! We ended up at a little noodle restaurant, and I awkwardly tried to pull my Chinese out of the abyss it had disappeared to in my brain. They were so kind and patient. The noodles were so good.
Today, I hopped on my scooter, joined the chaotic road-race and ran errands. They understood me, and I understood them. I breathed in all the smells around me, and looked at all of the sights that were unusually usual. I smiled as big as I possibly could smile. I loved being here. I’m Worlds apart from my old home, but there’s a strange familiarity about this place… like it was just waiting for me to get back here… back home.
