Meeting it halfway
Well, it's been a little while. Much like India, this blog feels unreal to me. I haven't dared to read over everything that I've written yet. I've been home for a little over three weeks, and I'm still waiting for that big culture shock. You know, the overwhelming wave of feeling out of place in your home country. Or maybe it's that flash of anger you're supposed to feel at the materialism and commercialism of America, especially during the holiday season.
But I haven't felt any of that. Nothing at all. The strangest moment I had was when I found myself staring at a bunch of bananas in our fruit bowl, all huge and perfectly yellow without a spot to be seen. I started thinking about the little finger-size bananas we'd buy on the street, all covered with brown spots as flies circled like vultures. That, to me, was real. These polished impostors couldn't have passed for even the most distant relative of our kaylas.
Honestly, "shock" would be the last word I'd use to describe my time home. If anything, it's felt too normal. I talked with some friends from the trip about it, but I feel as though India was some strange, feverish dream that I had a few weeks ago. It couldn't possibly have been real. I know that the past six months have changed me, and as I predicted earlier, I'm able to see the changes now that I'm home. But it scares me to think that the only things I'll carry back with me are personality changes that I can adapt to American life. Where did India go? Why don't I miss it?
When I was there, I definitely felt moments of panic in which I wanted nothing more than to liquidate my assets (right.. like I had assets...) and fly back home. But that was rare. Most of the time, even though I looked forward to returning home, I was truly living there. Sometime during the first few months, it ceased being a carnival ride that made me clutch for stability and started becoming a life. So, then, why don't I think of it? When I talk about it, and I mean talk about it, it comes back. Just a little, but it's better than nothing. I'm not talking about the awful "Oh! Sarah! You were in India, right? Did you have fun?" "Oh, yeah, it was great" exchange. I've had about enough of that. But when I can really sit down with somebody who I care about and trust to talk about the realities about it, I can see it a little more sharply. For a few minutes, the thousands of pictures that clutter my hard drive really did come from my camera. The shawls and statues that keep me company really did come from the other side of the world. But when the conversation ends and I hop into the heated, insulated car to drive across the frozen rain and snowy ground, it vaporizes.
And I'm not sure how I feel about that.
Love,
Sarah!
iPod: "Halfway Home," Jason Mraz
But I haven't felt any of that. Nothing at all. The strangest moment I had was when I found myself staring at a bunch of bananas in our fruit bowl, all huge and perfectly yellow without a spot to be seen. I started thinking about the little finger-size bananas we'd buy on the street, all covered with brown spots as flies circled like vultures. That, to me, was real. These polished impostors couldn't have passed for even the most distant relative of our kaylas.
Honestly, "shock" would be the last word I'd use to describe my time home. If anything, it's felt too normal. I talked with some friends from the trip about it, but I feel as though India was some strange, feverish dream that I had a few weeks ago. It couldn't possibly have been real. I know that the past six months have changed me, and as I predicted earlier, I'm able to see the changes now that I'm home. But it scares me to think that the only things I'll carry back with me are personality changes that I can adapt to American life. Where did India go? Why don't I miss it?
When I was there, I definitely felt moments of panic in which I wanted nothing more than to liquidate my assets (right.. like I had assets...) and fly back home. But that was rare. Most of the time, even though I looked forward to returning home, I was truly living there. Sometime during the first few months, it ceased being a carnival ride that made me clutch for stability and started becoming a life. So, then, why don't I think of it? When I talk about it, and I mean talk about it, it comes back. Just a little, but it's better than nothing. I'm not talking about the awful "Oh! Sarah! You were in India, right? Did you have fun?" "Oh, yeah, it was great" exchange. I've had about enough of that. But when I can really sit down with somebody who I care about and trust to talk about the realities about it, I can see it a little more sharply. For a few minutes, the thousands of pictures that clutter my hard drive really did come from my camera. The shawls and statues that keep me company really did come from the other side of the world. But when the conversation ends and I hop into the heated, insulated car to drive across the frozen rain and snowy ground, it vaporizes.
And I'm not sure how I feel about that.
Love,
Sarah!
iPod: "Halfway Home," Jason Mraz
posted by Sarah! at 9:18 PM
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