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I used to be puzzled by people who migrate to new
countries only to spend their lives in insular, immigrant communities. It seemed
like arrogance or ingratitude. Now however, I think I can offer a new
perspective:
They're just tired.
In my life so far I have relocated five times. I've
been on four coasts in three countries on two continents. My most momentous move
was when I left Scotland for the USA. I now feel qualified to tell you that
trying to be understood in a new culture is exhausting even when you speak
approximately the same language as the locals. Especially if, like me, you hated
to look foolish.
My first few weeks in the States were spent in
Boston, MA. In the beginning an average day would go something like this:
 | Nearly get killed walking to the store because I
keep looking the wrong way, crossing the road. |
| Try to get keys cut and realize I don't know
where to go. Find success at Hardware Store. Feel good about new,
adventurous self. |
| Lunch. See no familiar eateries. Join the line at
the busiest sandwich shop around. Sandwich-man yells "bread?" I
say, "Yes!" Sandwich-man rolls eyes, offers fifteen choices of
bread (what on earth is a pumpernickel?). People behind me sigh. Pick one at
random. "Cheese?" "Yes!" Seven more choices. Panicking
now. Ask sandwich-man what he means by "everything on it?".
Shuffling and muttering behind me grows ominous. Can barely concentrate as
he runs through an impossibly long list of options. Opt for 'everything'.
Discover I hate pickles and pumpernickel. Realize 'peppers' doesn't mean
bell-peppers, but fire-breathing demons. Lose feeling in tongue. Give second
half of sandwich to guy begging outside store. |
| Decide to buy a new CD. Misled into trying
"Hits and Misses" girls' clothing store and several instrument
shops before giving up. |
| Spend three hours at the grocery store blocking
the aisles as I read the labels of every cleaning fluid. Realize I used to
buy everything by looking at the packaging. Fellow shoppers stare at me
staring at everything. Decide to eat only vegetables - their packaging is
familiar. Steer clear of the weird, bulbous tubers and fruits everyone else
is loading into their carts. (It will be two years before I figure out what
to do with a squash). |
| Try to buy comfort food but see nothing familiar
and comforting. Ask a passing shopper for advice. Discover Ben and
Jerry's Ice Cream! |
| Checkout. Start packing own groceries, get weird
look from cashier. |
| Home. Cook dinner. Try to convert recipe
measurements (in ounces or grams) into the unfamiliar 'cups'. Roommate
laughs at my recipe with its weighed-out ingredients. Give up. |
| Make sandwich instead. Roommate laughs at me for
automatically buttering the bread. I laugh at her for automatically putting
cheese on everything. She reminds me whose country I'm in. I apologize. |
| Try to plan for tomorrow. Discouraged by the
thought that there is no such thing anymore as a simple errand. |
| Curl up with Ben and Jerry. Feel much better
(see? I'm assimilating!) |
| Decide to find a fantastic job and hire a
maid/personal shopper. |
You see, I was ready to be confused by the money and politics, but the real
challenge lay in the little, everyday things. In the end, getting bamboozled by
politicians just made me normal. Light switches and keys which turned the wrong
way were the things which triggered hysterical homesickness. It was not being
able to order lunch which made me feel stupid. I can only imagine how
frustrating it must be when your grasp of English is limited.
I'm not saying I think immigrant enclaves are
good for the community as a whole, but now I can certainly understand the
attraction.
There was no comforting enclave for me, but hey, at
least I learned to laugh at myself!
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