We’ve just completed week three of HBA. Time is going by really fast. This week I kind of want to write about home.
During the pre-departure orientation for Light, we all looked at a graph that showed the ups and down of cultural adjustment. The first stage is honeymoon, then culture shock, then adjustment, and finally adaptation. I’m not quite sure where I am right now. I feel like I go through this curve literally once a day.
Homesickness has come and gone like ocean waves these past few days. On Wednesday, a few of us decided to go to Chaoyang Joy City, a massive (and I really mean that) shopping center in Beijing’s Central Business District. I was amazed by literally everything—the size (11 floors), the indoor garden, the countless food/dessert options, etc. It was a crazy experience. But every now and then, I would feel distant from my surroundings, like I was searching for something that I expected to be there. At the clothing shops, it was my mother. The way she closely examines whatever I try on and is the ultimate deciding factor. The mutual love we have for looking put-together in times of distress. At restaurants, it was my dad. His extensive knowledge on the culinary arts. The way I trust him wholeheartedly when it comes to food.
The weirdest thing, though, has been the confusion I feel when it comes to the idea of home.
Occasionally when I eat out, they’ll be a dish that tastes exactly like home. An authentic, hearty Chinese dish from the heart of Beijing that reminds of New York. It’s weird because I grew up eating Chinese food knowing that it was different from what my classmates were eating. And because of that, I treated it as something that was from home. At that point in my life, I had forgotten what home in China meant, but because America didn’t feel like home yet, I relied on my imagination to fill in the gaps. A decade or so later, I’m in China, eating real Chinese food, and somehow it reminds me of America.
Perhaps this means I’m in the culture shock phase of my summer abroad experience. As a Chinese-American, I didn’t expect this stage to hit so strongly. I went in skeptical, unwillingly to believe that I could feel culture shock in my own culture. What I’m beginning to realize is that my idea of Chinese culture is outdated. It has been passed down to me by my parents, who have been focusing on adapting to new surroundings rather than staying updated with old ones, and the Chinatowns of an American metropolitan city.
The Chinese-American experience in China has been tough, but I think it will be one of the most important experiences in my life. I’m excited to continue exploring this—the confusion, frustration, nostalgia, and more.
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