Today, I'm remembering my transition to life in the Dominican Republic. I arrived, all by myself, to the capital and journeyed to the central, mountainous part of the island where my family lives in Jarabacoa. With my past experience in the country, I quickly got accustomed to the roaring of motorcycles, blaring of music and radio announcements, Caribbean sun and heat, navigating streets and small sidewalks, and talking in Spanish … all the time. I missed the delicious food my host mother cooks, and I adopted the starchy diet and walks to the colmado to get snacks or phone minutes. I got used to sleeping during warm nights under my mosquito net and my super-efficient, cold-water bucket baths. I had missed the motorcycle taxis, guaguas for public transportation, and walking so much. I had missed the mountain or ocean views and abundance of fresh fruit. Most importantly, though, I missed the warmth of the culture and friendliness of the people.
Now that I'm coming back home, and leaving my second one, I'm feeling the same strange feelings of transition and culture shock I felt nearly three months ago. My packaged meals on the airplane to New York were my first in the States, and the sounds of Spanish I was surrounded by had nearly all gone away. Traffic is much more concerted, and there wasn't a place without air conditioning. Although the crowds in customs and the airport were abrasive, I felt back at home with the friendliness of the people in Michigan. My mind was relieved now that I could communicate with others with depth and ease. I was overwhelmed by the increase in diversity of food, comfort of living, and change in climate.
It's a strange feeling for me to live with these two cultural identities, and it's not a switch I turn on or off. For me, they are hard to define, and they aren't separated by a distinct boundary. I live symbiotically with both, and for that, it's made me a better person.
Now that I'm coming back home, and leaving my second one, I'm feeling the same strange feelings of transition and culture shock I felt nearly three months ago. My packaged meals on the airplane to New York were my first in the States, and the sounds of Spanish I was surrounded by had nearly all gone away. Traffic is much more concerted, and there wasn't a place without air conditioning. Although the crowds in customs and the airport were abrasive, I felt back at home with the friendliness of the people in Michigan. My mind was relieved now that I could communicate with others with depth and ease. I was overwhelmed by the increase in diversity of food, comfort of living, and change in climate.
It's a strange feeling for me to live with these two cultural identities, and it's not a switch I turn on or off. For me, they are hard to define, and they aren't separated by a distinct boundary. I live symbiotically with both, and for that, it's made me a better person.