In memory of a friend who never gave up on me.

Much has been said about this topic and as time changes; more can be said about it. This is probably one of the more absorbing experiences; normally reflected on in retrospect or studied as a form of cultural preparation. Sitting in a lonely lounge in the department of foreign languages (Hagerty Hall) , I can probably find no better place to type this blog. I must tell you that this will be in a very informal style, and should the reader choose to leave, well; I really can’t stop him, can I? Nor do I intend to make this a blog for a hapless international acutely homesick. You do not have to leave a country to feel out of place sometimes. Nevertheless, being a newcomer into the age of 17 and a new country does offer a unique emotional perspective. I thought the most prudent place to start this blog, would be the greatest cultural barrier of all, language.

English is the lingua franca of America. Everyone uses it though Spanish keeps catching up. Now my English isn’t particularly bad and yet occasional misunderstandings keep flaring up when I least expect them. Say you walk into a cafeteria and see the delicious hot dog you want. In a moment of ravenous impulse you ask the sweet lady behind the counter for a wiener. The look she gives you …. Oh damn! In a stroke of pure genius you realize your mistake and stutter an apology which tends to include the words “foreign” and “not from here”. She shakes her head in disgust and off you go head hanging in shame. Now, if that sounded funny its only because I intended it to. For anyone else in the situation knows how dangerous it can really be.

Not to say anything of those so many others who find the fluid parlance of English a challenge. Imagine a class room which as daunting as it already is (I am an Engineering major) is spoken in a different language or with different and unfamiliar quirks, terminologies or accents. The manner of instruction can be a significant challenge as might be the decorum expected.

Its 09:00 AM and my math recitation teacher is passing out the quizzes. He calls out a name of a person right behind me but in a location that makes it difficult to approach. The helpful Indian that I am I rise to get the paper and pass it on to her. He stares at me, she stares at me, and the whole class looks on in mild amusement. I’m like what did I do now??? American embarrassment No.2. Never touch a quiz belonging to someone else and refrain from asking a classmate how much they scored on a quiz. Privacy is a very big thing. Now I made it a point to ask a close American friend if this was the norm and his answer was negative. Yet from my viewpoint there is a difference in classmate relationships here and elsewhere. Some of the warmth, maybe?

A better example would be the Engineering class. Now I am not very good in this class. There is something about dimensioning and drawing that I find troublesome. I do love the computer work though. So when we work as a group on a question I find the situation inclusive and yet paradoxically exclusive. We work as a group from a shell of self. Unlike the probing questions I am used to in groups back home “Hey did you get it?” or “Do you want me to help you?” or even “What the hell are you doing?!?”, if I choose to distance myself from the group here, I could do so. That is not to say the classroom is devoid of warmth, in fact it’s not! We didn’t have too many conversations on the Premier league teams in the classrooms I was used to but Engineering here is teaching me quite a bit about the Patriots and Steelers. So the laissez faire attitude co exists with exams and grades. The group works with sub units existing within. To be fair I must say that the person truly at fault is me. The assumptions I draw are made by my mind from what to others is a very natural American classroom. In truth, I and most in my situation have a nagging feeling of not really belonging and that is what makes the difference between a normal classroom and the “American” classroom. Rationally, I do not expect anyone to change for me. I need to change and make myself feel to belong. That has been done by others before me and I shall do it too. My experience remains mine and unique.

That brings us to the final part of the blog. A dispassionate account of the emotions I experienced. The oxymoron is well suited because most emotions I encountered are paradoxical. Lonely sometimes and yet at the centre of attention else while. Embarrassed by awkward moments which later turn out to be wonderful dinner conversations. Alienated by my different upbringing which fascinates my friends. I do wonder if these experiences remain meaningless in a larger context. Are they abstractions of language and useless appendices of emotion in a wannabe engineer?

I think not. I think it’s important for me or anyone else to consider these emotions and adapt to the surroundings without corrupting the unique values and character that we had learned and acquired. Right now I’m sitting on the amphitheater by Mirror Lake, looking at a mutated duck waddle by. Whatever the challenge I need to adapt wisely. Sure I miss home very much. Home is a long way away and this country is in so many ways a constant reminder of what it was back there and then again, not. However the lessons learned here is part of working in a global economy with sensitivity to multinational collaboration. It’s also a lesson in control and a test of maturity. To break into frustration, tears or anger is to accept weakness. The challenges are hard and some grades might be low but to give in is to lose it all.