So we've now been in this 'ere country for going on four months. Crazy.
I'm amazed at the very hard concept of reverse culture shock. We read about it. We were warned. But DUDE. It's real.
One of my biggest problems is the fact that I start every other sentence with "when we lived in Brazil ...," and the fact is - no one cares. Not really. They act politely interested, but in truth they're thinking about their dinner or their kids or some TV show or the fact that I have a huge zit right below my nose. And that's hard for me. I've had this overwhelming experience that has shaped the very person that I am, and I can't talk about it.
A much smaller aspect of culture shock is some moral quandaries that I've been experiencing.
Quan-da-ry: –noun, plural -ries. a state of perplexity or uncertainty, esp. as to what to do; dilemma.
Somehow I feel GUILTY for living here.
Does that make sense?
We have a dishwasher. And air conditioning. And a very active church right down the road. Our kids go to amazing schools and we can eat Mexican food whenever we want. Everything is so EASY here, and I can't help but think about the millions of people (some of which are my dear, dear friends) who have it pretty darn hard.
I've blogged before about being accidentally crunchy. I was somewhat interested as to whether or not I would continue to be, once we moved back. The answer is: yesno.
I no longer make my own cheerios. (Tchahright.) But I do continue to use Tupperware instead of baggies and cloths instead of paper towels. It's ingrained.
The quan-da-ry comes into play in the grocery store.
I wander up and down the aisles, salivating over CONVENIENCE: frozen dinners, cake mixes, Rice-a-roni, instant au gratin potatoes and Hamburger Helper. But I somehow can't bring myself to buy them.
I imagine my Brazilian friends standing behind my shoulder, looking at me with understanding eyes, but somehow sad.
Am I selling out?
I'm already anticipating the comments: "Gimme a break, Bex, buy the stupid instant rice and canned beans and call it a day. Who. Freakin. Cares." And you know what, you're right. And I have, to some degree. We have frozen chicken nuggets in our freezer and I did buy ready-made spaghetti sauce. But I just ... can't ... bring ... myself ... to go the whole shebang.
Don't know why. Maybe I'm being a martyr. Maybe I'm crunchier than I thought. Or maybe I'm just weird.
Any bets on how long I last?