Homebase & Homesick

So I went to bed feeling resolved. When I awoke, I called my real estate agent to confirm that I would take the small serviced apartment I saw in District 1 that was walking distance to school, my good friend, and a nice yoga studio. The clincher was that it only required a one-month deposit and was a three-month lease. I was trading size and my amazing view for proximity and flexibility. The extra bedroom had meant that I’d finally “made it” and eagerly awaited visitors. But in truth, it would only be occupied for 1% of my time in Saigon and I don’t need to prove myself to anyone.  Furthermore, the indoor space I wanted for hosting dinners and house parties is not needed (evidenced by the lack of ovens in all kitchens and abundance of free food delivery).  Restaurants, takeaway, bars and nights on the town prevail.  And the outdoor space that I thought would need to counteract the traffic, noise and crowds of the downtown is still available anytime I want to hop on a xe om (motorbike taxi) and visit my friends in D7.  I need more time to let go of the life I loved in Jordan and reframe my thinking to enjoy how things happen here.
  
That also goes for my partner, colleagues and dear friends in Jordan, all of whom I miss immensely.  Knowing that they have regrouped and are having great fun (as they should) makes me feel as if I’m missing out.  As I go through the challenges of adjusting to a new country, I keep wishing I could call them or curl up on their couches to talk.  Leaving my partner has been especially difficult.  I am intensely homesickness; however, home for me is not the US, home is where I have flourished for the last two years.  I am fighting the fantasy of returning to Jordan.  What would I return to? I was ready to move on from my job.  Many friends have or will soon move away, and those who stay will adjust to my absence.  The barriers in my romantic relationship will still be there.  I always knew that leaving that life behind would be hard, but that realization hasn’t helped much in midst of the emotional aftermath.  The expat life has provided so many blessings that I would not change for the world, but it has also been filled with tough choices and painful farewells.

Decision-Making Anxiety

Thankfully, my colleagues at my new school have all been amazing. We have bonded quickly and I did not hesitate to reach out when I realized my living situation was not the best. I was comforted by encouraging words and opportunities to socialize.  No one had actually seen my beautiful apartment, but when my close friend from Jordan (who coincidentally now lives in Saigon) finally stopped over, she was impressed.  I was bolstered and we decided to venture out into the neighborhood to explore the street food.  She has been in Vietnam for 6 months already and lives in a back alley guesthouse, so not much can get by her.  But she confirmed the presence of a “ripping off the tourist” cloud that I had suspected was hanging over me.  Additionally, I am always up for a culinary adventure, but the street food options were past my tolerance for exotic.  Lack of cleanliness, intense smells and mysterious innards floating in my soup.  Not a comfy café in sight.  After a bit of fun, we made our way back to my apartment, and the tears sprang out again.

I was homesick, lonely (no internet at the apartment yet meant no email or skype), overwhelmed by my last minute job-change, and feeling like I couldn’t make a confident decision about what to eat let alone where to live.  She talked me through the thought that had been sneaking into my brain since the moment I moved in, and we hashed out a plan for backing out of the lease. I sent the text to my real estate agent the next morning and waited for a reply. The biggest question was how much money I would I lose.  His first response after breaking the news to the landlady was that it didn’t go well, so I decided to meet with her myself. Via her extremely responsible teenage daughter, I was able to communicate my need to be closer to my school and other expats.  She did not hesitate to offer me back the full deposit and prorated rent (less the realtor's cut).  She was worried about me being so far from my family and just wanted me to be happy.  There were no hard feelings and we hugged good night when she left.  I'll take motherly love wherever I can find it :-)

The next day, my agent took me around to a range of housing options in several districts, each having pluses and minuses. District 1 was close to nice restaurants, hotels, gyms, yoga studios and school, but it was also crowded, loud and apartments were tiny and expensive. The building on the edge of District 5 where several colleagues resided was much closer to school, but the apartments were lesser quality and equal in price to my current place. I just couldn’t swallow breaking a lease and losing money to move within the same district to a place that I didn’t really like.  District 7 had some quite nice places in a concrete jungle complex for the same price.  Although quieter and closer to the rest of my colleagues, I kept balking at moving so far away from downtown and tacking on another ten minutes to my motorbike commute.  I should mention that all of these places wanted a two-month deposit, plus two months’ rent, plus a year lease.  I had been blessed once by an amazing landlady, but the chance of finding another, were I to repeat my “wrong” choice, was very slim.  After talking it over with my friend, we decided that District 7 was the best fit for me due to proximity to friends, open space, and presence of expat-friendly restaurants and stores.

From Jordan to Vietnam

The last two weeks have been a rollercoaster of contradictions. Excitement and dread. Relief and regret. Sheer ambivalence at every turn. The three foundational needs for re-establishing my life include: my job, where I will live and who I will spend time with. In each of these, I have had extreme highs and lows since I arrived in Vietnam.

Let’s start with my job. Well, this is the driving force that brought me literally to the other side of the world. I have taught in various capacities on and off for several years. After completing my Master’s degree in International Education and teaching elementary school language arts in Jordan for the last two years, I know I have found the best career for myself. I left Amman feeling confident in my abilities and eager to grow as an educator. Arriving in Vietnam, I feel as if I am a first year teacher all over again. And in fact I almost was when my position was changed last minute from ESOL to Grade 3 classroom. Gulp. Be with the kids all day? Plan for all content areas? I’ve always flirted with the idea of making this switch, but when it was thrust at my unexpectedly, I hadn’t had time to mentally prepare and was freaking out internally. As is my way, I jumped right in setting up the classroom, meeting with the other third grade teachers, and planning as much as I could. But I still felt like I was spinning wheels.


This is also when my housing anxiety kicked in. The school financed my stay in a very clean yet windowless hotel room downtown for just one week. The whole lot of new teachers was scrambling to find accommodations at the same time and it seemed I was one step behind. Half of them decided on one building walking distance to the school but further from Western familiarities, and the other half chose a highrise complex in a leafy suburb about 20 minutes by motorbike from school. I wavered on both locations because my mind was still stuck on my charming, spacious apartment in Jordan for half the price. These were box-like with tacky and/or low quality furniture. The bathrooms in most were blah and I couldn’t imagine snuggling up to watch a movie on any of the couches. So I went online and found some listings I liked in a building in the same district as my school. I fell in love with the apartment as soon as I walked in the door. Simple and high quality furniture, neutral tones, two bedrooms and two bathrooms, and high up with an amazing view. After losing out on other apartments, I jumped on this one. No one was going to beat me to it!

I handed over millions of Vietnamese Dong and moved in the next day. As soon as I signed the lease and the landlady and real estate agent left, the tears poured out. What had I just done? I was all alone in middle of District 5. Yes, it was in the same district as my school, but still a ten minute ride on the back of a motorbike. Certainly not walkable. And I learned very quickly that I was the only expat in the twenty block radius of Chinatown. I have absolutely nothing against Chinese people—and actually one of the reasons I felt at ease signing this lease was because the landlady was so unbelievably nice—but the isolation was intense. I had to haggle hard with motorbike taxis and then get jostled around in dense traffic for twenty minutes anytime I wanted to go somewhere expat-friendly, and when I wanted to come back, no one knew where it was. The route quickly became familiar, but I soon began dreading it. Inside the apartment, I loved the peacefulness, amazing view and super-comfortable bed, but as soon as I stepped outside, the chaos swept over me.

Higher Powers & Making Plans

My summer started with a huge rush as my entire family arrived in Jordan for a two week adventure throughout the Levant. We drove up and down Jordan doing ever touristy or untouristy (and thus even cooler) thing I could think of. We flew to Lebanon and drove to Syria. I was determined for them to love this crazy desert as much as I do. Therefore, I even (gasp) planned in advanced so that my elaborate itinerary would not balance in the hands of people who did or did not fee like doing their jobs on those particular days. Well, guess what. Tons of things fell apart, like the van I had booked months in advance, the caters that flaked out (two different ones), and my Syrian visa that never came (even though I submitted everything well in advance).

This is the lesson that I have learned and relearned throughout my time in the Middle East: your fate is God's will (inshallah is the magic word). On one hand, it has been a tremendous release to ease my grip on the Western technique of obsessive-compulsive micromanagement. Things often don't work out the way you hope. Life goes on. But on the other hand, people in this region often take this to mean that they don't have to do anything (i.e. their jobs) to make sure plans/reservations/deposits are respected. Consequently, everyone is constantly yelling at each other that they need something NOW and that they are MORE important than everyone else. They will fight tooth and nail to get EXACTLY what they want. And then if it doesn't work out, then it was God's will. So living here has also shortened my already fairly short fuse. Everything from making sure my water is delivered on time to ensuring that my monthly paycheck is accurate to renting a car for the agreed time and price are always exercises in how firm, pushy and demanding I can be.

It's exhausting. I constantly strive to balance between detailed planning that inevitably falls through and lazy arrogance that culminates in making last minute demands. So the goal is to prepare as much as I can within reason, expect the worse, and when it doesn't work out, be firm and stand up for myself. Because no matter whose fault it was that things didn't work out, God is still watching.

At the End of the Rainbow

Adaptation

Acceptance of legitimacy of another reality. Satisfying personal relationships with host nationals. Language competence. Thorough understanding and enjoyment and adoption of some of its ways. Ability to cope with stress.
The insane bureaucracy. The treatment of women. The lack of consideration for others in public spaces. Sleazy teenage boys. Scheming taxi drivers. I have a ways to go before I can fully accept these as a valid reality. Maybe I never will. Coping with stress is a case-by-case situation. I handle it better now than I ever did in the U.S. I hardly drink alcohol anymore and opt for yoga as a coping mechanism instead. Monthly trips to the spa and salon alongside more care in my wardrobe have made me feel better about myself and allowed me to blend in a bit more with the Jordanian women (who never leave the house without a fully accessorized outfit, blown out hair and full make-up). I have positive relationships with my coworkers (expats and locals) and stop to say hi to people on the street. I don't know if it is linguistically possible for me to become fluent in Arabic, but my English is now seasoned with Arabic slang and conversation fillers (yalla, yani, bas, halas, habibti)

Things I enjoy and have adapted in terms of Jordanian/Palestinian culture center primarily around food (no surprise there!). I prefer labneh and falafel for breakfast, I eat my biggest meal in the afternoon, I drink tea at least three times a day (with heaps of sugar), I feel like a sinner if I don't serve tea to anyone who enters my house, and I smoke argileh like it's going out of style. The only non-food custom that I can think of is that I kiss everyone I know hello and good-bye (once on the left, two on the right).Living as an expat is total-body experience. My weight, my emotions and my mindset all fluctuate regularly as I move through these stages of culture shock in jolts and out of order. But as long as I keep sight of the bigger picture and don't get too stuck in the moment, the highs and lows seem to balance each other out. The challenges, life lessons, daily routines, simple joys and amazing relationships I have found along the way make it all worthwhile.

One Day at a Time

Gradual Adjustment

Crisis passes and the visitor begins to understand more of the customs and subtle cultural clues. Language skills increase. Humor returns. The culture seems more familiar and the visitor feels more comfortable and less isolated in it.

There are glimmers of hope. Culture shock absolutely correlates to emotional stress in daily life. On good days, I love Amman. On bad days, I hate it. I don't see myself as a "visitor" anymore. I live here. I don't really have a home to go back to, and I've invested a lot of time and money into my newest (third) flat. I have found supportive female spaces and look to all the strong women (expat AND local) for inspiration. I appreciate all the men in my life that show me how wrong stereotypes can be. My Arabic skills are slowly improving. I walk around my neighborhood and try to imagine how it will look through the wide eyes of my family members who are coming in a week and have never been to the Middle East. I have my grocer, my tailor, my hairdresser, my shuwarma guy, my regular server at my regular restaurant. I have my favorite street cat, my favorite building, my favorite flowers, my favorite city views.

Bring on the Drama…

Culture Shock

Focus shifts to differences that suddenly seem to be everywhere and are blown out of proportion. Sense of humor replaced by irritations, hostility, anxiety, disorientation, and vulnerability. Symptoms of culture shock may include the following: excessive amounts of sleep, compulsive eating and/or drinking, exaggerated cleanliness, physical ailments, marital/familial problems, stereotyping, chauvinism, fits of weeping, homesickness, boredom.


Culture shock bashed me over the head, threw me against a wall and left me for dead the moment I returned from Christmas vacation. After being in the U.S. for ten days, I had missed my friends and life in Amman and was looking forward to returning for a New Year's Eve celebration. Flight complications, lost luggage, arriving to an empty house, a fizzled party and a detached significant other all sent me into a tailspin. A small disagreement between my boyfriend and I escalated into an break-up, I became confrontational at school about the fact that I had yet to receive my residency and work permit, and I felt extremely homesick for everything American.

My friends supported me fantastically through the break-up by listening to my relentless psycho-analysis as I sucked on argileh hoses and stared at my coffee. My jetlag became torture and I barely slept for two weeks. I was never hungry. I got three ear infections in two months. I stayed in my room unless my friends dragged me out to go to a party or a bar. And when I did venture out, I realized how awful the lurid stares from the men on the streets really were. The thought of abandoning ship that had flashed in my mind when I first arrived in Amman was flickering again.

This stage comes and goes and correlates strongly to the emotional effects of other events in my life. The support of my friends during the break-up gave me a strong sense of kinship and belonging that I have treasured ever since. And I realized that my job was fulfilling, despite the bureaucratic nightmares and lack of organization, and that with or without a boyfriend, I wanted to stay. Since hearts know no logic, he and I soon reunited and I am continuously overwhelmed by the support and stability that exist now between us.

Yet despite deep friendships and a wonderful partner, I have become a royal brat in many ways. The hassling, whistles, lewd comments and lack of respect from so many men on a regular basis have pushed me over the edge. I yell back, I refuse to step aside and I gripe about it to anyone who will listen. This is the one place I am just so stuck. Well, actually, two other negativity-traps include the something-for-nothing mentality and the let-me-see-how-much-I-can-screw-the-foreigner game, which also have twisted me into an obstinate, finger-wagging, very angry bitch.

I've always considered myself open-minded and easy-going, and for the first five months I honestly was. But I have developed a very stubborn and angry alter-ego. Sometimes it's good and sometimes it's bad. In the U.S. I never used to complain about customer service or demand respect when people were taking advantage of me. Now this is a regular occurrence. Good for me. But I also expect the worse from men I don't know and yell aggressively when I feel someone has wronged me. Shame on me. I am stuck in stereotypes and it's intellectually and personally maddening. That is the antithesis of who I strive to be.

The Highs and Lows of Living Abroad

I've read from several sources, including my graduate school textbooks, about the stages of culture shock that someone living abroad will pass through. Yet no matter how much you read up on something, when you're entirely in the moment, textbooks don't mean diddly. Having lived in Amman for over ten months now (wow!), let me explain what this "culture shock" means in my daily life.

I've listed the stages below and will pace out my commentary since I have a lot to say!

Stages of Culture Shock
Initial Euphoria
Culture Shock
Gradual Adjustment
Adaptation


Initial Euphoria...yippeeee

Excitement, high (perhaps too high) expectations and energy, positive mindset. Everything new is intriguing. Focus is on similarities between home culture and new culture.

Well, my airport debacle upon arrival quickly squashed any initial euphoria and I was pretty cranky and skeptical the first few days. As I began making friends and venturing out into the city on my own, however, I did notice that I was a much friendlier and more outgoing version of myself than I had been in DC. I had a great attitude about my new school and kept thinking how much better it was than teaching in the U.S. Less students, more freedom with the curriculum and tons of planning time. I even thought two hour staff meetings entirely in Arabic were a good way to force me to learn the language.

I moved flats and entered a new social circle in the fall, so I think my euphoria was prolonged. Also, I began a romantic relationship that made each day an exciting adventure and distracted me from the more challenging parts of my life. Heck, Ramadan even seemed romantic at the time!