Dealing with the Reverse

Reverse culture shock doesn’t just hit you when it comes to classes, with how you dress, or how you eat. It hits all aspects of your life, from how you interact with others to simply missing the culture that became your life for an extended period of time.

I lived in Korea for a year and half. It was simply an amazing, fantastic, describable yet indescribable experience. Korea became my life. It became how I talked, how I walked, ate, slept, studied, and interacted. It dominated my way of thinking. It became my second set of lungs, bringing me vital oxygen to sustain my life.

Now, displaced, my second set of lungs is now shrinking. I am suffocating.

I go to bed early, no reason to stay up. I wake up early, there is studying to do. I eat small meals, all low in fat. Why mess up the balance in my body with something fried? Every facet of my life, I find I am comparing it with Korea. It is whirling me into a deep depression that I am struggling to swim my way out of.

On Sunday, I turned 21. Even though my mom had traveled 6 and a half hours to see me, even though my old friends slapped together a party for me, I still cried. I cried as I read messages from Korea. I cried as my Korean and International friends wished me a happy birthday. I heaved as my body ached to be back home in Seoul, surrounded by familiar sights, sounds, tastes, and talks.

I angered myself as I cried. There was no reason. I am home. I need to get used to it. But that is like telling broken toe to stop hurting.

My anger with myself fueled me to change. I cannot live in a rut. The only one who can improve the situation is me. So, I have begun to take steps to help me tackle this mountain of reverse culture shock.

Firstly, one of the things I am suffering from the most is the lack of international exposure. For a year and a half, I was rarely around Americans, and though on one hand it is great to be amongst my people again, it is a struggle because I now cannot interact with the many cultures that I once did. To tackle this hill, I have joined two clubs. The first club is the Conversation Partner Program where I help international exchange students improve their English. The second club is the Foreign Diplomats where I will assist students who are about to go abroad.

After this, finding a job to fill any free time will be of utmost importance. I’m used to being busy every second of the day. Lag time frustrates and depresses me. I will try to find a job that will expose me to international students or at the very least, some other part of Texas other than Lubbock.

I never thought I would have to deal with reverse culture shock, or at least deal with it in the way that I am. So I must take steps to rid myself of it. Small steps, yes, but steps nonetheless. 

Readjustment

When you start calling a place home, it is difficult to forget what it taught you. After living in Korea for a year and a half, Korea became a place that left a deep impression on me and gave me habits that will never leave me. I never thought readjusting to American society would be so difficult.

Crowds I am used to, so trips to the mall or grocery store to pick up small things came with ease. It is things like driving and dressing that cause me the greatest trouble.

Crossing a street still takes 5 seconds of hesitation, making sure no one will run the red light and hit me. Traffic is now doable. I’m no longer constantly on edge for people looking for 5 feet to cut me off. But with every car’s swerve, I hold my breath, waiting for them to rush into my lane. I feel danger.

Dressing, I am finding, has become the hardest to get used to. There was not a day in Korea where I went without make-up. There was not a day where I did not dress my best to attend class or merely walk on the streets. But, amongst this sea of American students, I now stand out. My hair is neatly kept, a fresh layer of make-up is applied to my face, and of course, I am wearing fine clothes. I sit wearing these things amongst ranks of sweatshirt and pajama clad students. I am alone.

I walk through campus, amazed by the amount of space it takes up. Why does it need this much space? Why is it organized like this? Nothing flows. The buildings are harsh and obtuse, haphazardly placed throughout dusty ground with no consideration of how it fits in its surroundings. I cringe.

As I walk past campus food courts, I shudder, nearly pinching my nose shut. I am amazed at how fatty and fried the foods are. There is no consideration for health. The price shocks me even more. I can get a single sandwich for $5 whereas I used to be able to a get a full me with side dishes for $3. My wallet aches.

When classes begin, I find myself sighing with relief; there are quizzes AND homework assignments, not just 2 exams. I look at the students around me who groan about the course load, but I smile. I am a better student?

Korea is still in me. A month should have been enough time to adjust myself back into Western society, yet here I am, still stuck in the East. I am alone. I am singled out. I am special. I know the world. 

The Final Adventure

They that before you die, your life flashes before your eyes. For me, this didn’t happen—I just began to say my goodbyes.

Two weeks before my flight home, I began having very vivid dreams of a plane crash. Not one to be paranoid, I chalked the dreams up to stress and didn’t think anything more of them. Nonetheless, while my plane was still at the gate, I said a little prayer to God asking for a safe flight home.

Having been a frequent flyer my entire life, flying is not something scares me. So when the plane experiences turbulence, I merely shake it off, and think nothing of it, often times laughing a little at those who fear a little bump. So, when I become terrified of turbulence, it’s not a little thing.

When my flight reached the halfway point, we began to experience turbulence. I noticed that the turbulence was more severe than normal, and became a little worried, simply because of my haunting nightmares, but I told myself, “Cowboy up,” and continued watching the in-flight entertainment. The turbulence got more severe though, to the point where I was concerned. This concern was heightened when I saw flight attendants not walking, but running to their seats. I can tell you as a frequent flyer that this is not a settling sight.

The turbulence continued to get more severe, and I began to clutch my armrests for dear life. It was then I realized how severe the situation was—a flight attendant took a spot by the emergency exit. I looked to my right, to the Korean pastor sitting by my side. I found comfort in that there was a man of God sitting next to me in what might be my final moments.

As the turbulence continued, I began to pray again, telling God that I was not ready to die; I just wanted to see my family on Christmas. And then—freefall. What felt like 7 seconds was probably in reality only 1 or 2, but it was enough time for me to stop thinking about not wanting to die, and I began saying good-bye.

Yes, there were screams. I’m sure I was screaming, too. When the freefall stopped, I felt that my face was wet with tears. I wasn’t sure when I began to cry. The turbulence continued, and I prayed that we would not have another freefall. Today was Christmas and I just wanted to see my family.

After another 20 or so minutes of turbulence, the plane finally evened out after rerouting itself. I unclamped my hands from the armrest, fingers now cramped, hands now white. Around me, several people got up to use the restroom for they had soiled their pants. I was surprised I hadn’t.

I looked at the people around me, all of us still breathing heavy and wincing at every bump. It was then I noticed that my pinky was throbbing, and I took a look at it. It was now swollen and blue, and I realized that in my fear, I had broken my pinky by clamping down so hard on my armrests.

For the remainder of the flight, I instinctively grabbed my armrest at any bump. I noticed people wincing with every wrong movement of the plane. I think I can speak for everyone when I say that when we landed, I almost kissed the ground.

Now I sit in the San Francisco airport, waiting for my next flight. I’ve never been one who is afraid of flying, but now, I don’t know if I can bring myself to board.