It all came to a head last Sunday as I watched the Italian classic Ladri di biciclette (with Spanish subtitles, of course) and went into a two day funk. You see, the protagonist realized the city he knew as home had utterly defeated him. He was dejected, confused and without hope.
After pondering his fate for a few hours, I realized that was exactly how I felt. The city I had chosen to call home had defeated me.
Now, before you get too concerned and suggest I get my hands on some good meds, I will tell you my symptoms are quite normal. What I have is a good old-fashioned case of culture shock.
I am happy to report culture shock is not a medical condition. I don't have a "disorder" or "syndrome". My brain is just confused over the many changes it has experienced over the last 11 plus months.
Culture shock is not just a term describing the realities of living in a foreign country. It's more nuanced and longer term.
While in Piriapolis over Christmas, Joe and I shared a conversation with a Uruguayan sociology major who described in detail the five stages of culture shock. We listened with rapt attention, recognizing each one, except, of course, the final stage of acceptance and integration. Check back with me in year.
For a while. the stages were progressing in true textbook fashion. Now they seem to be flip-flopping all over the place. Apparently this is quite common as well. Wonderful.
Considering culture shock is such a large part of the expat experience, my next five blog posts will describe witty and engaging personal examples of each stage. Maybe not so much witty and engaging as frustrating and irritating.
Today, I'm happy with my life in a strange land. Tomorrow may be a different story. I will say living in a foreign country is like the mother of all amusement park rides. Woohoo.