Culture Shock

Dear Diary,

This letter has been a work in progress for a few weeks. Every time I come home from work I start writing and re-writing but it’s never good enough to send. Furthermore, it’s also been pretty dark and depressing because I’m struggling with culture shock (for those who remember my previous handicap you will appreciate my new crutch). 

Symptoms of culture shock include:

• Sadness, loneliness, and melancholy: yes, no, yes
• Preoccupation with health: yes, yes!
• Aches, pains, and allergies: yes
• Insomnia, desire to sleep too much, too little: sleeping too little
• Change in temperament, depression, feeling vulnerable, feeling powerless: hell yes!
• Anger, irritability, resentment, and unwillingness to interact with others: yes and no
• Identifying with the old culture, idealizing the old country: yes, no
• Loss of identity: yes
• Trying too hard to absorb everything in the new culture: no
• Unable to solve simple problems: yes
• Lack of confidence: sure
• Feelings of inadequacy or insecurity: ok
• Developing stereotypes about new culture: crazy drivers!
• Developing obsessions such as over-cleanliness: I wash the floors and the next day there are piles of dust bunnies!
• Longing for family: That’s a given.
• (This next one is classic.) Feelings of being lost, overlooked, exploited or abused: A few years ago, there was a law in 🀫🀫🀫🀫🀫 that at all “aliens,” (that’s what the government calls foreigners) had to pay double the retail price.

I’m not sure if I can blame “culture shock” for everything but let’s try. I can’t help but feel like I’m always getting ripped off. Like the taxi drivers who go around in circles running up the meter, or phone cards that have $100 printed on them but actually sell for $50 if and only if you’re in the know. There’s fake condoms, toxic drinking water, poisonous cellophane wrap and plush toys stuffed with garbage. My old landlord, the guy who wanted me to marry his daughter, what a guy… Everything in his apartment was breaking: the washing machine, the water tap, the shelving, and he forced me to pay to repair it all. I asked if I got to take the water tap when I left? You should have seen his face, it was priceless. I thought I was going to get my revenge by moving out of the apartment prematurely, he did after all have my damage deposit for which he could easily cover the trivial water and electric bills. His response was spectacular. He showed up at the design school and began screaming his face off at my boss, literally foaming at the mouth for dramatic effect. And it worked. The school proceeded to pay all the extra money he demanded from my wage. I was terribly confused, how he was able to rob me in plain sight?

Nonetheless, I’ve found culture shock to be a fascinating subject that forces introspection. My salvation has been The 🀫🀫🀫🀫🀫🀫🀫🀫 Jewish Centre. Every Friday night there is a Shabbat dinner, a Middle Eastern meal, complete with fine whisky and heaps of wine. I usually go out after dinner with pretty Israeli girls. And I have managed to pick up a few freelance jobs too (don’t tell anyone that I broke the no business on Sabbath rule).

Wow, this letter isn’t as morbid as I thought it might be, but surely you can appreciate why it’s taken so long to write, it’s been emotional. And there is a lot I’ve left out, like all the crazy rich kids I teach who walk around telling authoritative figures that get in their way, including the police: “do you know who my father is?” There’s also my crazy Israeli clients, killer typhoons, the smell of sewage in almost every toilet, my newly decorated apartment, the girl who called the police on my colleague because he wouldn’t give her cash, and so much more.

Anyways, I’m going to run out and try one of the pirated DVDs available on every street corner. Standby and I’ll be in touch shortly.

XXXO