Welcome back: The joys of re-entry shock/Bem vindo de volta: As alegrias de readaptação cultural

"Like, I remember the summer I started my period, like, she started hers around the same time, and, like..."
"This must have been a soup kitchen!"
"I have no desire whatsoever to pay money to sit in a 105-degree tent and stare at a fucking hole in the ground, like, I can sit at home and look at pictures on the internet..."
"I mean, look at this! This was someone's job to make these!"
"I've been going on cruises for over 20 years. Over the last few years they've become a lot cheapter, which is great, but there are just too many common people on them now..."
"Is there a buffet here?"
"I know someone who gets Starbucks coffee three times a day. She is absolutely obsessed with Starbucks."
"That's the tomb of the unknown soldier. It's, like, a huge honor to be buried there."

I'm always amused to hear Americans complain about Americans when they are abroad. Joel and I are no different, I suppose - we roll our eyes when we hear inane commentary or conversation and complain quietly to ourselves when we hear a fellow countryman saying something mildly inappropriate really loudly. Americans are undoubtedly not the only ones who disparage their compatriates, although I am relatively certain we do it more frequently than people from most other places, but I like to think - on my part at least - it is good-natured. As obnoxious as us Yanks can sometimes be, I've never met a fellow American abroad who was rude or nasty, and they are unfailingly helpful if we happen to be in need.

Unfortunately, the abundance of them in Europe this time of year led to the beginnings of my re-entry shock somewhat sooner than I expected.

Culture shock is a well-known phenomenon (although some, like Joel, seem to be more or less immune to it), but re-entry shock seems to take more people by surprise. The idea is that you develop a heightened awareness when you live abroad and grow accustomed to having to put a lot of effort into doing everyday things like going to the grocery store or the bank, because the system is different from the one you grew up in and everything is conducted in a different language. Culture shock consists of getting used to that extra effort being required; re-entry shock is the process of coming home with that heightened awareness and toning it back down because the sensory overload makes you realize that you don't need to try that hard to do things anymore. You don't have to speak extra slowly, you don't have to gesticulate wildly to get your point across, and you don't have to use your fingers to communicate numbers.

For Joel, this means remembering that quantities go in front of nouns, rather than behind them, in Western languages - for all six weeks in Italy, he was ordering coffees in Italian using Korean syntax (i.e., "Caffe, due" instead of "Due caffe"). For me, it means mental exhaustion halfway through the day, which results in a desire to lock myself in my room and stare at job vacancies that I have already applied to.

Suffice it to say that I have had a bit of a rough time. After spending nearly two years in a place where I didn't understand any of the conversations happening within earshot, I can now understand all of them. Which means that my brain tries to listen to all of them. At the same time. Joel and I can no longer have private public conversations, because we can be understood by the people around us. Unlike beggars in Korea, who are very discreet and quiet, gypsies and peddlers in Europe are extremely aggressive and in-your-face, which is now very unsettling to me. Customer service personnel suddenly seem incredibly rude and inefficient.

Basically, my senses are completely overloaded. Everything is new again, which feels weird because it shouldn't be new, which is even more unsettling. I'm hyper aware and slightly jumpy. And when I realized two days out that I was going home and would have to deal with this while being surrounded by old friends and people that I know and have to socialize with at a wedding, I practically had an anxiety episode.

I am sitting in the Newark airport as I type this, writing in a Notepad document while waiting at the gate for my flight to Houston, the third leg of four to Dallas for the aforementioned wedding. In just over three hours I will see my mother for the first time in two years. I haven't looked forward to anything so much since my honeymoon. I am sure it will be great to see everyone, and that the wedding will be lovely, and that seeing my father and brother and stepdad and cat will be equally joyful and not make me want to punch any of them in the face.

But I probably won't be seeing anyone else after that for a while. Don't take it personally - I will most likely just be hiding in my room until the re-entry shock has passed.