When dreams come true, but with a healthy dose of reality: Four days in St. Lucia without A/C

I suppose that as long as I travel, this blog will have a purpose - and I don't intend to stop traveling anytime soon, so perhaps it's not time to retire it just yet. I personally suspect that Fate has made it her personal mission to ensure that we never get too comfortable...so, naturally, as soon as I had settled into my new dream job as an epidemiologist, it was time for me to take a short break to fulfill another lifelong dream of mine - a trip to the Caribbean.

Before I go into the details of my four days on St. Lucia, a small sovereign island in the eastern Caribbean, I want to assure my readers that everything you might imagine about this island, or any given island, is true. Yes, it's absolutely gorgeous; yes, the people are laid back and relaxed; yes, the beaches are quiet and pristine; yes, the sand really is that lovely pale color and the water really does transition through all those beautiful shades of turquoise and blue juxtaposed with lush green cliffs. If any part of you is wondering if it is as stunning and relaxing as it is in all the brochures and banner ads and your own personal pipe dreams, the answer is yes.

It's also underdeveloped and poor as shit and potentially slightly intimidating to a white American woman looking for an authentic experience. But more on that later.

I headed to St. Lucia on Friday morning to be the matron of honor for my friend's wedding. She and I have known each other since my second semester of grad school (seven years now). After she got engaged last year, I promised her that I would book my ticket for the wedding as soon as I was back in the country and gainfully employed. So, when I landed my job at the health department in July, I dutifully logged onto Priceline and booked my ticket. Luckily for me, the department that I transitioned into as an epidemiologist allowed me to work extra hours in advance of the vacation so I wouldn't have to deal with taking leave during my probation (the first six months on the job, during which I am not allowed to take annual leave - though it still accrues).

The trip to the island went without much fuss - my bus to Houston was delayed by an hour and a half (fuck you, Megabus!), but my flight wasn't until five the following morning, so that was more an annoyance than anything else. My mother picked me up in Houston and graciously took me to the airport at 3 a.m. the next day. Thankfully, all the flights were on time, so I sailed through Miami and was on my way.

Paradise, Day One: Canadians and Chikungunya
I touched down in the Caribbean at 1:30 p.m., local time. I must have had a massively stupid grin on my face walking off the plane, but it soon faded as I faced my first task: crossing the island. I landed at Hewanorra, the main airport on the southern tip of the island in the town of Vieux Fort. My hotel (and the resort) was in the port city of Castries, on the northern end. It's only about an hour drive or so on a good day, but a taxi for that much is pretty expensive (about US$80), so I had resolved to make my way into town and take a bus (which the internet assured me was safe, easy to figure out, and much cheaper).

Unfortunately, the ATM at the airport was broken. I slid my way through the wall of cheerfully agressive taxi drivers and got in line behind another white woman who was waiting for it to be repaired. After watching the attendant (slowly) try to fix it - to no avail - for about half an hour, one of the cabbies came over to us and started to close in for the kill.
Taxi driver: Ey, come on ladies, where you goin? I take you to a ATM in town, you can pay me.
Me: I'm not going to Vieux Fort, I need to get to Castries.
TD: I can take you dere, too.
Me: No, no, I'm going to take the bus. I need cash for the bus.
TD: Oh, you don't wanna take de bus. Cab drive is much nicer.
Me: Yeah, but it's expensive.
Other lady: How much is the bus up to Castries?
Me: Cheaper than a cab. I read that a cab that far is almost a hundred bucks.
TD: Dis ATM is broken. I take you into town, you can go to da ATM and take de bus dere.
Me: How much for a cab into town?
TD: Maybe twenty, thirty dollars EC. [This refers to the Eastern Caribbean dollar, which is exchanged at a rate of 2.50 EC to 1 USD.]
Me: No, it's fine. I'll just walk.
OL: No! You don't want to walk all that way.
Me: It's only a mile or so.
TD: No, it's more dan dat. It's too far, and it's hot. No, no, you can't walk it, my girl.
OL: Here, I have five dollars EC, and five US. Take it and get a cab.
Me: No, it's fine. It's still not enough for the trip into town.
OL: Well, if it will help you, you're welcome to have it. It's not much.
Me: No, really, it's okay. I'll just wait for this ATM to get fixed.
OL: Hold on, I'm gonna call my husband.
At this point, the woman gets on the phone and explains to her husband that the ATM is broken. Apparently she lives here and needs the cash to get her truck out of the parking lot. After chatting for a few minutes and deciding to come back for the truck the next day, she hangs up.
OL: You're going to Castries, you said?
Me: Yes.
OL: Alright, we'll drive you. It's on the way to where we're going.
I hardly know what to say.
Me: Really? Are you sure it's no trouble?
OL: Not at all. Come on.
My first stroke of luck was a Canadian woman named Donna. She explained that her husband worked for one of the resort companies that operates in the Caribbean. The family had been living in Rodney Bay (a resort town just north of Castries) for about two years, and had lived in Barbados before that. After meeting her husband and ten-year-old daughter, we all crammed into the car and headed north. We chatted a bit about our respective experiences living abroad, and she gave me some recommendations for what to do on the island after I was finished with my obligations. Then (after explaining what an epidemiologist is) we got to discussing Ebola, dengue fever and Chikungunya - at which point I discovered, to my horror, that it had spread to the island.

Donna told me that she had apparently contracted both vector-borne diseases at the same time and was just now recovering. Meanwhile, I contemplated my chanced of catching one or both. Although dengue fever is endemic in Brazil, I've never gotten it, and mosquitoes tend to not like me very much. Still, she exhorted me to make sure that I had a mosquito net around my bed and screens on my windows.

The lovely Canadian family dropped me off in the city, so I hopped into a cab after getting money from the ATM and gave him the hotel address. There are no meters in the cabs, and I had read that it is important to agree on a price (and verify the currency - EC dollars and USD are used interchangeably pretty much everywhere) before the ride, so we settled on a fare and drove off. Lucky for me, too, because at first he took me to the wrong hotel. Eventually we got there, though, and I headed to reception to check in.

Thus, my earlier luck was balanced out by my first reality check: my budget "hotel" (if you can even call it that) had no toiletries, no mosquito nets or window screens, no shower curtain - and no air conditioning. The "hotel" attendant turned on the TV to the weather channel, gave me my room key, and left.

I weighed some decisions for a few minutes. I had chosen the hotel because it was close to both my departure airport and the Sandals resort where my friend was getting married. If I cancelled my reservation, I would have to pay for at least the first night, and I didn't know of any other hotels, or how expensive they would be. I could leave the window open to keep the room a bit cooler, but I wasn't sure if I wanted to take my chances with the mosquitoes. After a few minutes, I threw my purse down on the chair, moved the fan to the foot of the bed, and closed the window. I would have to make do with taking cold showers and sleeping naked.

I quickly got changed and asked the front desk to call a cab to take me to the resort, which led to reality check number two: apparently, the cab rates for certain routes - e.g., between towns and the resorts - are fixed, so he wanted to charge me 60 EC (about $25) for a seven-minute drive. I balked and haggled him down to 50 EC ($20). He took me to Sandals and gave me his card, and I promised to call him when it was time to go home.

The rehearsal dinner was pleasant and relaxed. I hadn't seen my friend in over three years, so we greeted each other enthusiastically and headed up to the room. I navigated my way through introductions and re-introductions (the grandmothers didn't remember me from my first trip to meet her family) and lost track of how many times everybody thanked me so much for making it. The food was pretty good and the groom's friends (who comprised all of the guest list besides family) were all from the military, so they were well-traveled, funny, and down to earth. After finishing the meal, we hung out for a bit in one of the bars on the upper level of the resort and then watched a "fashion show" (attractive hotel staff modeling clothing and items from the resort gift shop) downstairs. After availing myself to the ubiquitous open bars, I excused myself and called Cletus (the cab driver from earlier) to come pick me up. We chatted for a bit on the ride back, and then I made my way up to my hot, humid room for the second cold shower of the day and a lumpy bed.

On the flip side, the hotel did have wifi.

Paradise, Day Two: Beach wedding and party
The next morning, I woke up with a dry throat and a dull headache. Instantly, I began to panic. Had I contracted Chikungunya after all? Was I really so unlucky? Did I have the strength to make it through a wedding with fever, malaise, joint pain, and possibly a horrible rash?

I thought for a moment, and then checked my phone. Average time of incubation: 3-7 days. I chuckled at my own stupidity. I was just slightly hung over.

After another cold shower and a few Tylenol, I was refreshed and in full matron-of-honor mode. I tossed my bridesmaid dress and shoes, various emergency and back-up supplies, and my phone into a bag and called my trusty cab driver again to head to the resort for my hair appointment. The bride asked me to slip into her room through the patio door to hang our dresses up together for the photographer, so I made my way there and breezed through the sliding glass door, promptly scaring the bejeezus out of the groom. (Luckily for both of us, he was decently dressed.) Soon afterwards, his buddies came for him, and I headed to the spa to get my hair beach-curled. Lunch, dresses, parents of the bride, and then BAM! - wedding time.

The nuptials was short and simple. The presider was an older black woman, gravely serious and simply dressed. Several resort staff members were on hand to make sure the ceremony went smoothly and the photos were flawless. Vows were exchanged, parents cried, and a grandmother even fell backwards in her chair. Not bad for a beach wedding, methinks.

The reception was lively, with music, dancing, and a few speeches, including my own nervously delivered tribute (I have a persistent case of stage fright that I still haven't shaken after all these years). After drinking, dancing, and making merry for several hours, I went back to my spartan hotel once more and planned my first excursion into the real St. Lucia.

Paradise, Day Three: Castries Market and Dreams Realized (complete with love note!)
Saturday was my only full free day on the island, so I decided to go to the Castries open-air market in the morning (there is a regular food market, plus a flea market that only operates on Saturdays) and then head to the beach for the true laid-back Caribbean experience in the afternoon. I woke up early and walked into town, snapping a few pictures along the way.

About halfway there, I came to an intersection that wasn't clearly marked, so a local woman approached me while I was studying my map and agreed to take me the rest of the way into the city. She showed me how to get to the market and the correct bus stop to take me back to my hotel. I thanked her and plunged into the market, perusing spice stands and vendor collections of everything from hand-crafted earrings to religious books and questionable soaps.

When I asked this stall vendor if I could take pictures, she held this one up and said, "Take a picture of this one and show it to your friends." Still wondering if it was meant as an insult for not buying anything.

Breakfast, which I ate against my better judgment. I haven't died yet, but I'm on the lookout for symptoms indicative of intestinal parasites.

To be perfectly honest, the market was not all that interesting - it was hot and dirty and loud, and I'm used to Korean markets which are cleaner, and where the vendors are less pushy. Unfortunately, I also showed up a bit early, so many of the vendors hadn't set up until about 10 o'clock, which is when I headed back to the bus stop. But seeing as I was trying not to spend too much money, it all worked out.

The only things I bought: four cans of pineapple juice and a carved stone turtle.

I headed back to my hotel, grabbed my beach bag, slathered on some sunscreen, and then jumped on the bus heading north to the Gros Islet/Rodney Bay. Based on recommendations from the internet and Donna the Canadian, I set my sights on Reduit beach, a popular spot for both tourists and locals. If I'd had more time, I would have gone to Pigeon Island, but at this point I was just looking for a picturesque stretch of sand to park myself on and read. As it turns out, Reduit provided just that. I haggled a bit with the guy setting up beach chairs and umbrellas, staked out a spot for 20 EC (about 8 USD), and settled in for the afternoon.

Lunch! A burrito-like concoction with chicken and potato curry inside. Filling and delicious.

Like I said, perfect: quiet, clean, and postcard-quality. It was, quite simply, perfect. I chatted a bit with another local woman and an English man named Graham, but for the most part I just read my book, watched other tourists attempt water sports, and took a couple of dips in the clear, beautiful water. I even found a little note slipped in by my beloved.

After several blissful hours of doing nothing, I packed up and headed back to the bus stop, grabbing a sandwich and a smoothie from Rodney Bay Mall on the way out.

Paradise, Day Four: Our Lady of the Immaculate Conception Cathedral and Airports Galore
I had a few hours on Sunday morning before I had to fly out, so I headed back into Castries on the bus to the Cathedral of the Immaculate Conception. Unfortunately I didn't know the Mass times, so I showed up halfway through one Mass and didn't have time to attend the second one before my flight. I waited until the service was over, then headed in to snap a couple of pictures and pray a Rosary.

 

 Finally, I headed back to the hotel, checked out, and made my way to the airport, catching a ride with yet another helpful local (this time some old Rasta dude, which I absolutely would not have done by myself, but a local woman who was a flight attendant assured me it was fine and jumped into the car with me). Thus began the long journey back. I flew to the Port of Spain airport in Trinidad (where I had to spend the night) and caught a flight to Miami the next morning, only to discover that my connection to Houston was delayed because of rain. I missed the bus to Austin and had to catch the early (6:45 a.m.!) one the next morning.

All in all, not a bad trip.

There were a couple of things I noticed. I personally have always been curious about the "beach resort experience" - we have stayed in a ski resort before, but that's very different because your express purpose in being there is obviously to ski. I learned quite a bit. The beach resorts go to great lengths to entertain their guests, many of whom only leave the resort to go on snorkeling or diving trips specifically designed for tourists, or to see specific landmarks. They are beautifully designed and have everything that most people need or want - a stretch of beach, a series of pools, multiple restaurants and (open) bars that only charge you for top-shelf liquor. They are impeccably landscaped and unreasonably clean. I don't think there is anything wrong with enjoying that kind of experience - you certainly pay good money for it, and most of the locals I talked to said that they thought the resorts were good for the island as a way to contribute to the economy and provide jobs (though I have no idea if the sentiment was genuine) - but after spending time there, I don't think it's quite to my taste. I liked being a guest for two days, but I think I would tire of the production after much longer.

The "real" St. Lucia, like the rest of the Caribbean, I suspect, is poor and underdeveloped. The houses, though colorful, are old and dilapidated. The streets are dirty. The locals wear very simple clothes, and you can tell that a lot of them are second-hand clothes that were originally sold in the US or Europe. Shop signs were simple and faded. The Canadians I met explained that they had to go to Miami to get specialized medical care, as they island is medically underserved and there simply aren't enough medical specialists for the need. They also told me about a massive rainstorm that shut the island down on Christmas Eve last year; the mudslides were so bad that many of the roads were impassible for days, and several homes were washed away. There were legitimate fears of Ebola reaching the island, simply because everyone knew that the health system there would not be able to contain it.

I tried to chat with the locals as much as I could. I asked my cab driver about how business was in the high and low tourist seasons and what it was like when the cruise ships docked. I asked the hairdressers at the resort what local weddings were like. I talked to the wedding photographer about where he went to school. I asked people about their kids, about island life and local health issues, about the cost of university. I tried to learn - simply because I wanted to catch a glimpse, however small, of the island's true character.

I also want to address the issue of traveling alone as a woman, because I suspect that concerns may occur to some of my readers. I never felt unsafe per se, but I took my cab driver's advice and never ventured out after sunset. Being well-traveled, I am also familiar with standard precautions like only carrying small amounts of cash, hiding my passport in my hotel room, and generally being aware of my surroundings. That said, there were more than a few uncomfortable moments: I got lots of kissing noises from men that I passed on the street (those were weird), and constant catcalls.
"Lookin' good, baby!"
"Beautiful!"
"Hey, gal, you look so fine, come ova hea."
"Ey, lady, how you doin'?"
Or this delightful exchange:
Guy: Brazil - I like your shirt!
Me: Thank you!
Guy: I like you, too!
One of the vendors on the beach trying to recruit people for water sports came around three times and tried to talk to me every time, even after I told him I was married and didn't want to jet ski. The last thing he said to me? "I just want to tell you that you are looking so good, so sexy. Keep it up." Uh, thanks...I think.

Traveling solo was as intimidating as it was invigorating. I really missed my other half, not only for his company but also for the sense of safety I have when we explore new places together. At the same time, I was quite proud of myself for being able to figure everything out on my own. I know there are those who might scold me for "putting myself into questionable situations," but I think such outrage would be better directed toward the fact that a woman can be considered in peril simply by virtue of being alone.

All things considered, though, it was a pretty good vacation.

Return from Exile/Retorno do exílio

We are once again Austin residents.

After much wailing, gnashing of teeth, worrying, crying, complaining, and generally feeling crappy about my unemployed self, I received a formal offer of employment as a Program Specialist with the Texas Department of State Health Services on July 1. With my offer letter in hand, we drove to Austin the following Tuesday, bought a car, looked at apartments, and signed a lease on a little two-bedroom unit near the Korean market, all while Brazil suffered its most humiliating loss in recent soccer history. We moved into the place the week after, just in time for husband to start his summer orientation, and I started the job last Monday.

In an interesting twist, however, I was offered two other - much better - positions, both as epidemiologists, after accepting this offer. Just for kicks (since interviews are good practice, and you never know when a new job might turn out to be a nightmare), I went on two more interviews right after we moved into the apartment, but before I started this job, and they both made me offers. The HIV epi position turned out to be the better opportunity, so I will be starting a new position (again!) as an epidemiologist toward the end of this month. I also turned down two more requests for interviews from the state (as I can't really take two and a half hours off of a brand-new job to interview for a different one). When it rains, it pours.

Here is an updated version of my "job applications" table from a previous post:

Date	Type	Employer	Position	Sector	Result
April 23 (W)	In-Person	HHSC (Austin)	Program Specialist V Strategic Decision Support	State Gov't	No Response
April 29 (T)	In-Person	City of Austin	Public Health Program Specialist Tuberculosis	Local Gov't	Rejected
April 30 (W)	Phone	US Public Health Service Commissioned Corps	Commissioned Corps Officer	Federal Gov't	Approved: Professionally Boarded**
May 1 (R)	In-Person	DSHS (Austin)	Epidemiologist III Environmental Epi	State Gov't	Rejected
May 1 (R)	In-Person	DSHS (Austin)	Program Specialist III EMS/Trauma	State Gov't	Rejected
May 12 (M)	In-Person	DSHS (San Antonio)	Epidemiologist II HIV/STD/TB	State Gov't	No Response
May 29 (R)	Phone	Texans Standing Tall (Austin)	Program Coordinator Tobacco Prevention Community Coalitions	Non-Profit	Advanced to Second Interview
June 2 (M)	In-Person	DSHS (Austin)	Program Specialist V Medicaid	State Gov't	Rejected
June 5 (R)	Phone	Texans Standing Tall (Austin)	Program Coordinator Tobacco Prevention Community Coalitions	Non-Profit	No Response
June 23 (M)	Phone	Veteran's Health Admin. (Baltimore)	Health Science Specialist Research Compliance	Federal Gov't	No Response
June 23 (M)	Phone	DSHS (Houston)	Program Specialist III Regional Tobacco Coordinator	State Gov't	No Response
June 23 (M)	In-Person	DSHS (Austin)	Program Specialist IV Emergency Preparedness	State Gov't	Offer extended Accepted
June 24 (M)	In-Person	DSHS (Austin)	Program Specialist IV Healthcare Facility Data Collection	State Gov't	Rejected
June 26 (R)	Phone	US Coast Guard (Norfolk)	Environmental Health Officer Vessel Safety and Sanitation	Federal Gov't	Rejected
July 17 (R)	In-Person	City of Austin	Epidemiologist Foodborne Illness	Local Gov't	Designated as top candidate Withdrew
July 18 (F)	In-Person	DSHS (Austin)	Epidemiologist II HIV/AIDS	State Gov't	Offer extended Accepted

**My PHS medical clearance is still pending, though I contacted them and they assured me that it was normal for candidates without personnel orders to have to wait up to twelve weeks to receive results. I received my fingerprint cards, got fingerprinted, and sent them back, but security clearance isn't initiated until I have a federal job offer. Meanwhile, a handful of my federal applications have been referred to a hiring manager, so I will wait and see what comes from that.

Meanwhile, my mother helped us move into our apartment. She gave us a bunch of furniture (though we did get a sleeper sofa and two lovely leather chairs from my father), drove in with us on Tuesday, helped us move our stuff up two flights of stairs (yes, the apartment is on the third floor despite my oath when leaving Cincinnati that I would never live above the ground floor again), and unpacked our kitchen. Truly, I was shamed: I played only a minor role in rolling a 100 lb. concrete table up the stairs and essentially just watched as they hauled the sofa from landing to landing up to the apartment. Don't misunderstand me - I wasn't unwilling to help at all and took up my fair share of boxes and lighter furniture - but between the three of us, I was obviously the weakest link.

On the other hand, unpacking all of our old stuff was a succession of delightful surprises. After wearing only one suitcase's worth of clothes for a year and a half, and then living out of a backpack for six months, rediscovering my old wardrobe (which I previously considered meager) makes me feel like Cher from Clueless. I literally squealed over a pair of black suede boots I forgot I had. Most of my shoes are still with my in-laws (who will be visiting from Nebraska next week), so when they bring all of our stuff I will have enough to wear to last me for the next five years. At least, that's how it feels.
Lessons learned from moving:

1. I have got to save up enough money before we move next to hire movers.
2. My mother, despite being twice my age, is a hoss.
3. You simultaneously have way less and way more stuff than you think you do, or should.

After my first week at work, we headed back to Houston to pick up a few additional miscellany and to finally bring our beloved Giovanni home (plus another one of my mom's kitties, to keep him company). The house is still not fully set up, and the cats are still adjusting (they've gone from hiding in terror to following us around and being super clingy), but we are getting there slowly. Hopefully it will all be ready to show off when we throw our housewarming party at the end of next month, before the semester starts.

We have pretty much returned to exactly the same state as we were in before we left. I am working full-time in my field (albeit in a more exciting position) and husband is in school (though working on his Master's degree this time). We have one car that we share between the two of us. I am excited to go back to my yoga studio once my salary normalizes, and husband has returned to his old MTG card shop. We went to Barton Springs the weekend after we moved in, and we had our friends from Georgetown over for dinner on Wednesday night. I sit by the pool in the afternoons after work. The only real difference is that this time, we are sending pictures and updates about all of it to our friends in Korea, 5,000 miles and 14 hours away.

In hindsight, our return from exile has been a walk in the park compared to many other expats that we know who have come home and tried to pick their lives back up. As frustrated as I was at being unemployed, it was only ten weeks from the first full week back in the country to when I received my first job offer, and only 14 from then until the offer for the epidemiologist position, which is an upward career move for me. Taking a short "career" vacation doesn't seem to have hindered my ability to get a job in my field again. Husband is back in school, in a prestigious Master's program with direct career opportunities, too. We're a bit short on cash, but I will be making a decent salary, so we'll bounce back relatively quickly (and have had some very generous help from family in the meantime). I can't decide if we are truly talented or just lucky, but my guess is that it is some combination of both.

So for all you expats back in the Land of the Morning Calm who have been reading my lament and despairing of coming home - don't be afraid! We made it, so I figure you've at least got a fair shake. I know that every professional field is different; you have to understand the job market and how to apply for jobs, and it takes persistence, and knowing what kind of job you want. Plus, if all else fails, you can always go back to Korea - we have known people who have done that, too, and been very happy with the decision.

And now I am faced with the decision of whether or not to retire this blog for the time being. I will definitely come back to it if I manage to get a PHS commission, or if we travel anywhere during our vacations, or maybe if we experience any major life events (there are no babies on the horizon, guys, so please don't ask). But I am not sure it will be worth it to continue writing about the day-to-day once we go back to being "normal people."

If there is a such thing.

When Malaise Morphs into Despair, Part Two: My Public Assistance Odyssey/Quando mal-estar se transforma em desespero, segunda parte: minha odisséia no sistema de assistência pública

One of the many challenges of being unemployed is finding productive things to do with your time. Normally, I am pretty good at this - I have a habit of filling idle time with helpful and interesting pursuits such as going to church, exercise, scrapbooking, blogging, and learning additional languages. I am also a stress cleaner, which means that my space is pretty much spotless when I'm under pressure. Unfortunately, my scrapbooking supplies are in storage, my mother gets antsy when I clean her space, and I simply do not have the motivation to pick up Russian or Greek. Daily Mass is only thirty minutes long, and Texas is so bloody hot that I can only go running after sunset. Plus there's only so much time you can spend blogging before you sound like a self-absorbed prat.

So, after my first round of interviews turned out to be fruitless, I decided to try my hand at public assistance. My mother warned me that I would probably not get anything, but I figured that I had as good a shot as anybody, as I had no job, no car, and an AGI of 0 on last year's tax return (yay, foreign-earned income exclusions!). I had already spoken with the Texas Workforce Commission and confirmed that I was ineligible for unemployment (since we worked abroad in 2013 and didn't contribute to unemployment insurance in Texas). My goal was just to be honest and straightforward and see what, if anything, I was eligible to receive.

In my opinion, public assistance has an unfairly bad reputation, particularly here in the South. Growing up, I heard all kinds of stories about people who are perpetually on welfare, who just keep having children because they didn't want to work and each additional dependent meant another check, and welfare queens who could make a fortune because they knew how to "milk the system." My sojourn into "the system" confirms what I already suspected about such stereotypes - that most of them are untrue and based on political rhetoric (which naturally makes them kind of ridiculous). The "welfare queen" anecdote came from story time with Reagan in the 70s and was based on one brilliant and dangerous con artist who operated under dozens of aliases to collect public assistance. Most of the poor have children they can't afford because of ignorance about family planning and lack of social standing to negotiate safe sex, and the high rates of abortion among poor women confirm that most of them don't want to "keep popping out babies." I know too many people run ragged by their own small children to believe that someone who is destitute would consciously have another one to receive a negligible amount of public assistance that winds up being a net negative economically anyway.

But I digress.

Texas has a handy website, "yourtexasbenefits.com," that allows you to apply for multiple public assistance programs in one place. (The fact that it only works in Firefox is less handy, but I got used to playing with different browsers in Korea.) After putting in all of my information and selecting the programs I wanted to apply for, I received a letter in the mail a few days later that I would be contacted for a phone interview to verify my claims. The call came the following week.
Lady on the phone: Hi, is this Jessica Ker...Keralis?
me: Yes.
Lady: This is your phone interview for your benefits application. I see that you and your husband...Joel? She pronounces it "ho-el," i.e., the Spanish pronunciation.
me: Joel. I correct her.
Lady: Joel, sorry. I see that you both are on this application. Does he live with you?
me: No, not right now.
Lady: ...He doesn't live with you?
me: No. He's staying with his parents in Nebraska right now.
Lady: Okay, well if he doesn't live with you, he can't be on your application.
me: I figured, but the online application made me include him because he's on my tax return.
Lady: Oh. Well, he can't be on your application if he doesn't live with you.
me: That's fine.
Lady: Okay, let me just fix that...and you're not eligible for Medicaid, so...it looks like you're only eligible for food stamps.
me: Okay.
She then explains to me that I'll receive my SNAP (Supplemental Nutritional Assistance Program) card and further instructions in the mail, and then hangs up. Sure enough, the card comes, letting me know that I'll receive monthly deposits on the card from May to August. Then another letter (my "First and Final Notice") comes in explaining that I have to go to a place called "Workforce Solutions" to get help finding work "no later than MAY 28, 2014" in order to continue receiving benefits. Having nothing better to do, I head in the day before for my first day of "job search counseling."

After I fill out yet another online resume, the guy at intake gives me one of those electronic buzzers (like the ones you get at restaurants) and tells me that I am welcome to use one of the computers while I wait for my "job search counselor." I take a seat at one of the cubicles and study the room. It's mid-afternoon and the place is busy, with all manner of people on the computers and talking with agents. Finally, my buzzer buzzes, and I sit down with a friendly older lady named Suzanne. We exchange pleasantries, and then she logs into my job search profile. "Let's see what you've got he- oh, wow," she mutters. "You've got quite a lot of experience."

I smile and give a brief synopsis of my current situation - that I am a public health professional by training who has just come back from living and working abroad, and that I am looking to re-enter my field and find work while my husband works on his Master's degree at UT. I explain that I have been applying for public health positions with the state health department and also on the federal level, as I have been professionally boarded by PHS and am trying to secure an officer's commission. I assure her that I am applying for relevant jobs on a daily basis and have been doing so since March, and that I have had multiple interviews already with more lined up, but that it is just taking a while for me to find something. Her eyes continue to widen as I chatter on. "So, I know that you all are here to help people to get back on their feet to find work, but I'm guessing I'm not your typical applicant," I finish.
"Wow," she utters.

She's very curious about my experience teaching in Korea, so we chat for a bit about my reasons for going abroad and my long-term career goals. To my relief, she's sympathetic to the difficulties of the job market but seems confident that I will find something soon. "It looks like you don't really need my help," she says with a smile. She then explains that I have to fill out a weekly job-search log for the next four weeks to verify that I am actively looking for work, and after that - if I haven't found any employment - I will have to start doing community service.

Over the next four weeks, I dutifully fill out the log and turn it in, continuing to apply and interview as outlined in Part One. Finally, I get another letter in the mail telling me that I "must accept a community service job to earn [my] food stamps." I head in to Workforce Solutions with my final job search log on Friday (the 20th) and, after visiting briefly with Suzanne to update her on my job search efforts, I sit down with Sofia to discuss my community service.
Sofia: So, because you've been job searching for four weeks and haven't found anything, you have to start doing community service.
me: Okay. When do I have to start?
Sofia: Next week. You'll go to the volunteer orientation on Tuesday, and they'll tell you what to do from there.
me: I can't go on Tuesday. I have a job interview in Austin on Tuesday, so I won't be back in town until that night. Can I go the following week?
Sofia: Well, by then you'll be into July, so you'll be penalized by losing your food stamps.
me: But...I have a job interview.
Sofia: What time is your interview?
me: It's at 3, but it's in Austin. I have an interview on Monday, too, so I'll be there for two days.
Sofia: Okay, but if you can't make the orientation, you'll lose your food stamps for July.
me: Look, I understand that you guys have a system here - the whole idea is to do volunteer work to gain experience that will help me find a job. I understand that. But I'm a public health analyst. I worked as a consultant for the state health department for two years before I left for Korea, so I'm trying to find work in my field again and this isn't going to help me. I've been getting interviews - I've had nine already, and I've got five more next week.
Sofia (eyes widening): And you still don't have a job?
I suppress my frustration by flashing her my biggest smile. "The job market is tough for everybody, no just for unskilled laborers. I'm not opposed to doing community service, but if I have to choose between the job interview with the health department and a volunteer orientation, I'm going to my interview. If I have to lose the benefits, so be it; the job opportunity is more important."

At this point she nods and goes to speak with her supervisor. After a few minutes, she comes back and tells me that they've given me a waiver for the next week, provided that I fill out a job search log for that week and bring in proof that I had a job interview at the time of the orientation, and that I could attend the orientation the following week (which is tomorrow). I have to do at least 27 hours of service per month at the food pantry in order to continue to receive benefits through August.

The whole benefits process, while exasperating at times, has nonetheless been an eye-opening experience for me. Though I know that there are some people who intentionally lie to claim benefits - e.g., by getting a doctor to sign off on a disability claim, or collecting unemployment benefits when they are not really looking for work - the idea that poor people "game the system" in order to keep receiving these meager stipends to me is just lunacy. It's such a pain in the ass to go to these places, stand in line, and work with "personal service representatives" who aren't invested in helping you and can't work with your own unique job and family situation even if they were. The people I have seen there are all different ages, races, and life stages; some are well-dressed, some look homeless, some are immigrants, some bring their children, and some are a few ants short of a picnic, but nobody wants to be there. The whole process is incredibly degrading, which - as the husband reminds me - is deliberate, to motivate people to get off of assistance as quickly as possible. There's a lot that can be said about that, but that's another rant for another day.

At any rate, it looks like I'll be volunteering at a food pantry this month. I suppose that's another productive way to spend my time.

When Malaise Morphs into Despair, Part One: The Never-Ending Interviews/Quando mal-estar se transforma em desespero, primeira parte: as entrevistas intermináveis

Yes, I am still unemployed. Nine weeks after my return to the great US of A, after diligently searching for employment in the private, public, non-profit, and academic sectors since the beginning of March, after nine interviews (with five more coming up next week!), dozens of resumes, and probably over a hundred job applications at this point, I am still living in my mother's house. How, you might ask, can a reasonably intelligent and attractive young woman with a Master's degree and a solid work history still be unemployed after earnestly searching for nearly four months?

Your guess is as good as mine.

After all, it's not like I've been idle this whole time. As you can tell from the title of this post, I've been on an astounding number of interviews and applied for public assistance in the meantime. I apply for five to ten jobs per day - and they're all jobs I am well-qualified to do. I've been working out and training for my PHS physical fitness test that I would love to take, once I can secure a federal job. Joel and I contribute to my mother's household; I clean and he cooks delicious meals (as he is wont to do). I network, I follow up on interviews by e-mail, I am gracious when turned down and immediately available if I have to drive two hours to Austin for an interview tomorrow (which actually happened about two weeks ago). But most of all, I pray - rosaries, novenas, chaplets, and Masses - that I find something, anything, that will allow us to have a space and a life of our own.

Still, nothing.

It's certainly not for lack of trying. I suspect I am on the verge of setting some kind of record for number of interviews; just take a gander at them so far:

Date	Type	Employer	Position	Sector	Result
April 23 (W)	In-Person	HHSC (Austin)	Program Specialist V Strategic Decision Support	State Gov't	Pending*
April 29 (T)	In-Person	City of Austin	Public Health Program Specialist Tuberculosis	Local Gov't	Rejected
April 30 (W)	Phone	US Public Health Service Commissioned Corps	Commissioned Corps Officer	Federal Gov't	Approved: Professionally Boarded**
May 1 (R)	In-Person	DSHS (Austin)	Epidemiologist III Environmental Epi	State Gov't	Rejected
May 1 (R)	In-Person	DSHS (Austin)	Program Specialist III EMS/Trauma	State Gov't	Rejected
May 12 (M)	In-Person	DSHS (San Antonio)	Epidemiologist II HIV/STD/TB	State Gov't	Pending
May 29 (R)	Phone	Texans Standing Tall (Austin)	Program Coordinator Tobacco Prevention Community Coalitions	Non-Profit	Advanced to Second Interview
June 2 (M)	In-Person	DSHS (Austin)	Program Specialist V Medicaid	State Gov't	Rejected
June 5 (R)	Phone	Texans Standing Tall (Austin)	Program Coordinator Tobacco Prevention Community Coalitions	Non-Profit	Pending
June 23 (M)	Phone	Veteran's Health Admin. (Baltimore)	Health Science Specialist** Research Compliance	Federal Gov't	Next Week
June 23 (M)	Phone	DSHS (Houston)	Program Specialist III Regional Tobacco Coordinator	State Gov't	Next Week
June 23 (M)	In-Person	DSHS (Austin)	Program Specialist IV Emergency Preparedness	State Gov't	Next Week
June 24 (M)	In-Person	DSHS (Austin)	Program Specialist IV Healthcare Facility Data Collection	State Gov't	Next Week
June 26 (R)	Phone	US Coast Guard (Norfolk)	Environmental Health Officer** Vessel Safety and Sanitation	Federal Gov't	Next Week

*Technically, this position is still pending - I followed up with them three weeks after my interview, and they said they were still deciding - but seeing as it's been over eight weeks and I've heard nothing (even though they explicitly said they would let me know either way), I have essentially given up on it.
**I was approved and professionally boarded by the PHS Environmental Health Board on April 30th, which means that I have one year to secure a federal position and receive my officer's commission (assuming I pass medical and security clearance). I spent most of the month of May seeing my optometrist, dentist, and OB/GYN, plus a dermatologist, a lab, my one-time therapist, and an urgent care clinic (for an EKG) in order to collect all of the necessary medical forms and paperwork. (Fun fact: I am not pregnant, HIV-positive, infected with STDs, or taking any drugs - but my HDL cholesterol is low and my LDL cholesterol is high. Pooh.) Approximately nine hundred dollars' worth of credit card debt later, medical clearance is pending, and I am still waiting on fingerprint cards. Meanwhile, the interviews with the VA and the Coast Guard are positions through which I could receive my commission.

Don't feel bad if you're confused; the sheer number of them confuse me, too. In fact, I have even had to re-schedule some of them because I have had scheduling conflicts. Scheduling conflicts. With job interviews. It's every job-seeker's dream...and yet, no jobs.

That's right, boys and girls - you can go on nine interviews and still have zero job offers. "But you have five more next week," you say. "Surely one of those will work out!" Which is, of course, what everyone said when I came back from being abroad and had five interviews lined up. Or after I had gone on four more, leading to a total of nine. I understand that, objectively speaking, my odds continue to improve, but I'm going to honest: my optimism (which typically runs low anyways) is beginning to run dry.

Trying to explain it all to people is nearly as exhausting as doing the interviews themselves. To avoid answering the same effing questions forty more times, I feel like I should just have one of those stupid town-hall meetings that politicians are so fond of holding now. That way, I can get everybody in one room and explain that:

• I can't take a low-paying secretary job until something better comes around (I've tried, and I'm overqualified);
• I've tried applying to temp agencies and they don't want me (again, probably because I'm overqualified);
• I can't just leave my Master's degree off my resume in hopes of getting the aforementioned administrative jobs (because my former job titles and work experience give my overqualification away);
• I can't pick up a wage job to make money in the meantime (because I am traveling for interviews, often on short notice, almost every week - and no employer will tolerate that);
• I can't get a job in occupational safety with the oil companies in Houston (because they require their safety compliance specialists to be qualified as engineers - I've checked);
• I will continue to go to Austin for interviews until I have an effing job ("How many more of those do you plan to do?");
• Yes, I am applying for jobs outside of Texas even though I will be away from Joel (because a job far away is better than no job); and
• No, I am not just "being negative" - these are legitimate challenges to my unique job search (because yes, I have been accused of that).

I know that everyone means well. I know that these suggestions are well-intentioned and meant to help me. I know that things could be worse, and that I'm not homeless or starving or without support. But I'm at the limit. Yesterday morning, I asked Joel when he needed to be in Austin for his new student orientation at the LBJ school for his Master's program that begins in August and discovered, to my horror, that what I thought would be two weeks of curriculum overview and buying books was actually a full-time "workshop" schedule that begins in July and continues until his classes start at the end of August. My husband has to take classes before his classes start - and before his loans are disbursed - when we have no income, no car, and no place in Austin to live. I poured myself a cup of coffee and retreated to the bedroom so my mother wouldn't see me cry.

While perhaps not a silver lining, this whole situation has amused me in an ironic sort of way - in that I am now beyond grateful that Joel and I are currently childless when, less than a year ago, I was waxing poetic on how nice it would be to be able to start a family in the near future. I saw an article on Facebook the other day, Ramona at Forty, that really drove the point home:

Bit by bit we find out about all the jobs Mr. Quimby has held. In Beezus and Ramona, he has an unnamed position at Pacific Gas & Electric, and in Ramona and Her Father he loses his job in an office of a small moving and storage company, and everything appears to go downhill from there. For what feels like a painfully extended time (all of Ramona and Her Father), Mr. Quimby is standing in line at unemployment, waiting by the phone for interviews and job offers, and smoking. By the close of Ramona and Her Father, Mr. Quimby has finally secured a job as a checker at a grocery store chain with management potential. In other books, we’ll learn how much he hates his checker job — once again a concept which may not mean much to the kids for whom the books were written but one which resonates far too loudly for adults — and how he’ll leave that checker job to go back to art school and then get a teaching certificate while also working part-time at another hated job in a frozen foods warehouse.

I've spent a lot of time over these weeks thinking about that stereotype - the man as unemployed breadwinner, often with the unenviable burden of supporting a family, desperately seeking work and gradually lowering his standards for the kind of job he'll accept, shamefully accepting public benefits and coming home to his wife who, equally frustrated, demands to know why he hasn't found something yet. Suddenly I understand how such men become sullen and bitter as their self-confidence erodes, and how they lash out at well-meaning friends and relatives who, while well-meaning, still manage to be insulting when they make (what they believe to be) helpful suggestions. I remember my father, a hard-working and well-qualified engineer, taking a job at a mine in Nevada and working as a grocery sacker when I was a baby. I remember my mother, after being turned down for public assistance during her divorce (despite having no job and two children), smiling at people who suggested that she "just get a job at McDonald's." I think of one of our groomsmen, who went through this exact situation and spent seven months looking for work when he and his wife were expecting their daughter (and who may in fact be smiling as he reads this). And I take comfort in the fact that, despite all my despair and frustration, at least Joel and I only have to take care of each other.

And then I feel like a selfish asshole.

But who knows! By the end of next week, I might have a third interview (yes, that non-profit requires a third interview before they make a job offer) or even a job...though it might be in Norfolk, Virginia.

Solitude as a Companion/Solidão como um companheiro

Part of the reason my posts became less and less frequent while we were living in Gwangju was because falling into a routine meant that there was less to write about on a weekly, or even a monthly basis. Everything was very exciting as we packed, got ready to go, started our jobs, and settled in, but once normalcy kicked in there was little to hold a potential audience's attention. That changed, of course, with our whirlwind world travels, and the various ups and downs of readjusting to coming back home. Six weeks and zero jobs later, I have fallen into a different kind of routine: going to daily Mass, applying for jobs on the internet, and watching whatever my mom has playing on TV.

It's not so bad, honestly. I can sleep in if I want to, I have plenty of time to read the news, and I can chat with friends on the phone or online any time I want. I have gotten back into an exercise routine, partially motivated by my desire to train for the PHS Commissioned Corps - though I'm not complaining about having extra incentive to drop my vacation weight. I blog and catch up on international development news. I've explored my eligibility for public assistance (unfortunately, I can't get unemployment or Medicaid, but I do apparently qualify for food stamps - more on that in another entry). It's nice to spend time with my family, too - I chat with my brother and his girlfriend, go out to lunch with my father, swap yoga pants with my mom - and I even got a pat on the shoulder the other day from her normally stoic husband. And now, thanks to Netflix, I've watched all three seasons of Scandal and seen just about every episode of seasons eight through twelve of Law and Order: SVU.

I will admit that things have been pretty lonely without my other half. After spending a week with a couple we know in Dallas, Joel headed north to spend some time with his own family, which has been good for him, too. He reconnected with his brother, who is currently in his last year of med school with the Air Force, and has been working as a garden slave helping out in the yard for his parents. This week, he went with his folks out to Wyoming to see his grandfather and Dr. K's side of the family. He'll be back in Texas for his birthday, which I am obviously excited for - the next ten days can't pass fast enough. We talk and text every day, but after spending five years of marriage together, you kind of forget how to keep those marathon phone conversations from your dating days going...and seeing as how I am too careful/prudish/paranoid to send racy pics or messages that seem to be so popular among today's teens and politicians, I suppose I'll have to wait until he gets back to feel young again.

Ah, well.

On the flip side, my idleness has allowed me to make up for lost time with my mom's menagerie. In addition to begging forgiveness from my own cat and slowly working my way back into his good graces, I spend a good deal of time talking and playing with the other four cats and two dogs with whom I share the space. (The two mice aren't terribly cuddly, and I never really warmed up to guinea pigs.) Naturally, this comes with photographing and occasionally videotaping them.

Throw in daily Masses and rosaries, neighborhood runs, push ups, sit ups, and some occasional yoga, and you've got my daily life in a nutshell.

I don't really mind being back here so much. I wouldn't say I am proud of having to stay with my parents at this age, but neither am I ashamed of it. For one thing, it's completely normal in my mother's Brazilian culture for people our age to live with and/or be at least partially financially dependent on their parents, even sometimes after getting married and having kids (which thankfully means my mother doesn't resent it at all). It's also an uncomfortable but necessary rite of passage for a lot of my peers that have come home after living abroad. Even the brilliant Maya Angelou, who passed on today, went back to her mother when she faced difficulties - and considered herself stronger for it. Sure, we could have taken all of our severance pay, come straight home, and been able to be financially independent for a little while, but I firmly believe that our travels made us better people and brought us closer to each other (despite my tendency to take out my anxiety at being in this very situation on my poor husband). Debts can be repaid, but missed opportunities rarely come back around.

Interestingly, the solitude has been a strange comforter through all of this. Many people I know are uncomfortable with loneliness and silence and empty houses, but I find in them a familiarity that puts me at ease. Those who know me will undoubtedly understand this, as I have been known to seek out quiet corners at parties and social gatherings - being alone is a welcome antidote to the social anxiety that I inherited from my father and work so hard to hide. I do miss being around friends while Joel grills by the pool (and it's quickly getting into that season), but there's also something nice about sitting on the back patio for a few hours and watching a good old-fashioned Texas thunderstorm - and using my phone camera's macro function to take pictures of droplets on my mother's wind chimes.

Jobless Malaise/Mal-estar de desemprego

Nobody ever tells you that coming back home is harder than going abroad.

I've already covered re-entry shock. That's not what I'm talking about. I'm talking about picking your old life back up, or starting a new one - coming back with no plans and having to depend on the generosity of family and friends to feed and house you while you look for work and watch your savings, so carefully squirreled away, dwindle.

I was in a great place when I first came back. Right off the bat, I got to fluff her dress and straighten her veil as my best friend got married, while answering polite questions about my travels and our plans now that we are back. I had five job interviews lined up in the next two weeks, I explained, and smiled modestly at the congratulations that were offered at having so many opportunities in my field when the job market is so hard. It seemed like employment, housing, and a new life were just a few short weeks away.


It's now Friday, post interviews. The phone interview for the PHS Commissioned Corps was a success, and I am now professionally boarded, but I still need to secure a federal position, which would take several more months - so it's not an option in the short term. On top of that, I still need to submit a mile-high stack of paperwork to get medical clearance, which is going to cost a fortune to obtain, particularly now that we don't have insurance. I've been notified of my rejection from the job with the city of Austin and one two of the three state health department jobs I interviewed for. I'm expecting answers from the other two last one either today or early next week, but (as usual) my tendency to expect the worst has already begun to set in. I have another interview in San Antonio next Monday, but working in San Antonio while Joel goes to school in Austin is already less than ideal, and I know that the competition for these government positions is really stiff. I have been doing my best to fend off the despair, but sitting around in my mother's house doesn't give me much else to do.

It hasn't been so bad in the meantime. Obviously, I am still applying for positions. I've spent time with my parents (and my aunt, while she was here visiting my mother from Brazil) and seen a few friends around Austin and Houston. My brother and his girlfriend took me to a local soccer game. Joel has been spending time with some different friends in Dallas (and reconnecting with their dog, who absolutely worships him). While we don't have as much mobility as I had originally hoped, since we don't have our own car, I can move around the city freely since my mom lets me use hers.

But it doesn't feel like a life. I have always prided myself on my ability to be independent, to figure things out on my own and make my own way. Learning to depend on Koreans was hard but, in hindsight, understandable. This is different. There is something deeply unsettling to both Joel and me about depending on the generosity of others that we have no way of paying back in the foreseeable future. Obviously my mother would feed me until the day she died, and my father rented a car for me to go to Austin for my interviews last week to help me get back on my own two feet. I know they're my parents, and that they give freely, but all I have are visions of the two of us living a Fantine-esque nightmare wherein we are reduced to destitution or desperation or perpetual dependence on the grudging generosity of our loved ones. Or something.


In truth, I've never been a "the Lord will provide" kind of person. One of my missionary friends likes to tell stories of how the exact amount of money that she needs at specific moments seem to kind of materialize right when she needs it, but I've never had such luck. Money has always come from overtime, cashed-out vacation days, and shrewdly-filed tax returns. I am trying to have faith, but this is quite literally the first time in my life since I was a college freshman that I've been looking for work while unemployed, and I am losing patience. I know people are trying to be supportive, but if I hear "Well if you didn't get the job, it wasn't meant to be" one more time, I may just set myself on fire.

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.