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All things considered, I think I've done pretty competently here so far. I got the first job I went for, have lived well enough, and can understand nearly all the rules to baseball. But sometimes, it hits me that I am now living in a place a great distance from where I've spent most of my life, without so much as a Tesco sandwich within 3000 miles. I had one of those moments yesterday evening.
Believe it or not, it's the weather that makes me realize it the most. When the sun's out, even the smell of the air is different - maybe from different plants, different... I don't know. Even the way that I have to put on sun lotion in May (as I am the second-whitest person in the world, after Michael Jackson) and not plan for sudden downpours makes it a completely alien environment. As long as I live here, I'm going to have to get used to my accent and home country being a huge talking point for a group of people who have never in their lives been further away than down the end of the road to get the papers. (Not that people even do that here anyway. See how difficult it is?)
And after living here for just under a year (has it been that long already?) I can see why. This is a huge country, segregated into fifty pretty diverse sections, all of them separated from most of the rest of the world by two vast oceans. Most of the population are dimly aware of some hockey players to the North and some people with big hats to the South. Owning a passport is special. Even being able to drive a manual car - or "stick", as it's called here, in a term that I despise utterly - is special. That's another thing - people say that at least the country speaks the same language as the one I came from, and I thought I knew most Americanisms and how to translate them into English English, but the words for everything are different. Virtually no one understands my voice or the words I use at first, and when they do, it's ensured that I'll be talking about said voice for the next ten minutes.
I used to think that Americans thought of their country as the world - but now I can see that this place is a whole world in itself. I've noticed that when people mention places on the message boards I visit, I recognize what they're talking about now. I habitually call America "here", or refer to the West coast and East coast, without thinking to mention where "here" actually is - because it seems that the whole Internet is based there and the rest of the world is the outside. "What state are you in?" posts no longer annoy me or tempt me to reply with "Knackered", because now I am here. The world.
Part of the feeling is because I went straight here from university. By making the jump from university to real life at the same time as moving to a completely new country, it feels like everything I learned before was a practice run for the real world with the difficult bits cut out, where things were familiar and I knew what I was doing (or how to correctly order something for lunch, or write a cheque, or drive, or any number of things that are commonplace to everyone else). Here, it's like relearning life again. And it's not that I want desperately to undo it and go back... but it scares me sometimes.
(Sorry about this.)
Believe it or not, it's the weather that makes me realize it the most. When the sun's out, even the smell of the air is different - maybe from different plants, different... I don't know. Even the way that I have to put on sun lotion in May (as I am the second-whitest person in the world, after Michael Jackson) and not plan for sudden downpours makes it a completely alien environment. As long as I live here, I'm going to have to get used to my accent and home country being a huge talking point for a group of people who have never in their lives been further away than down the end of the road to get the papers. (Not that people even do that here anyway. See how difficult it is?)
And after living here for just under a year (has it been that long already?) I can see why. This is a huge country, segregated into fifty pretty diverse sections, all of them separated from most of the rest of the world by two vast oceans. Most of the population are dimly aware of some hockey players to the North and some people with big hats to the South. Owning a passport is special. Even being able to drive a manual car - or "stick", as it's called here, in a term that I despise utterly - is special. That's another thing - people say that at least the country speaks the same language as the one I came from, and I thought I knew most Americanisms and how to translate them into English English, but the words for everything are different. Virtually no one understands my voice or the words I use at first, and when they do, it's ensured that I'll be talking about said voice for the next ten minutes.
I used to think that Americans thought of their country as the world - but now I can see that this place is a whole world in itself. I've noticed that when people mention places on the message boards I visit, I recognize what they're talking about now. I habitually call America "here", or refer to the West coast and East coast, without thinking to mention where "here" actually is - because it seems that the whole Internet is based there and the rest of the world is the outside. "What state are you in?" posts no longer annoy me or tempt me to reply with "Knackered", because now I am here. The world.
Part of the feeling is because I went straight here from university. By making the jump from university to real life at the same time as moving to a completely new country, it feels like everything I learned before was a practice run for the real world with the difficult bits cut out, where things were familiar and I knew what I was doing (or how to correctly order something for lunch, or write a cheque, or drive, or any number of things that are commonplace to everyone else). Here, it's like relearning life again. And it's not that I want desperately to undo it and go back... but it scares me sometimes.
(Sorry about this.)
