Had a funny even almost nostalgic moment today:
I was walking to class when I noticed a lone backpack on a bench outside of the school. I half expected it to explode while wondering where the bomb squad was.
Showing posts with label reverse culture shock. Show all posts
Showing posts with label reverse culture shock. Show all posts
Monday, March 30, 2009
Thursday, February 5, 2009
Back From Hiatus
Both having spent our college years in Boston, a conversation that often comes up between my cousin and me when I'm back home is how the weather in Los Angeles is almost too perfect.
Granted, I'm usually only back during the summer when L.A. is glimmering at its best.
Before any of you stuck in snow or bitter New England winds wonders why I don't shut up and stop complaining about good weather, hear me out.
Weather in Los Angeles is fantastic. Winters are chilly, but I've never had to whip out more than the occasional scarf, which I would wear more for fashion than for warmth. Earmuffs, gloves, Northface armor coats-all unnecessary. Plus, we've got those Santa Ana's.
Warm springs beckon hot summers, and the occasional shower ensures some green in the concrete mess of freeways. Summers are hot and dry, yes; and in the Valley, it's almost unbearable. But the days are tempered by the proximity of the beach, and the balmy nights make up for the scalding heat.
And autumn, my favorite season anywhere; fall in L.A. is marked by warm, windy days. Sure, we Angelinos don't get to enjoy the passing of time with rainbow foliage, but we also don't have to start dreading the cold either.
Los Angeles glows with sunshine.
But sometimes, all that sunshine seems to mock you when you're having a bad day. I like that Boston weather can reflect my feelings; torrential rains and howling wind when I'm pissed, and gloomy gray skies with the occasional flurry when I'm sad.
This year, I'm spared the New England winter, that bitter cold that every year makes me grumble how any human or living life form can survive in weather like it. It's the weather in which I have to remind myself "left, right, left, right..." while I walk to and from class as I bend my head forward against harsh gusts of wind.
This year, I missed the colorful leaves, but I breathed a sigh of relief that I would not have to trudge around in my Uggs, simultaneously wear three pairs of pants, or have to write a postage note on my window to remind myself that sunshine does not equal heat.
Instead, I spent last semester in Jerusalem where the weather was much like an extended summer for me until one day, in mid-December, someone somewhere must have snapped, and it just got cold.
This semester, I'm in the Costa de la Luz, in Cadiz, the city that boasts something like 350 days of sunshine. Luckily, it seems I've arrived during those 15 days without sunshine.
It's been about a week and a half since we've arrived in Cadiz and about two and a half weeks in Spain. I've written since three posts, two of which are not about Cadiz. Already, I spent a weekend away.
I remember writing towards the end of last semester on my reflections of culture shock. In that post, I wrote that I would probably initially feel unhappy in Cadiz just like I initially didn't like Jerusalem. In it, I wrote that I would remind myself to reread those posts and take it in stride.
But the difference is that even when I was unhappy in Jerusalem, I still had so much to write about and think about and talk about. I'm not unhappy here in Cadiz, but I'm bored. Apathy to me is far worse than extreme emotion whether it be hate or love. Life in Jerusalem was never easy, but it was always interesting.
How can I describe my feelings right now? I don't know if I can quite decipher them myself let alone articulate them in writing. I'm overwhelmed.
Cadiz is an incredibly underwhelming city. It was once a thriving port city, visited and inhabited by all kinds of historic folks, but these days, it's a sleepy beach town that's infamous for its February Carnaval debauchery. It's a mark on the map for a lovely day trip or a week-long siesta spent lounging and drinking on the beach at sunset.
Everything about Jerusalem was so extreme; when talking on the phone with my mom, I would often tell her that it was the hardest time I'd ever had being abroad. It was probably the best too. Life in Jerusalem was a semester of extreme highs and lows. I was never at peace; I was never idle. I don't think that anyone can completely understand Jerusalem or the conflict without living daily with the subtle yet omnipresent tensions surrounding and permeating every mentality, every simple decision made.
Cadiz is pleasant, and it is slow. Not only are faces becoming familiar, but the dogs are too. Problems are solved with a brusque "No te pasa nada", or as the Andalucians say, "No te pa na". And the closest thing to rioting would be the ensuing celebrations if Cadiz ever won a football match. The biggest news stories come from outside of Cadiz, which is quite a change from living under the global spotlight.
I brought up the weather because I can't adequately compare Jerusalem and Cadiz in terms of experience. There is no comparison-there is no better. Instead, let me compare the weather and point out the irony.
Jerusalem's weather was gorgeous. It was sunny. It was ideal. Yet, Jerusalem itself was not a happy city. Cadiz, on the other hand, is light and stress-free. Yet, the rain and the ocean winds have been relentless, and the sea boils and tosses angrily.
I get travel warnings that still come to me from the Hebrew University prohibiting students' travel to the Sinai Peninsula. I laugh as I reminisce about that bumpy midnight drive across the Sinai looking up out the window in the backseat wondering what Nicole was thinking, while now, I'm stuck under house arrest in Cadiz because of a hurricane warning.
"You have to be inspired to have passion." -TJ
I'm sorry I haven't been writing or updating. It was/is (reverse) culture shock. It was abrupt change. It was premature, unjust disappointment spawned from incomparable and irrelevant situations.
I needed to remember that inspiration can't always come easy. I need to rediscover my passion by finding inspiration in other places.
No more solitary brooding and futile nostalgia.
Not so quiet anymore, huh?
Granted, I'm usually only back during the summer when L.A. is glimmering at its best.
Before any of you stuck in snow or bitter New England winds wonders why I don't shut up and stop complaining about good weather, hear me out.
Weather in Los Angeles is fantastic. Winters are chilly, but I've never had to whip out more than the occasional scarf, which I would wear more for fashion than for warmth. Earmuffs, gloves, Northface armor coats-all unnecessary. Plus, we've got those Santa Ana's.
Warm springs beckon hot summers, and the occasional shower ensures some green in the concrete mess of freeways. Summers are hot and dry, yes; and in the Valley, it's almost unbearable. But the days are tempered by the proximity of the beach, and the balmy nights make up for the scalding heat.
And autumn, my favorite season anywhere; fall in L.A. is marked by warm, windy days. Sure, we Angelinos don't get to enjoy the passing of time with rainbow foliage, but we also don't have to start dreading the cold either.
Los Angeles glows with sunshine.
But sometimes, all that sunshine seems to mock you when you're having a bad day. I like that Boston weather can reflect my feelings; torrential rains and howling wind when I'm pissed, and gloomy gray skies with the occasional flurry when I'm sad.
This year, I'm spared the New England winter, that bitter cold that every year makes me grumble how any human or living life form can survive in weather like it. It's the weather in which I have to remind myself "left, right, left, right..." while I walk to and from class as I bend my head forward against harsh gusts of wind.
This year, I missed the colorful leaves, but I breathed a sigh of relief that I would not have to trudge around in my Uggs, simultaneously wear three pairs of pants, or have to write a postage note on my window to remind myself that sunshine does not equal heat.
Instead, I spent last semester in Jerusalem where the weather was much like an extended summer for me until one day, in mid-December, someone somewhere must have snapped, and it just got cold.
This semester, I'm in the Costa de la Luz, in Cadiz, the city that boasts something like 350 days of sunshine. Luckily, it seems I've arrived during those 15 days without sunshine.
It's been about a week and a half since we've arrived in Cadiz and about two and a half weeks in Spain. I've written since three posts, two of which are not about Cadiz. Already, I spent a weekend away.
I remember writing towards the end of last semester on my reflections of culture shock. In that post, I wrote that I would probably initially feel unhappy in Cadiz just like I initially didn't like Jerusalem. In it, I wrote that I would remind myself to reread those posts and take it in stride.
But the difference is that even when I was unhappy in Jerusalem, I still had so much to write about and think about and talk about. I'm not unhappy here in Cadiz, but I'm bored. Apathy to me is far worse than extreme emotion whether it be hate or love. Life in Jerusalem was never easy, but it was always interesting.
How can I describe my feelings right now? I don't know if I can quite decipher them myself let alone articulate them in writing. I'm overwhelmed.
Cadiz is an incredibly underwhelming city. It was once a thriving port city, visited and inhabited by all kinds of historic folks, but these days, it's a sleepy beach town that's infamous for its February Carnaval debauchery. It's a mark on the map for a lovely day trip or a week-long siesta spent lounging and drinking on the beach at sunset.
Everything about Jerusalem was so extreme; when talking on the phone with my mom, I would often tell her that it was the hardest time I'd ever had being abroad. It was probably the best too. Life in Jerusalem was a semester of extreme highs and lows. I was never at peace; I was never idle. I don't think that anyone can completely understand Jerusalem or the conflict without living daily with the subtle yet omnipresent tensions surrounding and permeating every mentality, every simple decision made.
Cadiz is pleasant, and it is slow. Not only are faces becoming familiar, but the dogs are too. Problems are solved with a brusque "No te pasa nada", or as the Andalucians say, "No te pa na". And the closest thing to rioting would be the ensuing celebrations if Cadiz ever won a football match. The biggest news stories come from outside of Cadiz, which is quite a change from living under the global spotlight.
I brought up the weather because I can't adequately compare Jerusalem and Cadiz in terms of experience. There is no comparison-there is no better. Instead, let me compare the weather and point out the irony.
Jerusalem's weather was gorgeous. It was sunny. It was ideal. Yet, Jerusalem itself was not a happy city. Cadiz, on the other hand, is light and stress-free. Yet, the rain and the ocean winds have been relentless, and the sea boils and tosses angrily.
I get travel warnings that still come to me from the Hebrew University prohibiting students' travel to the Sinai Peninsula. I laugh as I reminisce about that bumpy midnight drive across the Sinai looking up out the window in the backseat wondering what Nicole was thinking, while now, I'm stuck under house arrest in Cadiz because of a hurricane warning.
"You have to be inspired to have passion." -TJ
I'm sorry I haven't been writing or updating. It was/is (reverse) culture shock. It was abrupt change. It was premature, unjust disappointment spawned from incomparable and irrelevant situations.
I needed to remember that inspiration can't always come easy. I need to rediscover my passion by finding inspiration in other places.
No more solitary brooding and futile nostalgia.
Not so quiet anymore, huh?
Saturday, January 24, 2009
¡Bienvenidos a Cádiz!
It's been a while since I've updated.
In the past few weeks, I returned home for about a week to sunny Los Angeles and then hopped on another flight to Madrid. Now I've finally arrived in Cadiz.
In Madrid, I saw a lot of graffitti on the walls with drawings of tanks and "Israel asesina", and a lot of the girls here sport colorful keffiyehs though more for fashion than for any political statement, I think.
To be quite honest, I don't have very much to update on. Cadiz is just as small and lovely as I remember despite the unseasonal squally weather. The roads are narrow and cobblestoned with winding alleys that lead into hidden plazas warbling with bubbling fountains and gnarled tree roots jutting up from ancient mosaic tile floors.
It's just been such a strange and abrupt transition from Jerusalem (almost like a reverse culture shock with a more familiar yet different culture), and I think I need more time to settle and resolve my experiences from there before I can embark on any here.
In the past few weeks, I returned home for about a week to sunny Los Angeles and then hopped on another flight to Madrid. Now I've finally arrived in Cadiz.
In Madrid, I saw a lot of graffitti on the walls with drawings of tanks and "Israel asesina", and a lot of the girls here sport colorful keffiyehs though more for fashion than for any political statement, I think.
To be quite honest, I don't have very much to update on. Cadiz is just as small and lovely as I remember despite the unseasonal squally weather. The roads are narrow and cobblestoned with winding alleys that lead into hidden plazas warbling with bubbling fountains and gnarled tree roots jutting up from ancient mosaic tile floors.
It's just been such a strange and abrupt transition from Jerusalem (almost like a reverse culture shock with a more familiar yet different culture), and I think I need more time to settle and resolve my experiences from there before I can embark on any here.
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