They warned us this would happen. One of the final stages of culture shock, the one right before acceptance, is rejection. I am so there. We're 4 months into our mission here in Guatemala and I find myself in the proverbial valley.
- Things I once found exotic are now just annoying or weird.
- The Moshito I eat on most morning is starting to taste like part of its name.
- The original relief I felt upon realizing that I wouldn't be sweating 24/7 while living here has been replaced by the harsh reality that it is just really, really cold here (how is it possible to feel colder inside a building than outside one!?)
- I find myself humming the tune "It's a hard-knock life" from Annie more and more (Note: Yes, I recognize how strange it is for a grown man with a receeding hair-line to be projecting his life onto that of a young, orphan girl with a red afro.)
- I'm secretly angry at Carey for somehow managing to escape meeting my new pet friend, the amoeba.
- Eating home-made Guatemalan food is no longer a life-enhancing, cultural experience. It just brings lots and lots of pain (especially the ones that start with "Ch-," such as Chicharrones, Churrascos, or Chuchitos.)
- I've become more fearful of water than the Wicked Witch of the West in Oz.
- Is it wrong to put an elderly Mayan woman in a head-lock if she persists on trying to sell me a rubber chicken on a string? (I promise I haven't done this...yet)
On the bright side, I find it somewhat comforting that I'm so predictable that I seem to be following the expected order of the stages of culture shock. I've got one prayer right now: "C'mon Acceptance Stage!" Oh, actually two: "...and protect me from the evils of the Chicharrone!"
Paz,
Jay
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2 comments:
the sun will come out tomorrow.
I for one have no objection to headlocks on the elderly. I mean if you are selling rubber chickens, particularly on a string, aren't you really just asking for it?
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