Coming home after life abroad you find yourself stuck between the culture you have adopted and the one you have known your whole life. I love Korea, but I also really love America. When we finally got to our final destination on the gulf coast of Florida, I could hardly wait to immerse myself in America. I wanted to do everything upon arrival. Grocery store, Wal-Mart, watch the baseball playoffs, drink an American beer, see what the locals were up to, go buy a coffee at the gas station, read a newspaper.
I wasn’t going to sleep. I wanted to, as I told Lindsay, “be in America.” So we went to a bar near our condo. Hearing so many English conversations and actually being in an American bar with a loud cover band was sensory overload, but I was ready to be social. Stepping up to the bar to order two Bud lights, a large man barked at me, “Where are you from?” I wasn’t sure how to respond. Technically, I was fresh off the plane from Korea, still wearing the clothes I had worn in the cab ride to the bus station, but I didn’t want to fall into that conversation. I paused. “Virginia.” I finally said. “YOU,” he said accusingly pointing his finger at me “have no ‘effing’ idea do you?”
I smiled. Tipped the bartender. Then reminded myself that I am home.