After almost six months away from home, I have to admit I often still feel like a stranger here. And it’s not for lack of effort on my part to try to integrate. Nor is it because Colombians haven’t reached out to me and welcomed me into their homes. Instead, it’s just an honest realization: cross-cultural living is hard. Moving is hard. Starting from scratch is hard. Making friends, building a community, is hard. And when you’re doing it entirely in a language and culture that’s not your own…it’s exponentially harder. I’m thankful that I’ve had previous experiences abroad, and I’m grateful for my years of Spanish study. But in spite of all that, I’m having to admit to myself that there will be times of homesickness, and that’s OK. Pride tempts me to deny it, to say “I’m independent and self-sufficient;” a nagging voice causes me to question what I’ve always believed in—that multiculturalism is enriching, that deep, fulfilling cross-cultural relationships are possible. It’s tempting to idealize what I’m missing, believing that everything’s perfect in the States, or to become disillusioned about living abroad.
But that’s going to the extreme, allowing a natural phase of culture shock (although that's not really the best phrase in this case) get the best of me. The truth is, though, that home—roots—a sense of belonging—is significant. It’s a central part of who we are. Having a home culture is a privilege, and accepting it--the good, the bad, and the ugly--is crucial in achieving "healthy integration of the new with the old [culture]" (Myron Loss in Culture Shock).
