CULTURE SHOCK? (part 3)

                     CULTURE SHOCK?  (part 3)

While writing about culture shock, I ran across people of different ages, with various international experiences. One of them was a guy, who had been on a study abroad program in Europe. He was telling me how much fun this semester was. He studied the local culture and language, traveled, tried new cuisine, had fun bar-hopping with the local students, even got picked up by a girl at a bar. Naturally he said, "yes", but what he thought was going to be a long night of intimacy, turned out to be a lesson in how to be a gentleman. The girl did not want to walk alone into the dance club. After an hour of dancing, he felt light-headed. The girl stayed at the club with her girlfriends, while he made it to his apartment very lonely. "I felt a little stupid that night." He said.

He proceeded talking to me about his family. He shared he was able to talk to them and see them on the internet more often than at the time he was in USA. "But after 3 months, I really wanted to go home! Nostalgia hit me. I am ready for a vacation to Europe any time; I can take a short work assignment, but moving to Europe - not permanently."

It is one thing to be a visitor, or a tourist, a totally different thing to immigrate, or be an expatriate. I hate this word! Anyway, this is just a blog. ...

The conversation with the young man made me think, "I must have really wanted the challenge to leave the old life behind and just show up across the Atlantic to try out a better life and better opportunities."

As time went by, we entered the Adjustment stage of the culture shock. Do all Bulgarian immigrants from those days adjust? It depends. There are so many socio- economic factors, which come into play. Even after so many years, I frown upon the immigrants, who try to swallow everything from the new culture in an attempt to blend with the local people. I guess cultural assimilation is the word I am looking for. Bulgarians have lived under Turkish rule for 500 years without being assimilated. How can immigration lead to this situation? How can you forget where you came from?

I will sneak in a comment on a controversial subject among the compatriots. Since I don't live in my country of origin, I don't follow its news and I am not a part of the every day pains and sorrows of the regular folks in Bulgaria. So, I have to exercise extreme caution commenting on what goes on in BG now (as long as there are no wars, open violation of human and civil rights, terrorism, and genocide). The media cannot be my source of information. I have to remember what my husband's father - a good husband and father of seven, a hard working farmer from Colorado - taught him many years ago: "Gary, consider the source." If anyone of my former friends talks against USA and the American people, I can easily say, "You do not live in USA, but I admire your interest in the country!" 

The majority of the Bulgarian immigrants follow their old native traditions, while absorbing the cultural values and traditions of the Americans. Based on the demographic and ethnic structure of the area they live, they may become not just bi-cultural, but multicultural. What more can one ask for? The more cultures you see, the bigger the world becomes for you. 
 
When you immigrate, food becomes an essential part of the bigger world you are in. Living in the most diverse country in the world, USA, you can eat whatever international cuisine you like -- the big American steaks (my husband's favorite), German sausage with sauerkraut, Chinese roast duck, Italian pizza, French beef bourguignon (my favourite), Korean kimchi (my daughter's favorite), Spanish tapas, Vietnamese noodles soup, Pakistan lamb kebab, Indian tofu dishes, and many more.

You can find Bulgarian food in the few Bulgarian stores around. The famous Bulgarian "rakia" drink (not for people who cannot drink) is not to be found easily. Just go with the whiskey and the bourbon. 

Image courtesy of creativedoxphoto from FreeDigitalPhotos.net

I am married to an American man. This is the best possible scenario to learn and see on a daily basis the differences and similarities between the Bulgarian and American cultures. There is humor and loud discussions on how things are "supposed to be done." How can you not laugh at someone, who has learned 14 Bulgarian words + 1 sentence for 14 years of marriage? How can he not laugh at his wife, who can throw money up in the air in a restaurant, because [to her] it is embarrassing to question what your portion of the bill is. If the other women cannot drink martinis, I can. I also like James Bond's type martinis. Do I have to pay more for my better taste?

Next time, I will give you some examples to make fun of myself. Believe me, when time comes to make fun of myself, no one can do it better.

Disclaimer: Any resemblance to real situations, real living or dead people is purely coincidental. All characters appearing in this blog are composite and fictitious. 

CULTURE SHOCK (part 2)

CULTURE SHOCK (part 2)

Picture by Frank Bryan

Transitioning from the Honeymoon stage to the Negotiation stage is the most complex time of immigration. I realized I was in this noisy unfamiliar crowd from which I could not leave. The one - way ticket was used. Remnants from the honeymoon stage were occurring from time to time, but they were only a geographic reminder of being alone in the new world. It felt cold, very cold. Is it ever going to get warmer?

The Negotiation stage was the time I was trying to convince myself, "I know it is not OK, but take it easy; stay cool! It will get better!"

The Wikipedia teaches that during this stage "the differences between the old and new culture become apparent..." Meeting new people, being in a new place, can really drive a person out of balance. The thought, "what have I gotten myself and my child into?" crawled in only to create additional psychological obstacles to the communication with the outside world.

When I started graduate school, Frostburg's accent/language met the English one from Bulgaria. It was time to negotiate. The linguistic blunders, the intonation, facial expressions, were not always the way they were supposed to be. It was more than noticeable.

To make matters worse, at that time there was barely any support for international students. Naturally, the internationals were leaning on each other more than connecting with the other students. They could easily find the beer bar - next to campus, and the laundromat - next to the bar. But help was needed for banks, transportation, shopping, everything...

My daughter attended high school in Frostburg. Her attempts to explain where Bulgaria  was on the map of the world did not get much attention. Bullying for the way you talk, you dress, you eat was an essential part of her life. I could never explain to her why it was "the law" of the American land to eat a hot dog on a hot dog roll; why it was a "No No" to eat hot dog on a slice of bread. All I knew is that she became the butt of a joke when she was "caught" eating lunch her way.

 I could only wipe her tears.

Maybe, that explains her being a vegetarian these days. She never eats hot dogs; she never eats rolls. Bread remains her favorite. 

To be continued...

CULTURE SHOCK (part 1)

Picture by Frank Bryan

                CULTURE  SHOCK (part 1)

Are  the immigrants shocked, or are we all living in the world of a shocking culture? Since I am discussing the early '90s, I will take bravely the subject of "culture shock," as well as the "shocking culture" the immigrant from Eastern Europe finds in America. Yes, I will talk bravely - afterall, I am brave enough to get into your living room and you - the Americans, were brave enough not to take out a gun and point it at me. You offered me a chair to sit, I sat down and looked around for what else you would offer me. You did not know me. I came out of nowhere. I knew you from the books and the literature. I knew about democracy and slavery (what a comparison); I knew about your education system and hey, rock 'n' roll.

Let's see what my cat's curiosity and my wild cat's patience revealed. Culture shock is described in the Wikipedia as "the personal disorientation a person may feel when experiencing an unfamiliar way of life due to immigration".... The immigrants go through one or more cultural stages, this is what the internet claims. What I write about sheds some light on my individual and my family's cultural experiences. By "my family," I mean my family at the time. I have the same daughter, but a new husband, who truly did not know what marrying a Bulgarian woman means. It means you are in Heaven and Hell at the same time, until you forget the difference between the two. Ha,ha,ha.

The first stage of the culture shock is described as the "Honeymoon stage." Well, who does not like a honeymoon, unless you are getting married because your parents want you to be married, or you are 3-months pregnant and just about to make it clear to everyone you have been having too much fun around. 

In good families, the honeymoon stage lasts "till death do us part." It was not like that in my case, but let's stay focused. We had no friends speaking our language in America, we jumped right into the new world having no clue how deep the water was, not to mention the fact that my daughter and I didn't know how to swim.... I just knew what Forest Gump's mama told him: "Life is like a box of chocolates, Forest. You never know what you are gonna get." 

With this mindset, I liked what I saw in America. I knew it was new and maybe always would be new to me; it was vibrant, colorful, beautiful houses with small yards and flowers. Don't get me started on the cars. Yes, God forgive me, I was jealous of the guy who had the Porche and had left it right in front on the street. In Georgetown, one of the rich areas of Washington, D.C., there were many beautiful cars I stared at. But the Porche, I still remember. What I knew about cars was squeezed in between The Russian Lada and The Eastern German plastic Trabant.

Once I immigrated, I was not looking back. I was not feeling sad or exulted. I knew exactly where I was. I wanted to be there. You can not psychoanalyze feelings, personalities, reactions of the rest of the population.  If you want to do something and you did it, no one cares about your complaints after that. You just suck it up (sorry for my language.) "Fresh off the boat", I had to march into the world of "Just do whatever it takes to make it within the limits of the law."

Somehow in the midst of it all, I felt relaxed. I felt totally in control of my life. In this chaos of babysitting, poverty, eating noodle soup - 5 cents/piece; hot dogs - 25 cents  a package, I believed a new life is coming - new family relations, new friends, everything new. I did not foresee anything negative. 

In communist times, the government was making plans all the time. Planning about 5 years ahead. I am still into the habit of planning all the time, but only for tomorrow. 

My family unit at the time was shaky, to say the least, friends had taken their own path in life. Many nights were spent crying from exhaustion, but I knew I have a lot to build. 

What I did not know was that American houses are built from wood, not bricks. You  build them fast and destroy them even faster. But this did not happen in the "Honeymoon stage."


To be continued....
  

COMING TO AMERICA (part 1)

Picture by Frank Bryan

COMING TO AMERICA (part 1)

                                     

I will make this blog colorful, like the Bulgarian national flag. It has 3 colors -- white, green and red. 

 Coming  to America in 1992 for a family of three was not like in "Coming to America" movie. My daughter (12 years old at the time) and I arrived in USA from Bulgaria after my ex-husband. To give you a crash course of where Bulgaria is -- the country is situated in Eastern Europe; it is not part of the former Soviet Union, though SSSR had strong ideological and economic influence on its development in the past. 

All we knew about where we were going to live got into our crazy heads as a result of graduating from the English Language School in Plovdiv. We had good education, good control of the language, (incl. my daughter.) On top of this, we knew all the rock bands:) Ha, ha! "The Iron Curtain" fell in 1989. Finally if one had relatives in Western Germany or Eastern germany, they were able to cross the border and reunite with them. The new life has just begun!!

Emigration time in Bulgaria started as soon as the people realized they can live in other countries, get better education for their children, live the "American Dream", whatever they thoughtt it was. From a totalitarian country, they were flying to a capitalist environment, democracy and everything they believed they missed for so many years. The American Constitution was their pocket book.

My husband at the time was already enrolled in a Master's degree program. My daughter started school as soon as we were able to enroll her in one. We were so poor, we relied on good Americans for everything -- basements to live, covered with cement, food cooked with the worst quality products you can think of, old bagels given to my ex-husband from the university store. This was his second job. I was helping with everything possible in the places we were welcome to live. Even if not asked, I felt I had to do my share. I was also preparing for exams, hoping I would be accepted to a graduate business school. 

The first visit to McDonald's was a real celebration. It was only my daughter, who was able to have a burger. This was the biggest victory of our first year in USA. She was keeping the napkin for a long time.  Probably until we "graduated" to Taco Bell.

It was really smart leaving Bulgaria with several essential items. My daughter and I had thick wool coats. We also had warm boots, hats, a lot of underwear :). We even got haircuts. Mine was actually an Afro. How would I know that there is a separation in hair fashion in USA? I looked cute with Afro style. But, when I arrived I saw no white woman with Afro hair style. I have to tell you, this is their loss! Until my Afro became straight hair, I was already in graduate school. I do not think Afro style was a style I will not choose now (if not "ostracized" by society.) I have been tempted many times to tell a woman at the hair salon "Straight hair does not look good on you. Why don't you choose something that makes you beautiful, not what is modern."

Later, in 1994, when I was in Graduate School, I learned about 'culture shock ' foreigners go through and its stages. I am absolutely sure for us there was no 'honeymoon stage', no 'negotiation stage'. There was a "How To" stage. How to get a roof on top of our heads, how to feed ourselves, how to have our child safe and keep her healthy. Romantic fascination with USA was out of question. Comparisons between life styles and cultures were the last thing on my mind. Survival was all the parents cared about. 

Of course, there was always the option of going back, but this was the last option. There were sooo many options to be explored. Afterall, this is America, the land of opportunities!!!!!!

Bulgaria

Plovdiv