Reverse Culture Shock

I’ve officially been home for a little more than a week, and I’m already experiencing reverse culture shock. There are things that I never thought about that are so entirely different from Ecuador that I’m constantly either annoyed or awed.

Such as:

• 38° is cold. I do not understand how everyone here thinks it’s not.

• I can now flush toilet paper. For so long it’s been drilled into my head that I can’t, that I feel like I’ll get caught whenever I do. My mom and sister have been subjected to frequent whoops from the bathroom because of it.

• I have realized that traffic lights are by far the most inefficient method of controlling traffic. Traffic circles make so much more sense. I never thought I’d say that, but there it is.

  

• People really do use the elevator to go to the second floor. I suppose I get annoyed because at 8,370 feet above sea level, I practically climbed a mountain and literally climbed 135 steps in order to get to my classes every day. (Unless I took the bus, in which case it was only 85 steps.)
  

  

• Everything is sweet here. I went to a restaurant the other day with my extended family and realized that my sister couldn’t taste the way the breaded shrimp was sickeningly sweet. She’s used to it; I’ve gotten used to salty things being salty (and just salty) and sweet things being significantly less sweet than they are here.

• I’ve come to the conclusion that lemon juice on my popcorn just doesn’t taste the same as lime juice.

• My mom has never had a tree tomato, and I have the niggling feeling that it’ll be hard to find a tomate de arbol anywhere around here. (Any suggestions?)

• There are no palm trees here. In Ecuador, it was a weird feeling not seeing pines. Apparently I got used to that, because now I feel like there’s something missing when I don’t see palm trees.

• Potholes, while not found exclusively in the States, were not something I missed.

• It’s fun to drive my own car, even if I do have to sit in traffic.

• Speaking of which, it’s actually nice to see orange construction cones again, as opposed to ones striped with black and sickly yellow. (Another thing I never thought I’d say: “Orange construction cones! How lovely!” Traveling abroad does weird things to you.)

• Air pressure was something I never noticed until there wasn’t any. Now it feels like I’m being squashed wherever I am.

  
  

  All of which, of course, mean that I'm ecstatic to be home, while at the same time missing Ecuador quite a lot. 

Home

Home.

It’s a funny word, made up of less than five letters but encompassing so much. 

It means family, hugs, and kisses. It means a balloon that says “WELCOME HOME!” (which was supposed to make my sister more visible but ended up being the last thing I noticed). 

It means my own bed, and sleeping in all the way until 8 o’clock in the morning.

It means a can of real American spaghetti sauce. It means eating a real apple for the first time since I left this place nine weeks ago.

It means my church family and more minute-long hugs than I’ve ever had there before in my life. It means people who have followed my journey on Facebook because it was practically the only way to.

It also means 19° Fahrenheit, but I don’t care because my family is here.

It’s not my comfort zone anymore, but it’s comforting. It’s somewhere where I can make my own fun without having to spontaneously plan it ahead of time. A place where I can play my own piano (finally!) and squeak out a couple melodies on my own violin. (Squeak is the right word.)

A place where I am finally needed.

Home. It’s a wonderful place.