so far away
It's funny that my expectations of moving so far from my nearest and dearest have in many cases been turned on their heads . . . those things which I expected to find so hard to cope with have generally turned out to be relatively insignificant. Conversely, and more problematic, is that aspects I had considered minor or hadn't thought of at all, have proved troublesome.
I have an avid communicant from whom I regularly receive aerogrammes which have at times reduced me to tears or cheered me in need. But recently a pile arrived documenting their trip to Thailand, Cambodia and Vietnam and I was struck when reading them . . . it's harder to feel involved when you have no idea of where the person is really. When their environs are so completely exotic to you and you have no notion of what their surroundings look like; when all of the things that are familiar and help you relate to their experiences are absent it's hard not to be fazed and to fully comprehend what they are trying to describe. This highlighted, for me, how difficult it must be for the peeps I'm trying so hard to stay connected to when they get letters or emails from me. I know what it all looks like here and it's completely familiar to me now, but it must be fairly much unimaginable to everyone else.
It's strange how quickly the new and unknown can become familiar and commonplace. Odd to think that only a month ago everyday life felt surreal, foreign and frightening. It was like starting high school again, where suddenly you are back to making plans to meet up with people just so you can walk in a gaggle down to the bus together because you're terrified you won't be able to cope alone. I've now returned to the stage where I trust myself to be able to do things independently and not be constantly in fear of a lynching for being a blundering 外人 (foreigner). It is all starting to feel comfortable now - I still get looks from people - 'Oh! Look! A white person in our neighbourhood!' but I'm getting to know my way around. I've started doing a few daytrips and more importantly, I've started to feel like my Japanese will eventually get to a point where I will be able to tackle tasks and get myself understood in Japanese. Sure, I still talk mainly in stilted phrases or ill connected series' of words, but my comprehension is streets ahead of where it was and it's only been a month. I'm sure that as I become more confident the rate will increase further as I push myself into conversing more regularly.
Tonight, whilst riding my bike to the shops I had this unsettling experience, again, relating to place - maybe that's what lead to this. I suddenly smelt an aroma that was familiar and comforting, that brought a rush of recognition and a smile to my face. But I couldn't tell . . . was it a smell that I associate with home in Australia that I sensed and recognised for that reason. Or am I starting to recognise new, alien smells as part of my construct of 'home'; fitting them into my subconscious patterns and connections of the known, the safe, home.
I miss you! Write me!
I have an avid communicant from whom I regularly receive aerogrammes which have at times reduced me to tears or cheered me in need. But recently a pile arrived documenting their trip to Thailand, Cambodia and Vietnam and I was struck when reading them . . . it's harder to feel involved when you have no idea of where the person is really. When their environs are so completely exotic to you and you have no notion of what their surroundings look like; when all of the things that are familiar and help you relate to their experiences are absent it's hard not to be fazed and to fully comprehend what they are trying to describe. This highlighted, for me, how difficult it must be for the peeps I'm trying so hard to stay connected to when they get letters or emails from me. I know what it all looks like here and it's completely familiar to me now, but it must be fairly much unimaginable to everyone else.
It's strange how quickly the new and unknown can become familiar and commonplace. Odd to think that only a month ago everyday life felt surreal, foreign and frightening. It was like starting high school again, where suddenly you are back to making plans to meet up with people just so you can walk in a gaggle down to the bus together because you're terrified you won't be able to cope alone. I've now returned to the stage where I trust myself to be able to do things independently and not be constantly in fear of a lynching for being a blundering 外人 (foreigner). It is all starting to feel comfortable now - I still get looks from people - 'Oh! Look! A white person in our neighbourhood!' but I'm getting to know my way around. I've started doing a few daytrips and more importantly, I've started to feel like my Japanese will eventually get to a point where I will be able to tackle tasks and get myself understood in Japanese. Sure, I still talk mainly in stilted phrases or ill connected series' of words, but my comprehension is streets ahead of where it was and it's only been a month. I'm sure that as I become more confident the rate will increase further as I push myself into conversing more regularly.
Tonight, whilst riding my bike to the shops I had this unsettling experience, again, relating to place - maybe that's what lead to this. I suddenly smelt an aroma that was familiar and comforting, that brought a rush of recognition and a smile to my face. But I couldn't tell . . . was it a smell that I associate with home in Australia that I sensed and recognised for that reason. Or am I starting to recognise new, alien smells as part of my construct of 'home'; fitting them into my subconscious patterns and connections of the known, the safe, home.
I miss you! Write me!
posted by Eleanora Martinez at 3:20 PM
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