My experience with culture shock
My experience with culture shock
I was a mess. Cursing as I angrily scooted through notorious Taiwan traffic, I jolted to a stop at the 7-Eleven and kicked my kickstand down as hard as I could. Without taking off my helmet, I went inside, ignoring the greeting from the cashier, and headed straight to the goods. In moments I was at the register, staring down the cashier as my Pringles, Sprite, Fanta, M&Ms, and two packs of Hi-Chews were scanned. Once the transaction was over, I stuffed all my purchases into my tired, faux-leather purse and climbed back aboard my two-wheeled transportation.
Within minutes I was letting myself into my apartment, then into my room, where I lay on my bed, checking Facebook and mindlessly consuming my feelings. Soon I was fighting back tears, and then I was crying. Pathetic, gaping-mouthed, wrappers in both hands, crying like my world was ending.
Several pounds later, I finally figured it out: culture shock. My emotions were as predictable as the weather and often changed even more quickly. The one book I’d read that would supposedly help me with my transition assumed my family had moved with me, and it was about as helpful as a hangnail.…
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