When you move to a new country, the culture shocks are startling. In fact, they sneak up on you unnoticed. No matter how well you prepare or how many lessons you receive about the change in environment, it may never be enough.
It is normal to feel out of place in a new country when you first arrive because you are constantly trying to fit in. When you are trying to hide how unsettled you are, your facial expressions may occasionally betray you.
America is very serious about its pioneering role in redefining seasons and the concept of health.
As soon as I landed in the United States, I kept telling myself that it was too cold to be spring or summer. Everyone around me kept saying things like, “This weather is so lovely” and “It is very warm today,” while I spent the first week going to classes wrapped up in my black hoodie. It dawned on me as I stood there shivering in that “lovely weather” that the phantom warmth was actually my first cultural shock.
I was certainly new to the cold rain and wind numbing my entire body, especially having to wear layers in the summer. The only summer I have known and am used to is when people pass out from the heat, the humidity makes your hair frizzy, and even if it rains, it is still blistering hot. The shock and confusion of the change in weather have me questioning myself. I have always taken pride in being a winter lover, but now I am second-guessing myself.
Given that I had traveled far north from my subtropical origins, I was somewhat prepared for the weather to be one of the first surprises. There was, however, the concept of seasonal depression, which many people, including myself, experience during the colder seasons. If the “warmer” seasons in America feel like the cold wave I experienced in Bangladesh last winter, am I going to be in a perpetual state of seasonal depression when winter hits New York?
Aside from that, moving to a new country introduces a plethora of new foods to try, but my enthusiasm faded after the first few attempts. Every new food I have tried has disappointed me.
The pizza here tastes bland despite its vibrant appearance; the cookies and baked goods taste like chunks of sugar despite their heavenly aroma; the fries lack the essence of a potato; and even the ice here tastes weird!
However, my biggest shock came when I first tried Flamin’ Hot Cheetos, which, in my opinion, merits its own article. To begin with, there is nothing “flamin'” about it. In fact, I feel that the Bangladeshi Kurkure is far superior. Second, the amount of food coloring had me questioning America’s greatness. I am not particularly health-conscious; I am remotely healthy in terms of what I put into my body, but food coloring is off-limits.
When I went to brush my teeth after eating Flamin Hot Cheetos for the first time, I thought I was bleeding from my mouth.
My blue mouthwash turned purple when I spat it out. So, in a country where there are strict rules and legal ramifications for public smoking, how is this amount of food coloring, which takes about 2–3 days to completely leave your body, acceptable?
Maybe because I am a picky eater and, above all, a vegetarian, I can overlook the shock that came with the food. However, it defies logic that even gummy vitamins, which are the first two ingredients listed on the bottle, contain so much food coloring that they discolor your tongue.
What about the classrooms?
I honestly believed that it would be the coursework that would make me sweat. Instead, it was the way I addressed the faculty. This culture shock is related to my Bangladeshi educational indoctrination of addressing teachers and professors as “ma’am” or “sir.” I am sure every other Bangladeshi student feels the same way—addressing your teachers as ma’am, sir, or ‘professor’ (God forbid we use their first names) is something we have internalized as a way of showing them respect. So imagine my surprise when a member of the faculty said to me, “Please call me Karen.”
I was paralyzed, thinking to myself, “Karen? Her name? Is she insane?” For the first week, I would not address them at all. If I needed to talk to them, I would creepily stare at them until I got their attention. I was thinking, “It is fine if they think I am strange, but I refuse to address members by their first names only.”
Even the doors are different: my mind says “Push” but it’s actually “Pull”.
Aside from the shocks that continue to send chills down my spine, there has been one pleasant surprise—I am allowed to disagree. I was pleasantly surprised to see how the declaration “I disagree” is met with curiosity and openness rather than hostility and defense in classroom discussions. Disagreements are valued just as much as agreements, whether they are with the text, the teacher, or a classmate.
Being a student in a foreign country is undeniably difficult. You are not only struggling to adjust to your surroundings and continue your studies; you are also trying to ensure that you are in compliance with your visa, that your finances are in order, that you are not ignoring your health, that you have adequate housing and food, and so on. It is not an easy endeavor, and living the dream of studying or living abroad will take time to blossom, and the first many steps, like any other endeavor, will never be easy.
