Discovering My Own Culture

I remember being in Japan a few years ago and having many hilarious stories of cultural mishaps by the end of the summer. There was that time I walked into a dressing room with my shoes on, another time when I wore the bathroom shoes out in the rest of the house, and that other time when my best friend had to put on a huge baggy t-shirt in the bathhouse because she had tattoos.

I remember often thinking, "Gee, I'm glad America doesn't have a whole lot of rules for politeness. I'm glad we're a 'low-context' culture." We are low-context, indeed, once you're IN that context. However, now that I'm living overseas in a vastly different culture, I am realizing that we DO have many standards of politeness and cultural "do's" and "don't"s. Being the American that I am, I had just considered them "common sense" before.

Living in another country, I have made a lot of adjustments to my behavior and responses to things, and I've tried my best to become what I need to become. But if someone over here were to ask me what's appropriate to do in American culture, these would be some of my "rules" for interacting with an American (or, who knows, perhaps just this American):

Rules for Interacting with Americans 

1.) Don't ask how much we paid for something. Now this rule needs some qualifications. I remember close friends asking how much I paid for my apartment in west campus, just so they could figure out where they wanted to live and scope out the price ranges. But here, the conversation goes something more like this:

"How much do you pay for your apartment?"
(Depending on my mood, I might say "not too much" and change the subject, or if I'm feeling just really dumb, I might actually tell them. One of three reactions follows)
a.) Ohhh, that is much too expensive.
b.) With furniture included? (No.) Ohhh, you pay too much.
c.) ...For a year? (No.) A MONTH?! Ohhhh, you pay too much.

Not to mention, this might not be from a close friend; this might be from a guy I've just met.

So, judging by my own inner reactions (don't worry, outwardly I'm polite, if perhaps a little short), I think that in the States it is more appropriate to not comment, or to say "What a good deal!" You're probably safest if you just don't ask in the first place and say something more like, "What a lovely apartment!" and just leave it at that.

2.) Precisely define the time you plan to come over.

When dealing with an American, it's usually not polite to say, "I will come over sometime Sunday," but never say the time. Then, it's really not polite to send them a text message at 7 p.m. saying, "Where are you? I am at your apartment!" because they might be, oh I don't know, at a restaurant? Usually just saying the day you will come over, without the time, is not acceptable...especially if you want them to actually be there when you arrive at the door. Also, it's not a good idea to randomly show up at 10 p.m. with a bunch of friends they don't know. Americans like their schedules...and their privacy.

3.) Allow us to use our left hand.

So first of all, I think this definitely stems from a deeper cultural difference. In the United States, we focus on allowing someone to be the individual they were born to be. So if someone begins to use their left hand from an early age, we encourage it. However, over here, the emphasis is on what is convenient for the group as a whole. What is convenient is to have everyone write right-handed from an early age. This way, there is no need for left-handed desks, scissors, or elbow-bumping at the table. Supposedly this also allows for more uniform writing. 

Anyway, here are some actual responses I have had when people find out I am left-handed:

a.) You use chopsticks/write with your LEFT hand! (exclamation and shock)

b.) You must be very clever! (So if lefties are clever, why do you make us change?)

c.) You cannot write characters with your left hand! You will never be able to write them correctly!

d.) *Takes pen out of my hand as though I am five years old and puts it in my right hand and forces me to write characters that way*

e.) Why are so many westerners left-handed?

I have made many left-handed friends here, surprisingly. I mean, none of them use their left hand to write, but a few have told me that they started out writing with their left hand before they had to change. I was playing tennis the other day and talking with my doubles partner to figure out which side we would each be on. When I told him I was left-handed, I assumed that would settle the question, but he promptly said, "Me too!" Good for him, keeping his left-handedness intact, even if only in sports. He must be very clever!

I will probably think of more later, so I'm sure there will be a Part 2 to this. I would love to hear about any things you've discovered about your own culture through being in another one!

Jesus Loves You

"Jesus loves you," she was assured, by people with big smiling faces who promptly went home to their big homes with big white families inside to eat a big Sunday dinner and watch football on a big TV.

"Jesus loves me," she sang with the rest of the kids in the Sunday School class, even though she might as well have been of a different species the way they wouldn't talk to her and giggled when she walked in.

"Jesus loves everyone," she was told she must tell others in order to be a good girl, by a pastor who didn't know her name and was more concerned about how many people came to a building each week than how many little girls didn't have a nice big family like his to go home to.

"Jesus loves the world," a cool video said, and she was told to go to Haiti and help build a home for orphans. But she didn't have the money to go with the rest of the youth group, and her parents thought it was pointless anyway, so she just longingly looked at the Facebook photos of the $70-Chacos-wearing youth group smiling with cute Haitian children.

And then, one day as she invisibly walked home from school with a heavy-laden backpack, not invited to get ice cream with the rest of the school friends who would then tell her Jesus loved her on Sunday at youth group, someone called her name.

"Hey!" said a girl from the wrong side of the tracks, wearing dirty white sneakers and a nose ring. They'd talked a couple times in homeroom and realized they lived in the same neighborhood and liked the same TV show. "You want to come eat with my family and me? And then maybe we can watch TV!"

In that moment, for the first time in a long time, she wondered if someone up there just might love her.