Disconnected

This, I am.  I feel it.  While Pennsylvania has never really felt "home" for me, America certainly has.  But I feel disconnected and strange.  It's small things, really... hearing the conversations of people around me, and becoming severely irritated that people can spend 15 minutes discussing the merits of various spoon sizes.  Ordering a medium ice-cream and being given more ice-cream than any sane person should ever be able to eat in a single serving, only to be informed that it appears a rather small serving, actually a bit of a rip-off.  Telling the cashier that I don't need a bag because I have my own and getting strange looks from her and everyone else in line.  I've also been asked more than once where I'm from.  Apparently I have developed an accent.  I contend that it is nothing more than simple enunciation.

I miss Hungary.

When I tell people about my life in Hungary, they're pretty much horrified.  No car?  Such a small room?  Biking everywhere?  Unrefrigerated milk?!  What a wonderful thing to be able to travel, sure... but what did I do without a clothes dryer?

Don't misunderstand me when I say that I loved the traveling I was able to do.  Hell, I'm even enjoying the convenience of a clothes dryer.  But it's not like my life stopped without one, or like I even missed one, while in Hungary.  Sure, there were times when I thought, "If I had a clothes dryer I could wear this shirt now, damn..." but it wasn't anything that actually impacted my life.  I didn't miss having a car because I didn't need one.  I didn't mind having a small room because I didn't need one any bigger. I honestly forgot these things were ever important, because I got more in the bargain.  I loved the traveling, but that's not what I miss right now.

I miss pedaling across the Arpad bridge, nodding to my fellow commuters and looking north up the Danube.  I miss my glimpses of Parliament, the Citadel, the Basilica.  I miss my students and colleagues.  I miss walking and noticing some detail on a building for the first time.  I miss my friends, gathered around a smoky little table and drinking a bit more than responsible.  I miss the snorts of derision, head tilts, and smiles I would get for talking.  I miss making eye contact, and instantly smiling.  I miss being required to think before speaking, even in my native tongue, and most people around me having to do the same.  I miss my HungaryAmericans/Brits, who understand all these crazy things going on in my head.

It's not that I "gave up" standard of living for the benefits of living abroad.  It's that I usually didn't notice anything was "missing" or "wrong" or "less."  Sure, now I am in America, and I see a bagel and go, "Sweet!  Bagel!"  But it's not like I walked around Budapest a zombie for bagels, dreaming of bagels.  If I wanted bagels, I made them, which took longer, sure, but was certainly healthier and actually fun to do.  In fact, I would occasionally get irritated with people who complained about things they really missed from home, even though I sometimes did the same... their complaint shone a light on something I had forgotten about.

It bothers me, really and honestly bothers me, that I start to try to tell people about this gift I've had, and their first question is something like, "But didn't you miss having a car?"  I know that I am a bit of a snob, but this is insane!  The culture, language, architecture, cuisine, political environment, whatever... aren't those more interesting than small differences in the standard of living?  Normal is normal wherever you are, and as long as you are loved and challenged, it doesn't even matter that much that you are warm and fed.  The things we think we need, we actually don't.  I lived a perfectly normal life in Hungary, and I was supremely content with it.  I hate that people are trying to make me feel so bad about it now.

I've decided that I like living abroad for another reason.  I like surrounding myself with unusual people... foreigners, and those who befriend foreigners.  We understand each other better. There, when people think I am strange, they shrug and go, "foreigner."  Here, when people think I am strange, they stare and whisper, "strange girl," or "freak," or, worst of all, "snob, self-hater, unpatriotic traitor who must really hate the people and country who brought her up to leave them."  And that cuts.  In both places, the truth is just exactly that I am strange, but I much prefer the shrug to the stare.

I know I've only been back in America for a few days, and I am sure that by the time I am leaving for Spain I will be adjusted and sad to leave.  I just wish right now that I could get some acceptance of my life, because I'm pretty damn happy with it and proud of it.  I'm making something pretty amazing of it, I think, and every time someone refuses to see that I feel a little bit more separated... disconnected.