Tales of Repatriation

America 101 - Disoriented

I am now 7 full days into my repatriation and I'm not sure that I've made any progress save for the fact that I have been on 3 walks with my superb niece who makes my heart sing.

Every normal process of the day is disorienting right now. My brain is decidedly confused right now because I think a bit of my core knows that this this is home — its where I come from — but the rest of me finds it all just a bit daunting.

Grocery stores remain alien lands. I was in a CVS yesterday — one of those huge ones that might as well be a grocery store — and I was nervous. I wasn't sure about where to walk, where to get a cart, or where to stand in the queue. I felt spastic. I then had to go into a Vons which is just absolutely huge and shiny and organized and every shelf (save for toilet paper — really?) is stocked and organized. IT'S WEIRD.

The sheer amount of choice for say, hummus, is ridiculous. If I could find hummus in Nairobi, there was one brand. If I found it in Singapore, there were two brands. In SoCal, there are literally 13 different brands and permutations of each brand. If I am met with more than one or two choices, I began to feel anxious. My pulse rate increases and I tend to back away from the confusing item because I cannot possibly be expected to make a decision. I won't even look at the cheese section. When I approach the cashier, I push the cart towards the counter and just sort of hope that I am doing it right.

When I could buy flour tortillas in Nairobi AND refried beans at the same time, amazing. When I couldn't, I ate something else. When avocadoes were out of season, we didn't eat them. When it was mango juice season in Cairo, it was magic and when the season was over, there was another juice to enjoy.

Do I have the club card? No. I get one on every trip home and somehow forgot all of them moving back. How do I get one of those things? Dial in your mobile number. Well, let me see if I can remember it. No. Not the Singapore number the American number. Right. Okay. Maybe I'll just make one up to get your bloody card so you don't overcharge me. I leave with my plastic bags because my shopping bags aren't allowed feeling ridiculous.

Please don't ask me to go to Costco — I will never come out.

The overwhelming amount of choice in America makes my head spin. What do you want? What version of that item would you like? Of course you can have it. And, it's the cheapest version of whatever you want compared to shopping anywhere else in the world. (Trust me on that one.)

The logistics to shop are also daunting. I drive American style pretty well on the other side of the road in the other side of the car but heaven help me in the parking lot where there are no dividing lines and I continue to question which side I'm supposed to be driving on. This too shall pass and, for now, I drive down the middle until an oncoming vehicle makes it clear I need to move over.

If you see me in a grocery store, AM/PM, pharmacy or, God help me, Home Depot, take pity. I am probably having an anxiety attack and mumbling to myself as I clutch a jar of pickles and duct tape.

Hummus 1, Parking Lot 0