On Being an Immigrant

I may have to edit this post several times...it's one I've been meaning to write for weeks now, and it's hard to keep all the points I want to make top of mind. Especially since, as usual, I can't find the piece of paper where I've been jotting blog ideas. The bottom line is, I've gained a lot of sympathy and understanding for people who come to the US from other countries and act in ways we Americans think are inexplicable or insular.

First, let me say that if you're worried about threats to the hegemony of the English language, fear not. Imagine if all the road signs in the US were in English, Spanish, and French. Ditto for all the mass transit signs, airport signs, restroom signs, etc, etc. Imagine that everywhere you went, restaurant menus were bi- or trilingual, and so were many groceries, advertisements, and maps. All the signs in McDonald's and Brueggers were translated. Spanish was cool among the younger generation, and everyone wore t-shirts and hats with Spanish phrases on them. Now imagine that the US government was spending massive amounts of money to bring in Spanish speakers from all over the world to ensure that every American school child had at least 7 years of Spanish teaching. Some of these things are the case in certain cities. Koreans live with this reality every day, but show no signs of ceasing to speak Korean, despite their cities being maggoty with expats who can count off their Korean vocabulary with digits to spare.

When I made plans to come here, I assumed that I would be reasonably fluent in Korean at the end of a year. I realize now that that's highly unlikely. I haven't met any way-gooks yet who can do more than interpret simple signs and directions, and these are the ones who've been here several years. The reasons for this are many, the most obvious being that learning a new language is hard. Especially when it's really different from your mother tongue. People do it, of course, but it takes a lot of time, and you still have to conduct your life in the interim. Learning a foreign language in situ is extra difficult because your brain is so heavy with a deluge of new stimulus. When you can't even wipe your bum without wondering how, learning a whole new system of communicating is tremendously demanding. Talking is one of the most vital functions of our existence--we do it more than just about anything else, and use it for an incredible array of functions. In our home country, we have the luxury of speaking almost automatically, or worrying about "How do I best phrase this?" rather than "Can I phrase this at all?". To suddenly have to plan, rework, and devise alternate means of conveyance for everything you need to communicate is exhausting.

This, too, when you're already exhausted by everything else. Immigration forces you back to the early stages of your life, and the early stages of human history. You're a child again, living in a society where you don't know the rules, the mores, or the means of carrying out basic transactions. The world is a baffling place. To get anything done, you need someone to help or to do it for you, and the difference this time is that you don't have a mom who instinctively wants to look after you. You're also a caveperson again, spending a great deal of energy on meeting basic needs. The accustomed ease of mulling over eating plans, knowing where to go to make them happen, actually finding what you expect, and routinely procuring/preparing it is gone. Instead, you have to hunt, forage, devise, improvise, and settle every time you want to eat. Think of a meal you regularly make. Are the ingredients sold in this country? Where? Will you recognize them if you encounter them at a store? Do they taste the same? Do they have unexpected components? Are they considered a luxury item with a price tag to match? Do you actually have the necessary tools to prepare them? And what's more, what are the local customs for shopping? How are you expected to behave in the store? What rules and procedures are there that have never occurred to you? What services are available, and which cost extra? If all this makes your head explode, there are always restaurants. But those, too, have a list of questions just as long.

And these lists extend into every corner of your life. I still don't know if I'm sleeping between the right layers of bedding. I felt proud of myself last week for taking out the trash, but I'm not sure which receptacle to throw it in if I'm in public. When there are announcements in public places, I can't act on the information unless someone mimes for me what to do. I can't ask questions about anything I buy, nor can I read ingredients. Communicating non-routine needs to a cashier is nearly impossible, telling a taxi driver where I live is fraught with complication, and calling any establishment for information is simply not an option. At work, I'm limited to rudimentary conversation with my co-workers, and I'm often a source of levity for them--sometimes I know why, sometimes not. On top of all this (and realizing that I've likely forgotten several of my favorite examples), simply everything is unfamiliar. I'm surrounded by new faces, new styles, new sounds, new tastes, and new expectations, and I have none of my usual refuges available. It wears me out.

Being around other Americans is relieving. For that amount of time, I can speak without thinking (as it were), share frames of reference, seek and give assistance, feel confident that I'm behaving acceptably, appear intelligent, and make my needs known. I can connect with my identity.

I can also appreciate the need to keep that identity alive if I were to stay here long-term (don't worry, Mom, I'm not going to). If, in some parallel universe, I married a Korean man and had Korean children, and made a home in Korean society, America would still be important to me. I would want to speak English to my children. I would want them to know what Thanksgiving was like, and how peach pie tastes, and what to do with a fork & knife. I would want to sing the songs I know with them and read them my favorite books, and serve them grilled cheese or peanut butter sandwiches for lunch. I would want to decorate for Halloween and maybe even have a carpet. No matter how assimilated I got, there would still be things in America that I loved and missed and wished for. It wouldn't be a slap in the face of Korean culture, it would be an acknowledgement of the things I've valued and enjoyed for decades.

And so too for the immigrants in the United States.