Holy Culture Shock

"Welcome to the United States of America" the sign above me reads in oversized, silver letters.  The concrete floor feels the same beneath my Converse, but somehow, I know it's different.  It's America.  It's my country.  It's home.

Along with the crowd of international passengers, I wait in line for customs, then the recheck baggage line, until we can finally re-enter the boarding area again which means more security lines and nearly de-robing in order to walk through the metal detector without setting off all alarms.  I make it through unscathed and still operating in this semi-confused yet oddly comfortable state of awareness.  I thought it would feel a lot stranger to be back, to be thrown into a major American airport, which I find to be an accurate though perhaps exaggerated representation of American culture.  People yelling into their cellphones at unreasonably high volumes.  Every fast food chain you could think off in addition to "Healthy Snack Stands" selling chocolate covered protein bars, soy chips, and reduced-fat, preservative packed blueberry muffins in vacuum packed bags.  And then there's the vending machines selling iPhones, iPods, and digital cameras just in case the spare electronics in your carry-on don't quite cut it.  I cannot imagine how overwhelmed a first time visitor to the States would feel arriving in a crowded and chaotic American airport.  A mix of fear, shock, and anxiety for sure.  Welcome to the United States of America indeed.

But, surprisingly, I find that everything feels remarkably normal.  I can handle this readjustment no problem!  I blend in so much it's like I never left.

"So, you going anywhere exciting?"

Huh?  I look up from repacking my things after going through security and the young officer is looking at me with a kind smile, waiting for an answer.  I look around me for a moment.  Is he talking to me?

"You have a fun trip ahead of you then?"  Okay, now I know that he's talking to me.

"Well, I'm actually on my way home.  But I guess that can be the best destination sometimes," I respond with a smile.  "Alright, well have a great day!"

"Thanks, you too.  Safe travels."

And with that, I shuffle away trying to pull myself and my bags together.  I honestly don't think I've been asked a "so how are you?" type of question by a stranger in over six months.  I think back to when I first arrived in Montreux.  I walked to the small grocery story on the corner to pick up some essentials and when I went to the cash register to ring up my things, I naturally made some small talk with the Coop employee.  When I asked her how her day was going, she gave me a look as if to say, "Who the hell are you to ask me how I am doing?"  Okay, never mind. . . I quickly learned that such friendly questions come off as invasive or intruding to others, so I kept my mouth shut from that point on.  But here, in our grand country, that kind of small talk is normal, even sometimes expected.  And although many people find those exchanges menial or even unnecessary, my short interaction with the nice airport employee reminded me of how friendly this country is, even in a place like Newark.

Oh America.  I've missed you.  You and your disorder, your rowdiness, and your enthusiasm.  Walking by some man yelling into his cellphone while pausing to tear off the corner of his burrito in a wild-animal-like fashion, I smile to myself.  It feels damn good to be back.