Culture Shock

As you may or may not have surmised by my lack of blogging, I’m back in the U.S. alive and well. The last few weeks have been quite hectic with final exams in Turkey, my move back home, a weekend spent at Hamilton College for my dad’s 50^th reunion, and then my subsequent move to New Haven, CT to start my summer internship.

All this traveling and moving hasn’t given me much time to reflect on the transition back into ‘normal’ life. One thing I can say for sure, however, is that I do miss Turkey. It’s weird spending a full four months of my life somewhere that I have no guarantee I will ever return to. While I intend to go back to Istanbul, life has a funny way of plotting an unexpected course—or so I’ve heard.

Before I went to Istanbul, I had to attend a pre-departure study-abroad meeting where various administrators warned us, among other things, about culture shock. I listened attentively, but didn’t take much stock in what they were saying—that kind of thing wouldn’t happen to me. After getting to Turkey, I seemed justified in my confidence: my transition to life in Istanbul seemed quite smooth. I certainly had none of this culture shock business they had cautioned us about.

Half way through the semester, I got in a bit of a funk. I was slightly disappointed by my experience in Turkey, telling myself and others that it should be more fun, more challenging, more intriguing somehow. I complained about the academics, about my program, about the social scene, about the lack of specific food items, about the layout of the city, about missing Hamilton. I wasn’t overly upset, just mildly perturbed by a lot of small things. Fortunately, I found my way out of this rut after a few weeks, and went back to marveling at the opportunities and experiences I had had and would continue to have that semester.

Looking back on it now, it seems obvious. I was experiencing culture shock. The problem was that I had made two erroneous assumptions: culture shock would only affect me during the beginning transitional phase and culture shock would manifest as an unambiguous and unavoidable feeling, something equivalent to homesickness. I have come to realize that culture shock is not one emotion nor is it the mere longing to be back in your native culture; rather, it is a confluence of minor irritations and unrealized expectations that creep up on you. It's almost undetectable, which is why it’s so insidious.

Living abroad wasn’t always easy and I’m happy for that. I find that the more challenges I face, the easier the next ones are to overcome. But I am glad I got over my culture shock and am able to look back on my time in Istanbul with healthy nostalgia. I made lifelong friends, learned a lot about myself, and saw some wonderful things. Furthermore, getting away from my life in the U.S. helped me appreciate all the things I take for granted.

For now, I will focus on my current internship and all the other exciting things I have in my near future. The experiences from last semester will stay with me and shape the way I approach the world from here on out (or some other generic study abroad assertion). In all seriousness, I don’t know how much Istanbul caused me to change my views or see the world differently. I think those are false expectations of the sorts high school guidance counselors espouse (no offense to high school guidance counselors; I myself happened to have a wonderful one that did not fit the stereotype).

Though I may not be a changed man, I will certainly not forget Turkey as I enter the next chapter of my life. I feel more independent and competent, and I was exposed to a cultural perspective that can only help me become a more empathetic, informed person. Furthermore, as my dad warned me would happen, Istanbul got in my blood: I will forever have a longing to return. Let’s just hope life decides to send me back in that direction.

Now I just have to hope I don’t get reverse culture shock. But I don’t think I will—that kind of thing wouldn’t happen to me.