Choosing Foreignness

Last week the thought occurred to me, "I feel happy today.  Really and truly happy." It was a feeling of lightness, like a revelation.

It's not that I have been unhappy over the past 20 months of living in Barcelona, but it has been challenging in many ways.  I chose this challenge, and I thus I have faced it in my very rational way, constantly reminding myself of how lucky I am, eyes ever fixed on my daily to-do list.

It often happens with me that I don't realize how I feel about things until there is a change of state.  For example, I didn't realize how insecure I was as a child until I grew into self-assurance and could look back on myself with some perspective.  When I was a teacher, I knew I was working hard and that I struggled with certain aspects of the job, but I didn't realize how stressed I was until I stopped teaching. I think I am just the type of person who can tolerate emotional discomfort for long periods of time without realizing it.

That is probably a good thing, because becoming a foreigner in middle age is not a comfortable thing to do.  It's completely different from being a tourist and observing an unfamiliar culture from inside your protective bubble,  knowing that you will be home soon enough.  Becoming a foreigner is to choose to be an other;  an alien, a curiosity, a minority.  It carries a certain psychological burden.

If your home country is a powerful one, and you have money or status, then it's easier, because you are likely to feel welcomed and perhaps in some ways superior to the people or culture of your host country.  Although if the differential is too great, you may feel suspicious that people are being nice to you in order to get something from you, and that's not conducive to building real friendships and trust.  That is why we did not choose to move to an underdeveloped country.

If you come from a country which is more or less equally powerful as your host country, then there is a pleasant mutual respect.  The difference in culture is novel and interesting, and you can exchange recipes and ideas freely.  This is the situation we are in, and it's fantastic.  Many people want to learn English, and there have not been large differences in culture to navigate.

If your home country is a poor or troubled one, however, then the locals know you're vulnerable. You are here to work, and you have the burden on your shoulders of adjusting and integrating to the dominant culture.  They may look down on you,  or pity you.  Your customs, dress, and language may seem strange or backwards.  For example, I think about how it must be hard for muslim Pakistanis here: The women stand out like sore thumbs in their headscarves, and imagine trying to eat out when everything contains ham!  Those immigrants have every possible hurdle to jump:  language, culture, religion, and race.

The Spanish generally like Americans because they are familiar with our music and movies.  If they idolize America as a land of opportunity, they may ask, "Why have you come here?  Isn't life good where you came from?"  The locals know they have it good, with the Mediterranean beaches, the food, the weather, the social security... they wouldn't dream of uprooting themselves unless faced with the prospect of war.  They like the idea of visiting New York, Los Angeles, Las Vegas, and Hawaii, but they wouldn't necessarily want to live in what they think of as bible-thumping, gun-toting, crime-ridden, ultra-competitive America.

Of course people don't think I'm from America because of my face.  Often they assume I'm from Japan or China.  Unlike my husband, who can pass as a Spaniard on the street with his brown hair and eyes, I feel very conspicuous.  There is a growing community of Spanish Chinese, but the generation born here is still under 18.  I have no hope of looking local, so my foreignness can never be concealed, it's a part of my identity here.  It's not that I feel discriminated against here at all, but naturally they expect less of me here.

Growing up in Hawaii, I never had the feeling that I did not belong in America.  My America was a multiracial one, and living in northern California only strengthened that belief.  Although I have gotten used to being often the only Asian in the room here, I look forward to returning to California in part just to feel inconspicuous again.

I did not anticipate how so many inconsequential unknowns can add up to a low but constant level of stress.  Not knowing where to buy school supplies, how to get anywhere, where to get your hair cut, whether and how much to tip the stylist, or what company to use for internet service... all very minor concerns, but when added up make everyday living just a little more difficult.

It took me over a year to feel like I actually live here, to not feel like a tourist somehow.  It takes time to make real friends,  especially if there is a language barrier, so the first year I was surrounded by acquaintances.  I clung to any English-speakers I knew just to have someone to talk to, or any friendly Spanish people who showed an interest.  Over time real friendships have blossomed and deepened, and now I feel truly valued here.  Yet until I am really fluent in the language, I will continue to feel a bit disempowered, and not quite at home.  However, I do not regret this experience one bit.