The stadium doors open and the noise is deafening. It's my first time in Conte Forum, and the Eagles are about to take on the Blue Devils. An assistant waves us forward, and I make a conscious effort not to gape at the crowd as we walk toward the sidelines. I fiddle nervously with my ties and collar. I snap back to reality when they announce our names; we were there to sing the national anthem. I start to panic. Wait, what were the lyrics again - something about explosions and walls?
My freshman year at Boston College was a major culture shock. Though I was born in Sydney, Australia, and had a British education growing up in Hong Kong, the differences between the American culture and my hybrid culture were numerous, and, at times, overwhelming.
For the first month of college, I would always stop and turn around and expect to hold a conversation when someone passed by and asked how I was, only to see them walking away. I had to explain myself when I asked where the "loo" was. Party games, which are such an essential part of American college life, seemed ridiculous to me, as a result of the drinking age and culture at home - who came up with the idea of throwing a ping pong ball into a plastic cup anyways? I had to learn how to convert temperatures from Fahrenheit to Celsius to understand weather reports. I was used to seeing my neighbors cook dinner and hang their underwear, not a hungry squirrel scampering past my window. Hong Kong winters range from the 50s to the 70s, whereas Boston's range from cold to "oh my God, it's so cold." The list goes on.
I also found myself being an ambassador to Hong Kong. Every time I met someone who asked where I was from, I would have to explain why I knew English and where Hong Kong was on the map - no, it is not in Japan, thank you very much. It was quite flattering when people would ask me all sorts of questions about home - what it looked like, where I lived, how my high school worked; more importantly, it helped me reflect on my background.
I found this collective experience to be infinitely interesting at first. I was studying abroad, looking for something that going to school in Hong Kong couldn't give me. Yet, over time, all these differences began to wear me down. Homesickness set in. Home never seemed so far - Hong Kong was a 19-hour trip away, and 13 hours ahead, which made calling home a difficult task. I missed speaking in Cantonese. As great as mac and cheese was, I pined for my mom's cooking, and Chef Choy was hardly authentic. I got tired of being an encyclopedia on Hong Kong for people. By the end of the September, I reached the end of my honeymoon period; I was tired of being foreign.
Being foreign was exhausting. I was constantly taking in information considered common sense to my American friends, while trying to assimilate.The many differences, and often conflicts, between the two cultures reminded me constantly of the fact that I was not from this country. I fell into depression.
I looked to my international friends for help, only to find that many of them were going through the same experience. Two of my good friends from home who also came to the United States for college eventually were so disillusioned that they transferred home by the end of the semester.
Fortunately, some of my other friends pushed me to stay, assuring me that things would inevitably improve. "You'll get used to it," they told me. And I did. By the end of my first year, I had established a great group of friends. Participation in clubs, especially my a cappella group, helped me develop a sense of belonging. I instinctively looked to my left when crossing streets and knew how to respond when greeted by someone on campus. It was like I'd spent the whole year learning a new social language and I finally understood how to speak it. By summer break, I was itching to return to BC.
In my conversations with other international students, especially those who are here for the full duration of their undergraduate degree, the first semester was always the hardest for them. But an open mind and positive attitude seems to be the common thing that has kept us all here. It is precisely that which keeps me going - even now.
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