Sunday, January 3, 2010

Americano Life

Now I have cut into about three weeks of fresh Americano life again. America in all her glory has given me a wonderful homecoming gift. I received it a few days after I stepped off the plane onto the red, white, and blue soil with the tune of "I'm Proud to be an American" in the background. It was really big, and wrapped in the shiny paper of consumerism. Of course, I can't forget to mention the bow on top that was held together by self sufficiency. I was so stunned to receive such a large, "glamorous" gift that I didn't quite know what to do with it. After a minute of staring, I began to open it with high hopes for something good. Seconds later, the paper was on the floor, the gift was laid bare, and I knew exactly what it was. It's another part of my life that repeats itself over and over again. The world knows it as "culture shock", but I like to think of it as my torture for at least the next 6 months (most likely). Now, I am not about to stand up and say that I felt at home in Korea's culture, but I did in Italy's culture no matter how chaotic it was at times. What can I say, I just love Europe.

I feel like a space ship re-entering Earth's atmosphere. Everything is going really fast, and I feel the pressure like a fire all over me. Hurling towards the Earth, on fire, and waiting for my crash landing. I am driving again for the first time in 15 months. I am jobless, and not feeling so confident at the moment. I am constantly explaining things to the new people I meet. One example is how you can live in a foreign country but not be of that ethnicity. I am bombarded by the people who do not have enough (but they really do), and I am catching the fever that disgusts me to the very core.

My legs want to take me to another place, my lungs want to scream for freedom, my heart breaks for those left behind, and faints in the face of starting again for what feels like the millionth time in my span of 24 years. My minds longs for the confidence to manage some ridiculous establishment with food. My eyes want to let the flood of tears go in hopes that they will wash away my negativity that lingers without any sign of leaving. My soul wants to choose the better things, my soul is dry and crying for refreshment.

This completes the circle for me I suppose. I have lived in a culture that is not my own, with people that are not my own, hung out with friends that aren't really mine, and lived in houses that are not my own. I am once again brought to the point of poverty. I have nothing to offer. I am poor in spirit.

Matt 5:3-10
"Blessed are the poor in spirit; for theirs is the kingdom of heaven. Blessed are they that mourn; for they shall be comforted. Blessed are the meek; for they shall inherit the earth. Blessed are they that hunger and thirst after righteousness; for they shall be filled. Blessed are the merciful for they shall obtain mercy. Blessed are the pure in heart; for they shall see God. Blessed are the peacemakers; for they shall be called sons of God. Blessed are they that have been persecuted for righteousness' sake: for theirs is the kingdom of heaven."

Bear with me my friends as I walk through this new part of my life.

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