I thought I was culturally sensitive. I thought I was adaptable. I thought I was some kind of international explorer willing to experience the biggest challenges with a triumphant smirk and flick of the hair.
Boy was I naive.
And I say this because I’ve now realized that I can only be those things in very small doses. It’s when I have to be all of the above at the same time while trying to get ready for work or wash my dishes without running water, cook without power, listen to shouting on a loud speaker at 4:00am for people to wake up and eat, or if I hear habis (meaning empty) one more time when I try to buy something I may just scream.
But I can’t. Because you don’t scream here. And you really don’t scream during Ramadan.
And… If I can’t scream, then I’m just going to bury my head in a book (this one in case you were wondering) and focus on keeping my family afloat for 3 more weeks.
Cause in 3 weeks I think I may just have to scream with joy the second I land on American soil. And that, my friends, is what I find the most shocking of all.