“There is no greater agony than bearing an untold story inside you,” Maya Angelou once wrote. Indeed, as a student returning from nearly eight months abroad, nothing could be closer to the truth. I departed in June 2010 for Harare, Zimbabwe to work as an intern with the U.S. Embassy. After my three months there, I headed north for Amman, Jordan and spent almost five months traveling and studying in the Middle East. When I left the United States, I floated in a cloud of tremendous excitement and optimism. All I knew was that that particular mentality was better than the petulant alternative. Despite having little idea of what to expect, I flew out of Seattle that sunny June day ready to embrace the new opportunities and adventures that waited literally half-a-world away.
However, now upon returning home I’ve floundered in truly expressing what I’ve witnessed to even my closest family and friends. The agony of untold beauty, hidden wild places, incredible people, diverse faiths, colorful languages, and joyful living due to or despite circumstance, is something that has changed me forever. To truly understand such things, one has to actually smell the spicy freshness of mint tea, hear the grumbling of Bedouin camels, walk by the bomb-blasted Lebanese buildings from recent civil war, banter nimbly with good-humored taxi drivers, and feel a smile flutter to ones lips at the mention of King Abdullah II’s name.
The hardest thing about returning “home” from living abroad is realizing that I have in my absence, fostered a sense of belonging in other “homes” throughout the world. Frankly, it almost feels like I don’t know where I belong anymore! When I left Jordan, I had finally reach the point where I homesick only for my own family and simple luxuries like clean laundry. Back in the states however, the novelty of returning to the US of A matrix has already worn off. Life seems predictable, boring, narrow-minded, and too easy. People around me are obsessed with body image, schedules, routines, and popular fads. The other day, when I overheard a woman complaining about how her bottled water tasted a little bit too chlorinated, I had to restrain myself from turning around and snapping, “Well ma’am, at least you HAVE clean water to drink!”
All these mixed emotions reflect how my views of the world have shifted. Its not that I was never aware or educated about how people across the globe live; it’s more like the attachment of faces and names to struggles I previously viewed through the lens of an objective scholar have transformed such issues into being my struggle too.
But the random person, the casual stranger on the street doesn’t know I’m judging them for their stereotypical behaviors. I can’t blame them for not asking about my experiences, and not releasing the “agony” of the stories I have yet to tell.
And I know that’s unfair of me to be upset about that. I know I can’t blame the people in the States for misunderstanding what they can’t relate to. But sometimes it’s just so frustrating, especially in the current national climate of “Islamophobia” where Arabs are the punch line, and Qur’an burning is deemed by some to be a fair and necessary technique for "revenge".
Such people haven’t met my Palestinian friend whose family’s village could soon be or is already threatened by Israeli settlements. It’s difficult to truly grasp how it feels to stand in front of armored vehicles on a street corner, or pass through a Hezbollah-controlled roadblock that causes you to sequester the churning knot in your stomach to the darkest corner of your mind. They haven’t stayed up all night singing and laughing along to pop-Arabic music, or danced the dabka. They haven’t witnessed the ability of the hijab to actually empower Muslim women.
The coming months are going to be a crucial time for processing my thoughts and channeling my conclusions into a positive narration that my friends and family can actually benefit from. I never want to come across as condescending or be so upset about having left behind the life I had in Zimbabwe and Jordan that it taints the next few months that I spend at home. I think any feelings of alienation will dissolve slightly as soon as I reconnect with my other friends who have also been abroad and are maybe going through similar issues. In developing an ability to express my stories, I instead wish to reveal my experiences with a candid alacrity that motivates others to travel and see for themselves the lifestyle I’ve lived for the last eight months. Also, while I fear that I will be pulled into “compartmentalizing” my experiences, I believe that returning to the private journal that I kept throughout my journey will help remind me of the greater complexities, and help me gradually reintegrate into American society with a healthy perspective. The incredible amount of personal growth I’ve experienced is overwhelmingly due to dealing with the stressors, challenges, and corresponding rewards from being abroad. Thus, telling the “untold story” openly is an important component in inspiring the next group of students to go abroad.
Eventually, I too will be the unknowing stranger...the one that can't fathom the true impact of someone else's experience. So, I will savor my own memories, and hope to be as patient as those who will deal with my cultural growing pains over the next few months.
