I'll let you in on a little secret. My transition to the foreign norms and different cultural setting in this land called Chicago, and more generally America, wasn't as plain-sailing as I preconceived it to be. Upon my first infusion into this Western life and living, I surprised myself with my immediate disfavor for some things very American.
Bagels would be a good subject for me to take off from. I wasn't a fan of bagels until this recent year. Yes, it took me one whole year to acclimatize myself to the culture of eating bagels--a substance I once deemed so hard on the jaw, and tasteless to the taste buds. I could not quite fathom my sister's attachment to bagels and agony over the exorbitantly priced bagels carried by select supermarkets in Malaysia.
To me, it was what is was: a tough piece of bread that was even tougher for the jaws. With time and trial and error over the right flavor, I presently find myself settling on Asiago Cheese bagel and Jalapeno Salsa spread at least once a week.
Time and again, I also find myself actually preferring the three-hole papers and three-ring folders prevalent here. My father can attest to my initial detest for this matter, when I--obviously distressed by my first encounter with this three-hole enigma--ranted to him about America's stance on being different from the rest of the world. I hated with fervor, this whole notion of America setting itself apart from the UK, Europe and the rest of the world, since I bothered about these trivial points of adapting.
I went wild with displeasure that I could not use folders, papers and punchers interchangeably between America and the rest of the world. Besides, my ultimate chagrin (at that time at least) was what was I to do with the puncher I proudly brought with me from sweet home Malaysia that actually keeps up with the rest of the world? Of course, this heart is malleable and I soon learned that the three-hole and ring system creates much less heartbreaks over torn ruled papers for OCD students like yours truly.
Nonetheless, no aspect of assimilating into the American life is harder than the conversion to English units. Why must I be subjected to pounds, bushels, doors, miles, and (god-forbid) the ever obscure Fahrenheit when the globe has advanced to the universal standard? Alas, six academic quarters and societal pressure have imposed upon me the need to speak their lingo, and I am sadly coerced to rest my case against this.
As the Malay adage goes,
"Masuk kandang kambing mengembek, masuk kandang lembu menguak", I have slowly but surely assimilated into the American life. However, from
petai to bagel, from
tapai to Oreo parfait, from A4 paper to US letter paper, from "watter" to "wader", I would go all but one way.
What is this one thing, you ask? Let's just say I'd never enter a restroom without a filled bottle, or at the very least, wet paper towels upon paper towels to my discretion and satisfaction; even at the expense of being conceived as a lunatic Asian with serious issues.
What comes out the A-hole--in my most humble and honest humanitarian opinion--should NOT be cleaned with nothing but a dry, coarse paper towel. Someone should perhaps teach Westerners a thing or two; beginning perhaps, with the word
melecet and the terse expression
"geli, sial!", don't you think?
