My most recent memory trigger surfaced during a visit to the airport. At the age of 21, I boarded a plane to go to Asia and join my husband. I remember my father walked me as far as he could. As I was boarding, I turned and saw dad's hunched shoulders walking away and I felt my breath leave as I realized that it could be years, perhaps many many years, before I would see him again. As the plane took off and the Superstition Mountains fell away I began to silently sob knowing that I was leaving everything I love behind for the unknown.
After 25 hours of travel, I arrived in Kai Tak Airport and found myself breathing air that was heavy with humidity. There is a smell in Hong Kong that I have not found anywhere else. It is combination of fish, ginger,herbs, humanity, and the sea. There was no bare earth anywhere, it was always crowded. The language was foreign, the music was different, I couldn't understand what was on TV, the food was different, but what I found most difficult is that the city was everywhere. Even the parks were only cement playgrounds with planters boarding the walking areas. This was a city that found beauty in man made things but I also found a sense of kindness and compassion there that I often see lacking in American culture.
To a small town girl who was coming from Phoenix, Hong Kong felt musty and dirty but it is a city like no other. Things I had taken for granted were luxuries there. We had a stackable washer and drier plus a small water heater which took 20 minutes to heat up before we could shower. I soon realized how fortunate I was. We were the only ones in the building who had them. Each day as I walked down the hall to the stairs, I would see people washing their clothes with a bucket of water and a washboard.
Our flat was on the 14th floor but the elevator only went to the 12th floor. I had to walk up a couple of flights of stairs and down a long narrow hallway to reach our door. This journey usually included a baby, a stroller, groceries and whatever I had with me. People shop every day and get their food from open makets. There are no grocery stores which made it necessary to shop daily. This meant that carrying the baby and groceries up and down flights of stairs was a daily excursion. Everything was fresh which means that shopping for food meant purchasing and killing your dinner, unless you paid someone to kill and clean it for you. In spite of this, I enjoyed shopping at the open market because there was an amazing array of vegetables and fruits that were new to me. Due to a water shortage, we only had water a few hours a day. I had to learn to store water, use it sparingly, and then boil it before we could drink it. In spite of the differences, I adapted and learned to open my mind so I could better understand the culture. As a result, people seemed to accept me which made this a wonderful experience. Eventually what was foreign to me become familiar and, when I eventually returned to America, I went through culture shock all over again.
My mother in law found a small stand that carried catsup. It was the only American condiment sold our neighborhood. I was soon known as the American blond girl who shaved her legs and ate lots of catsup. People who could speak a few words of English would stop me to ask why I had no hair on my legs or ask to touch my blond hair. One day a young man followed me as I shopped. It made me nervous until I realized he only wanted to talk to me about our culture. He was leaving to attend college in America and was curious. Finally he asked me "Is catsup the American Soy Sauce?" I laughed and said yes.
Recently, I found an old journal and vividly remember writing one particular entry. It was very early in the morning and I could not sleep. I was looking out the window watching the city and missing home. In the far distance, I could see the shimmer of the ocean between two tall buildings.
November 1981:
"There are things I love about this place and things that I hate. Aside from my family, I miss the open spaces , the spectacular sunsets, the sunrises on an Arizona morning, the smell of the desert after a rain, flowers on cactus, and people who are not obsessed with designer handbags or superstitions that make no sense. If I close my eyes, I can imagine walking on something other than concrete in an area where the only sound is a bird or the wind whistling in the trees. I miss the outdoors, my friends, my family, but I especially miss the simple things like the smell of the desert after a rainstorm or a sunset so spectacular it defies description. It is 5am here but at home they are getting ready for bed. Sometimes I ache to see an Arizona sunset and other times I wish I could share the treasures of this spectacular place with the people at home. This morning I am up early watching the sun make a pathetic attempt to provide a sunrise as it rises over a horizon that consists primarily of concrete and skyscrapers. Yet, as I watch my baby sleep and hear the soft snore of my husband, I know I have blessings here too."
I grew up in the country so the transition to life in Asia wasn't as traumatic as it would be for some. Throughout my life, I did a lot of camping and my dad would hunt for food. I had no illusions on where our meat comes from and my parents taught us to be self sufficient . Since I love fresh vegetables, shopping in the open market was a pleasure. Later, I learned that our food experiences can be just as unappetizing for those who have never experienced a grocery store as shopping for meat that was still alive was to me. The first time my ex husband saw hamburger meat, ground up and wrapped in plastic, he got sick. He had never seen meat ground and packaged before. In Asia all meat was sold in an open market. We would choose a live animal to kill or meat from a freshly butchered carcass. Is one more disgusting than the other? I believe that one's perspective rises from one's life experience.
Living in Asia taught me not to take anything for granted. I learned to open my mind to a different way of living. In doing so, I learned that instead of passing judgment it is better to open my mind and my heart. A person who lives life a little differently isn't necessarily wrong, they are just different. If we stop judging and try opening both our minds and our hearts instead, we end up expanding our own world. As for myself, I learned that when I am exposed to a new and unfamiliar life event I do not want to be hard and unbending, nor do I want to mold myself into meekly accepting whatever is before me. Instead, I want to open my mind enough to see things from a different perspective without losing the sense of self that defines me.
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