#and one of my dad's friends made me lactose free strawberry ice cream as a present it's so so so so good | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

youreghanamissme · 7 years

Text

Carol Getting Married, Or Coming to America

8/14/17

My trip to America in a nutshell: Holly (the cat) hops onto my lap as I sit on the porcelain throne, scrolling through my Facebook news feed.

It's recommended that y'all put Calvin Harris' Funk Wav Bounces Vol. 1 in the background while reading forward. That album has been giving me life the past month and is somehow emblematic of this post.

Mona and I at Target. Initially, we tried the headbands on ironically, but then we kept wearing them around Target as we looked at stuff we didn’t need. When we got to the register, we bought them for their sentimental value.

Adhering to the better judgment and insistence of a trusted friend, I took half an Imodium (anti-diarrheal pill) before my 14-hour journey from Tamale to Accra, and booooy was that rough but so, so necessary. I had been running (Ghana speak for recurrent diarrhea) for a week prior. Being a kitty-corner from a toilet/latrine was not just necessary; it was equal parts redemption and self-preservation. And while that plug kept my pride intact on the bus, it nearly made me want to commit seppuku. Accra was the same as usual: foreign to me (as a northerner), expensive, and awkward. Highlight of being in Accra two days before my flight: I got my (seven) cavities taken care of. Lowlight: half of those fillings chipped away or fell out entirely in America. Oh, Ghana.

My flight to Paris was an adventurous one. Without going into too many details, I sort of held up the flight. But only by no more than 5-10 minutes! And it wasn't really my fault!! The flight attendants blew the whole ordeal out of proportion, even going so far as talking smack about me—in my presence—in French. They probably needed to take half a chill pill. We got to our destination on time, and I don't regret what I did. Don't worry—it was neither illegal nor immoral.

Paris to San Francisco was one of my worst experiences to date. I felt restless. My body was tense, my neck was killing me, and I was in the thick of a four-seat row. It didn't help that European airline food is leagues better than what I had been eating lately, and I was losing the fight to reject free brie cheese, butter, and ice cream en route. Lactose intolerance, be damned!

My three week stay in America was split between San Jose and San Francisco, my parents' home and my sister's/BIL's house. I no longer had my apartment in Oakland, and while my friends and former flat-mate were more than willing to let me crash at their place, I felt a little weird about it. They had real jobs and some had real families, and I didn't want to loaf around on netflix all day in front of them... which is what I often did in San Jose. Hours and hours spent catching up to beloved shows and binging on ice cream, cake, chips (party size), and cookies. I gained about 7lbs by the time of the wedding, two days before my return to Ghana. Most of my SJ friends didn't live in the area anymore, and even if they had stayed to reside in the 4-0-8, we had drifted apart so that a lot of what we did together was reminisce. I spent as much of my free time as possible meeting up with old friends in Oakland and San Francisco. For those who have yet to revisit America, here's what's up:

Hawaiian poke bowls are now a thing

There are now many apps to have food delivered to you. Be the recluse you aspire to be!

Boba tea has expanded into the mainstream, something us Asian-Am's have known and drank for years

Kick-boxing-ballet is on the rise

Homelessness has increased significantly in the bay area

You can order your weed online and have it delivered to you via a phone app (in CA, at least)

Coming to America was... weird. It wasn't too much of a culture shock. Maybe because it takes a lot to faze me; maybe because I've gotten some pre-America exposure to department stores and grocery markets in Accra, but having set prices was oddly comforting. No more haggling over a couple Cedis and wondering if I got a fair price or an inflated foreigner price. And the American merchandising of consumer products? Alarming, alienating. I never realized how greatly consumerism and commercialism ruled Americana. Or how courtesy is a real form of currency.

I watched a YouTube video one day that convinced me I needed to go buy, or at least check out, some LUSH products because they were all natural and good for you and better for workers and the environment (1: covert advertising). I went to a LUSH store in San Francisco, and the people were all so nice and accommodating, if not a little too eager to have me sample something (2: everyone is kind of fake-nice in USA, but I know everyone is good people, especially retail workers. I've been there; I've done that). The store smelled divine; the products seemed truly high-quality. And then I looked at the prices. Holy Jesus, Mother of Mercy, and the ineffable Buddha. FUCK. Those prices were eye-gougingly high. But then it is America. And then I converted the costs into Ghana Cedis—something I had to intentionally prevent myself from doing as my vacation continued to preclude a moral quandry at every run to CVS—and I felt like an asshole. I then spent the next hour musing in the small shop to look for the cheapest thing to buy (3: because manners matter in America, and they were all SO nice. I didn't want to be one of those people who actually talked to the workers, stayed forever, and then left without buying anything. This is why I can never work in a book store, no matter how romantic and cool it seems... and how much I want a 10% employee discount). I left the store with a shampoo bar I could use but didn't really need. I won't reveal the cost, but rest assured that for the same price, I could have bought three shampoo bars on Amazon.

And that's another thing: Amazon! The paragon of consumerism in America! I am critical of it all, but I can't deny that I'm in it; they have me, my wallet, and my soul. Disregard my rants as I lather my tresses with my new sea salt LUSH shampoo bar. And you know what? It feels really fuckin' good, and it does voluminize my hair, I think...

Y'know, I feel like something of a celebrity in Ghana. I'm a foreigner and a novelty and most strangers want to be my friend. Why, the kids scream my name—“Deeshini! Deeshini! Deeeeeshini!!”—everywhere I go in the village. And while I didn't have the same A-lister power in America, a lot of people did want to meet me. I felt like the Queen-motherfucking-Bee in a teen movie. It sucked that I couldn't hang out with everyone since conflicting schedules and locale were an issue, but for the folks that I was able to see and spend some time with, I am so grateful and thankful. It meant more to me than I can articulate.

Since I've been gone, my friends got engaged/married, are making strides in the pursuit of their dream careers, and evolving into cooler versions of themselves (and they were already pretty dope creatures). I love all of that. We talked lives, marriages, politics, failed connections, social unrest, self-discovery, and all the minutiae over good beer and better food. That's mostly what I did: enjoy the best food (Thai food, Vietnamese che (desserts), sushi, smoked salmon, burritos, cream donuts, STRAWBERRIES and PEACHES and CHEESE #sighpies ...and PIE. All the pies, yespleasethankyoumuch) with high-quality company and drink my weight in liquor. I was reminded how lucky I was to not have to drink Club beer (aka Bud Light's even less impressive cousin) for another three weeks. Don't get me wrong—Club will do, but why drink Club when you can have a Rasputin? Or a quality IPA?

My sister and Nathan (BIL), bless their hearts, had a few crates of beer available at their wedding. I drank a few Anchor Steams to calm my nerves before my sister-of-the-bride speech. I wasn't drunk, but I got the hiccups anyway. The speech itself was worse than a train-wreck. It was a dumpster fire that somehow rolled down the street. I wish I could have also left the building and escape onto the streets of SF.

...Okay, no, I didn't. But I ended up ugly-crying/ bawling the whole way through... to the point where my sister AND our father told me, 30 seconds in, that I didn't have to finish what I had to say. I wanted to though; I'm no quitter! And especially not on a night that would be remembered for the rest of my sister's life!

Well, I tell you what, neither she nor the other 340-plus guests will forget the night I read my speech—something that should have been one minute but took three instead—through tears, frequent mucus snorting, and awkward pauses into a microphone. By the way, my mess was not only filmed on camera for future generations' sake, it was also live-broadcasted for all the guests on the mezzanine to see since they didn't have ground-floor views. So much for all that expensive make-up. It washed away in three minutes. I didn't think I'd cry. That's the problem. I should have known better. I'll cry at anything, even a drop of a hat if it happened in a way I deem poetic.

It wasn't something I shed a tear over, but seeing family was a huge joy of being back home. Carol's wedding became the impetus for the reunion of my paternal cousins. They hail from all over the world—Paris, Portland, Calgary, Vancouver, Montreal, LA, New York. It was pretty cool. Some cousins I had never met before, and for others, it had been at least a decade since we were in the same room. I knew it meant a lot to my dad that several of his siblings made it to the wedding. He hadn't seen some of them in almost two decades. I don't think I would ever want to let that happen with Carol. Reuniting with my maternal cousins was something that I was also fortunate to do. I'm lucky I had cousins to grow up with; I know that's not the case for a lot of people. A lot of them had moved northward, towards Sacramento, as the Bay Area became too expensive to live in. It had been such a long time since I sat down and talked to the few that were in my age range. And on top of that—the baby cousins were no longer babies! Now they were in high school and finishing college, and I wondered to myself where did the years go?

The rest of the wedding banquet was bomb-diggity. There was a photo booth with props. Music was on point (leave it to my BIL to play the theme song to COPS at his wedding). The in-laws are Chinese, so of course we had a Traditional Chinese Ten-Course Meal. Yumsville, population: Diana. I ate until I couldn't eat anymore. Best part was the cake. I even ate other people's uneaten and half-eaten slices left on their tables as they headed home. Want not, waste not—cream and all!

By the end of the night, I was walking barefoot as I could no longer walk in those four inch heels that prevented my dress from dragging more on the floor than it did. My mom has night blindness, and my dad has avoided driving on the freeway for the past 15 years. It was up to me to drive us all and a fellow bridesmaid back to San Jose that night. It was a little nerve-wracking as I had only driven once before while being back, but it all went fine. Maybe driving is one of those things you don't really forget, like riding a bike.

Most of my time in America was spent before the wedding. Really, the whole point was to make sure my ao dai (one of my bridesmaid's dresses; an ao dai is traditional Vietnamese garb for gals) fit. I came back as early as I could to have alterations made in case the measurements I gave my sis didn't work out. I also wanted to help out with pre-wedding prep. While we never did go to the tailor before the wedding due to laziness (it fit, thankfully), I was glad to assist with the flowers and some small tasks.

When I was preparing to leave for America, I just couldn't wait to return to Ghana. I had work to do; a life to get back to with a purpose, but by the end of my stay, I wish I had more time to spend with my parents. They look older, more tired. I'm still in the selfish phase of my life: the unsparing twenties where hedonism is the choice idea, responsibilities feel better suited for my 30's, and I have few qualms about being an ocean away from my ma and dad. Good news is that they're both more or less retired now. Better news is that our relationship, no matter how frigid or awkward, is improving. They spent most of my time in America running around getting the house ready for the wedding. We're not Christians, so the house was renovated and the backyard landscaped to be presentable for the ceremonies—the American one (an officiant... who happened to be my sis' bff and a fellow bridesmaid!) and the Vietnamese/Chinese one (tea ceremony... where the groom's side of the family comes into the house in a procession, dowry-like gifts in hand)—at home. I was humbled by the tea ceremony, with all its intricate formalities and greetings and ancestral acknowledgment. I wondered quietly to myself: “Wow. This is a lot of bowing and citation to this person and that person... and who is that guy? I don't even know who they're talking about, but everyone else seems to. Will any of us second-generation American kids know how to guide each other through another tea ceremony when everyone from the old country has passed?” I'm sure my cousins and I will manage, somehow, but it did make me hyper-aware of how disassociated I feel from my Vietnamese culture sometimes. Not quite American enough for America, and not Vietnamese enough for the Vietnamese... It's sometimes a kind of limbo being the child of immigrants. Just a thought.

I think when everything was all over and everyone could finally breath a sigh of relief, both my parents and I regretted not spending quality time together. I say so because my dad said it indirectly. It's unfortunate, and I understood. I was in the same boat: the only reason I was even back was because of the wedding! My parents... they're old school. They didn't grow up hearing their parents say “I love you.” A roof, plentiful food, and all necessities met (and a few gratuitous material pleasures here and there) meant love. I'm learning more and more about how they communicate all the time, and I'm learning more about their lives too. They didn't like talking about it when I was little. I think it's an immigrant/ refugee thing. I've heard similar situations amongst friends and family. But the older I get, I think the more comfortable they feel about detailing their lives and all the struggles within it. It's the same for myself too. I'm learning more about the way I express myself—feelings, thoughts, friendship, and all. And I'm trying harder to communicate with them. It's humbling to realize how we will always be discovering more facets of ourselves. I can't wait to know what I will know and feel how I will feel at 40. In the meantime, I need to call home more.

#peacecorps #howiseepc #ghana #america #cultureshock #lush #asian-american #bayarea #target

1 note · View note