Blog Post 1

I remember when my parents dropped me off that first day freshman year. All my things had been unpacked into my dimly lit, cupboard of a room: my clothes, my fridge, my ten inch by ten inch tv, a bobblehead of Andy Roddick that I found (and still find) endlessly amusing, my maps of Africa and Asia. My roommate had yet to arrive. I was dually thankful for that. For one, I didn't have to endure the embarrassment of my parents interrogating him over what kind of toothpaste he used or how loudly he snored. But I was also relieved that I could put off this inevitable social interaction until I was better composed. According to our brief email exchange, I knew my roommate was a slightly larger fellow from Livonia, Michigan. I felt the need to plan our conversation ahead of time, carefully calculating which topics I should bring up, how humble I should be when I tell him of the places I've lived, how interested I should be when I listen to him tell me of his strong religious background. In my mind, I could not weather rejection. I yearned for acceptance, in any form and context, in the eyes of my roommate and every stranger I passed.
     Even though I am an American, I felt concerned and worried about whether I'd understand what it was like to be an American in the United States. Is there an inherent and jarring difference between us? A certain experience or ritual that one has to undergo that makes one a true American? During my first meal in the West Quad dining hall, I eavesdropped on some conversations, trying to find a moment to interject and introduce myself. But often, I couldn't understand what they were talking about. Both the manner and matter of their conversations confused me; apparently obvious references lost on me. Those first two weeks as a college freshman were trying and I isolated myself to my room, avoiding social interaction entirely (it didn't help that I was never the most social person outside the United States either). But as it is with most things, as the days went by and the more I forcefully opened myself up for interaction, the better I adapted and learned.
     It's difficult coming to a strange and foreign environment, especially one as surreal as a college campus. Imagine the culture shock one undergoes when they come from an entirely different country, from an entirely different culture, forced to speak an entirely different language. And though I did spend most of my life overseas, I had the luxury of being to the United States before and having English be my first language. I can't begin to imagine what the transition must be like when you're a nonnative speaker. I wanted to become a Chat Cafe facilitator because I want to provide a friendly voice to international students and try to encourage them to be their best selves, whether that is independent of the college setting or helping them adapt to the strangeness that is Ann Arbor. I'm certainly no expert in transitioning to college but I hope that the other students in the Chat Cafe can take solace in knowing that they don't go through these struggles alone.