weighing the odds.

Coupled with my depression, there is also this distraught pressure to find housing in Chicago. Initially, I felt living at home was impossible, but come to think of it, is it really? As I laid in my bed a couple of hours ago, trying to sleep, I decided to weigh the odds of living at home versus finding an apartment for five months in Chicago. Here is what I came up with.

Pros of living at home:
1). saving tons of money, which I need if I wish to travel.
2). I will have good food on my plate.
3). I will get to speak Vietnamese on a regular basis so that I can improve.
4). I get to see my sister more after not seeing her for a long ass time.
5). I can hang out with a possible new Vietnamese friend who lives near me, who is from Hà Nội.

Cons of living at home:
1). Restrictions
2). Possible arguments with my mother
3). less freedom (this includes, not being able to cook for myself)
4). commuting time kills, but I can always read on the train.
5). Doing whatever I want all the time (but this really just means at night, cause i'm busy all day).
6). having a place outside my parents house (for what though really? I can always stay at my friends place if i need to go for a drink or what not).

After looking at these two lists, I see that saving money is far more important that having a little freedom for 5 months. I prefer to travel the world and experience new things rather than spend that money on a place in Chicago. Whichever decision I would make, I figured that I'd still be depressed about Vietnam, its people, life, and everything about it.

Hạc.

Those scholars and their culture shock theory.

So I arrived home to the states a couple of days ago. I informed my excited, anxious parents it would be the 28th. As I walked passed the International Arrival exit at O'hare airport, I was suprised to see no one awaiting my arrival. How strange, how unusual? My parents, yearning to see me after six months in Vietnam, not to show up, not to be awaiting with huge smiles on their faces?! O yes, that's right, Vietnam is 13 hours ahead of the U.S. and thus, I arrived on the 27th, not the 28th.

Speaking of strange and unusual, walking off the plane, the sight of people can be described as such. You must realize, the past six months, the majority of people I have seen were Asian folks. Mostly Vietnamese. Coming off the plane, most of the people where, well, not Asian. It somewhat felt as if I were seeing aliens for the first time, which I have not, but I now can understand what it feels like. Could it be what those folks in prestigous research institutions refer to as reverse culture shock!? Maybe, just maybe. With this notion of culture shock, somewhere in there the individual begins to feel depressed all of a sudden, not only because life is so different back at home, but also because he or she is too accustomed and misses what he or she has experienced for the past x months, years. For me, this growing depression may be a result of perhaps both.

I drove a car today, and it felt odd. I don't like to drive cars anymore. I prefer motorbike because I am not in a damn confined box. The traffic here is also not as enjoyable to drive in. Too many rules and regulations. I wanted to weave through traffic but couldn't, because one) my father's car is a giant box and two) i'd hit someone and get ticketed. I also miss the honking and noise and just seeing motorbikes dominate the roads, rather than big ugly boxes doing that. Also, I miss everything about Vietnam, even the people calling me Korean. I don't have any eyelids so they think I am Korean. I miss my friends and my way of life there. As Americans say, home is where the heart is, and it just so happens, from where this saying derived, is not where my heart is.