timetravel to the present!

but, it turns out, she did have more to say.

always, always, always more to say.

here we are in california, after the long blogdrought that has plagued my particular blog. and things are... strange.

i am a strange person. this is a strange life. that was true before i ever left anywhere to go anywhere, but its like 9384759384597 more times true now. i have made a list of things that are weird about america and living in it:

1. i call it "america" now. or "the states", sometimes. but mostly america. which i would never have done before i left because (obvi) there are several americas that dont include the US. but now i do. and people think it's weird. at least i've stopped saying "amriika". oh, arabic.

2. i still click at people, but i've modified it to be less offensive.  can we please note, for the record, that i modified something to be less offensive? thank you.

3. everyone speaks english here. it's exhausting. the silence that comes with the noise of everyone speaking in a language you have to concentrate to understand is overwhelming, but glorious. realizing that if you are within proximity you will be forced to  not only hear the 15 year old girls in line at blockbuster behind you talk about how mad they are at their mothers, but understand them, is anything but glorious. claustrophobic, really.

4. i am occasionally still scandalized by things that are not scandalous? like girls with wet hair, or very short shorts. or alcohol. however, generally, i am less scandalized than ever before. i have theories about this, to be continued.

5. no one honks. at anyone. ever. even if they're about to run you over, they won't honk at you. i mean, can't we find a happy medium here?

6. the other day, i was walking on a sidewalk in a tank top and i was so excited to talk to sarah that i did a dance. wait what?

i could put like 10000000 things on this list, but it would be pointless. how do i explain that, no matter where i go or how much i'm willing to pay for it, i can't get anything even remotely jordanian?

american sheesha? not the same. also ridiculously expensive.

juice made of fruit? good luck. 

turkish coffee? what is that? 

hummus? please. nice try, trader joe's.

arak? ok i don't miss arak. but i couldn't find it if i wanted.

my idiotic, but lovable, jordanian phone, doesn't even turn on.

my jordanpants are too ripped up to wear, and i can't get them fixed because i refuse to wash them.

american chili powder is NOT the same.

zaatar? supposedly thyme? try again.

american olive oil? gross.

i can't make jordanian ramen because american ramen is such a sodium attack.

i mean, come on, i can't even get a pepsi with sugar in it in this country. what is that?

and these things sound really, really petty and stupid, i'm aware, but they matter. they matter because there's no such thing as a "piece of home," it's not like in paris when we were craving america so we would go to mcdonalds and starbucks and giggle at how guilty we felt about it. there is no jordanian mcdonalds here, there's no ANYTHING here. i'm really going cold turkey. and i don't like it.

it's just so... comfortable. too comfortable. and not in a ridiculous, guilty-paranoid-ascetic way; what i mean is that i walk around on sidewalks, and spend $4 on coffee, and wear what i want, and say what i want (mostly), and i don't have to blowdry my hair, and i can go to the beach, and i go to classes where everything is in english, and the weather is great, and i have a nice american phone with a keyboard the size of my face, and i can use a debit card, and i can get coffee TO GO, and if i want i can get notebooks that open on the left and aren't only graph paper, and there are places where i don't have to smell cigarettes if i don't want to, and i can buy alcohol without the necessity of being a stealthninja about it, and i look like everyone else, and i talk like everyone else, and i don't have to stand out if i don't feel like it. and i go to class and learn about "abstract" things like the differences between islamic and christian views of divine unity and human rights in palestine and syrian politics and the social position of bedouin women, and i realize that

this is not real life.

this is nowhere near real life. this is a giant waiting room; i don't know what i'm waiting for, but i feel like i'm just waiting for something to happen, or for somewhere to go, or something to do. life here feels like pretend, like we're just playing dollhousebeachtown until it's time to go outside and rejoin the real world.

and i'm not trying to make a point, and i'm not trying to be offensive; this is just how i feel. the feeling is like... it's as if you were abducted by aliens when you were 15. and they brought you to their alien planet and it was hard at first but you assimilated and you lived your whole life there; you married an alien and had alien kids and you became a famous author on alienplanet who wrote true stories, and then all of a sudden one day you blinked and you were back in high school, with your now 52-year-old brain and understanding and experience and viewpoint. and you remembered everything: your kids and your books and your favorite place to watch the second moon rise, but who are you going to tell? who would want to hear about it, and if they did, who would understand? so you go back to your high school life, trying to forget everything and live like a normal kid. 

trouble is, now you know. and once you know, you can't forget. once you figure out that (spoiler alert) santa isn't real, you can't go back to believing. and do you see how your high school life, your high school problems and high school dreams would feel like a waiting room, so unreal they must be temporary. you'd just wait out your high school years, trying to figure out a way back to your real life. and you'd think: you changed so much, things must have changed while you were away. something, something, something must have changed.

something must have changed.

right?

i love it here, i do, all i'm saying is it's weird. california is my latest foriegnexchange experience. how am i supposed to make sense of that?