Reverse Culture Shock
Written May 3, 2013
I decided to move back to the US. Well, I decided to do that a while ago. I’ve already moved back to the US. My fiancée and I agreed it is better that I come here first and set up house before she comes over. Right, I’m engaged now, too. It really has been a long time since I last posted, hasn’t it?
I arrived in San Francisco last week. Being back in the US is so surreal. Like I’m in a dream on the verge of waking, brushed with a sense of déjà vu. Everything is familiar but strange. Kinda hazy.
American money still feels weird to me. Bills are all the same size, and so many coins of so little value. I keep trying to pay with quarters and then realize that would be kind of dickish. And it’s all so fragrant.
I keep forgetting tax isn’t included in prices. I’ll have the amount ready and then – oh, another eighteen cents? Hold on a moment. Well, okay, yeah. Just take it out of the five. Now I have another handful of quarters and pennies. At least I haven’t forgotten to tip yet.
Breasts. Of so many sizes and shapes. Well, really just variations on one shape. But they have heft and bounce and are partly exposed. I’m only now realize how much I’ve been starved for the sight of cleavage. Call me a chauvinist or a pervert, but I’m just realizing how conservative the clothing of Tokyo was, and scale of difference between the mammaries of Japan and the US. It warms my heart.
Lots more cars, far fewer trains. The cars with mustaches confused the hell out of me at first. I miss hopping on the train and just going anywhere. But taxis are reasonable option here, and many if my friends have cars and can give me a ride. There’s just more space out here for cars.
Oh and how there is space. I feel like I’ve been let out of a bodice three sizes to small. On the one hand, I feel like it takes longer to do small errands because everything is spread out. On the other hand, I don’t feel so agitated by the constant crowd of people.