Last week, I met up with a group of fellow ex-pats from the UK. It was remarkable how much we had to talk about, considering the diversity of the group. But one thing really struck me – the way we cling to familiar things in an unfamiliar environment. Being from the same culture, there were certain touchstones we all shared – marmite, jaffa cakes, yorkshire tea. Say any of those to an American and they require explanation, but say them to a Brit and you’re immediately understood.
And it made me think about the importance of the things I grew up with. They make up a kind of shorthand in communicating with our surroundings. When things are familiar, there’s a comfort, a sense of ease. You share the same memories, have the same anchors. But when there’s a culture gap, this level of communication is hard to achieve – at least at first.
I’ve always been slightly patronising about ex-pat communities, I never saw the value in moving to another country and only associating with your own. But I’m beginning to understand the appeal. Of course, I’m not going to cut myself off from my American friends either, but it’s good to know folk who know what I know. And I’m beginning to understand that moving to another world, doesn’t mean leaving behind everything comforting and familiar either.
Cath lives just outside Cleveland, Ohio (well, somebody has to), she writes, takes photographs, reads and writes obsessively. Oh, and she speaks with a funny accent.
When I lived in Rhode Island I was very happy to find the occasional Southerner, and thrilled to bits when I found a friend who was a North Carolinian like me. It’s natural to seek companions whose experiences are not so dissimilar to your own. One thing though that I’ve learned in the last eleven months, when you return to your childhood home after an absence of 25 years or so, you will find more things that are different than the same. At least you will in central NC. Funny, that…