Between the Silence
A Global Citizen's Journey Through Jet Lag and Culture shock
From the archives or something like it! I started journaling about a decade ago, writing down all my crazy thoughts and ramblings on an online platform I no longer access. Today, they reminded me that I would need to pay to keep my old essays or take them down. I wrote this in 2015. I never considered myself a writer then, and even today, the impostor syndrome is alive and well. But my story and message have not changed. Living between cultures, being fully invested in both to the best of my abilities, moving fluidly between them while staying true to both, is where I find myself. While jetlag is not a huge problem anymore, thanks to a little melatonin, I do miss the liturgy of the sounds of India and the cacophony that makes up the daily life, while also being so thankful for my quiet mornings here in Dallas now. Enjoy a little bit of my writing from years gone by.
I hate jet lag! I hate it with a vengeance! I have always hated it. My first taste of jet lag was in 2004, when I entered the United States as a young wife and mother of 26. Jet lag makes me disoriented, nauseous, and just plain sick. I hate that it takes close to a week to get over it and how you have to literally force yourself to stay awake and eat small meals to make it through an afternoon without sleeping—all in order to get to bed at 9 p.m. so you can wake at a decent hour and not some ungodly time like 2 a.m. I used to feed my 1-year-old Cheerios on the couch while watching reruns of The Cosby Show, thanks to jet lag! Now my kids are older and can entertain themselves when they wake up at 2 a.m., but I still hate it.
I have lived in the United States since 2004 and have been returning to the land of my birth, India, every year since then for summer or winter vacation. Every time I go, it takes us about five to seven days to settle into the rhythm. We would awaken at 2 a.m. or 3 a.m. and find ourselves ravenous because our systems were messed up. Then, around 4 p.m., an almost narcotic sleep would hit us, and we would sleep until 7 p.m. On waking, I would nearly find myself nauseous and disoriented. Usually, I would eat dinner and get back to sleep around 9 p.m., only to wake up at 2 a.m. again. This pattern would continue for about 5 days until the body’s internal clock reset itself to a different time zone.
But it’s not just the jet lag I hate. I also hate the feeling of changing cultures and trying to fit seamlessly into another one—first when you fly east back to India, and second when you walk back into the life you left behind in the U.S. Having lived most of my life outside of India, one could say I can fit easily into both worlds, and perhaps I do, but it’s not without challenges. Yes, there are the normal things like city traffic, crowds, food habits, not having a dry bathroom, and having maids, but almost every year, the thing that strikes me the most is: the sounds of the countries.
After being in India on vacation, when you return to the U.S., what assaults you most is the deafening silence of the neighborhood. It is so hard to get used to the almost still nature of our subdivisions and homes.
When you get out of the airport in Chennai, Tamil Nadu, the first thing that hits you, along with the humidity, is the city’s smell—people, cars, and gasoline. Then you have the heat that assails you (especially if you visit during the summer months), along with the scents of food carts and vendors, and the people milling around you, cab drivers, people waving to their families, friends, travellers, Uber, porters, and just so many people!
There is so much going on when you leave the calmness of the air-conditioned airport. When you compare that to walking out of DFW International Airport, all that greets you is the smoke from the smokers and people hailing their cabs or loading their bags into cars. The taxis are called in a civilized manner, and everyone waits politely to get in. There are no noxious smells or crazy traffic, and most definitely no food vendors outside on the curb. There are hardly any people around either. Yes, an occasional family or so waiting to greet loved ones, but beyond that, everyone takes care of themselves. Now I will state that my experience comes from my life in Dallas, TX. I know for a fact that landing in La Guardia, JFK, O’Hare, or DC can be a different experience.
When I first came to the U.S. in 2004, my husband received us at the airport on a cold October evening in Detroit and drove us to a tiny apartment. The Formica cabinets, simple carpets, and brown bathroom counter seemed luxurious and almost sterile to me. And even though we came home around 7 p.m., it was pitch dark that fall evening, and despite there being at least another hundred apartments on the block, I did not see any other humans. It was very dark, very cold, and very silent. In the morning, I saw people heading to work, but once again, it was silent. I never realized how much the lack of sound meant to me until we went back to India within a year, and I found myself unable to sleep because of the constant traffic outside the home. The constant barrage of trucks, buses, cars, and people talking right outside the window kept me awake for hours. I guess you could say I had become used to the silence.
Now the lights of the airplanes that fly over my home and the cars on the highway constitute noise and disturbance, destroying my beauty sleep. But back then, I would have done anything for some sound of life. You could call it a culture shock of a sort when you find yourself moving between two distinct societies.
Fast forward eleven years: I now live in a subdivision where there may be some sounds during the summer. It is primarily a quiet neighborhood.
I returned from India two days ago and am struggling with the silence again. While in India, it took me a week to get used to the sounds and to fall asleep; I now find myself wrestling with the silence in the dark of the night. I can hear the occasional car on the street, but it’s not loud enough.
To be fair, in a few more days, I will not care at all because the jet lag will be gone. I would have become used to the silence, and I will find myself back on solid ground.
But until then, the disorientation, the weird sleep-deprived mind, the odd pangs of hunger—they all get to me as I adjust to getting back into another world where the culture is so different. Yes, it is vibrant and beautiful, and it is the life that I love, but it’s different all the same. My husband calls our family global citizens. I would define that as someone who can adapt to diverse cultures. Perhaps he is right, but the adjustment process is not easy. It does stretch you quite a bit, and you grow, but no one said it would be easy.
Until then, I’ll continue to hate jet lag and all the challenges it poses, and hope and pray it gets easier the next time around.
Photo by Annie Spratt on Unsplash
You write so flawlessly and describe the global citizen’s journey so clearly. When I read your articles, I am transported in the actual scenarios you describe.
Thank you for putting into words what so many of us experience.