Forever a Foreigner

On my usual path from Cambodia to the U.S. of A., I fly Korean Air. That means that from Cambodia to South Korea to Atlanta, Georgia I am in planes staffed by Koreans, run according to Asian professional norms. In many Asian settings, including Cambodia, staff behave in a very formal, polite style, providing service to you while maintaining a high level of relational “distance.” Everyone gets treated like they are somebody important. Add to this a certain amount of language barrier, and most interactions in airports involve a lot of polite smiles, nonverbal gestures, nods, and rehearsed instructions. Then I get to the U.S., and the first moments on American soil are instant cultural whiplash.

I step out of the plane, fresh off a 13-hr. flight. As I leave, I pass smiling Korean flight attendants who call out polite phrases, nodding to me as I go by. The very next moment, I am face-to-face with a line of American airport personnel.

The attitude shift is immediate.

The Americans act as if you have exactly as much worth as they do–which is an inspiring and very American trait, but it can also come across as somehow demeaning at the same time. As I walk through the airport, listening to staff members call out to each other about this and that and meeting people’s eyes, I can almost physically feel the relational distance between me and staff yanking short.

A young man approaches me as I search the screens for my connecting flight. “Find what you’re looking for?”

“No,” I say, “It must not be up there yet.”

“What?” he says. “It should be.” He checks my boarding pass and looks up my flight number. When I thank him, he says, “Yeah, no problem!”

As I step up to a machine that scans my face, still thinking about that friendly, casual interaction, a tall black official looks at me and says, “You alright?”

Inside, I flinch. Why is he talking to me like we know each other? Do I look like I’m not alright? My brain kicks in, and I remind myself that this is America. This is how Americans show politeness, not through distant formality, but through casual, friendly phrases that communicate “I see you as an equal, fellow person.”

My brain doesn’t work fast enough, so I stammer back, “Yes,” and smile awkwardly.

As I go forward in the security line, a woman tells us where to go and what to do. Her tone is annoyed. I feel like I’m being scolded by a close relative.

I struggle to recalibrate my brain, trying to shake off my lingering Asian behaviors and let American norms settle in. Look people in the eye, I tell myself. Smile. Speak up. Say friendly phrases.

After I’ve found my connecting flight’s gate, I find myself some coffee. As I struggle to navigate the payment process, I say to the worker, “Sorry about that.”

“Oh, you’re good, honey!” she says.

I walk away with my cappuccino, smiling. Success! I performed well in an American interaction. Hopefully the next couple weeks will go as smoothly.