An Immigrant in America...

I grew up between cultures. We lived in Indonesia, but traveled to the U.S. every couple of years, and even in Indonesia there were several different cultural circles: the local people, the missionary community, and the Indonesian people. And of course the missionaries were from all over the world, from Canada to Holland to South Korea. Being the youngest of four children, an introvert, and a thinker, I developed a "watch and imitate" sort of defense mechanism. I was reflecting the other day on social confidence and how I have rarely experienced it. In fact, I think I developed something of a social relativism. It certainly helped me to adapt to the shifting behavioral patterns around me, but sometimes it was completely insufficient and circumstances would come up, exposing gaping holes in my defense mechanism. Well, for one thing there was a troubling inability to predict peoples' actions that often left me in a state of caution or even fearful apprehension. I felt like a chameleon in a constant state of fight or flight. The general plan was to camouflage, but should something go wrong, I was prepared to flee should there be bodily assault on the outsider, like white blood cells attacking intruders. It's a miracle I didn't have high blood pressure.

In seventh grade, I had the opportunity to go to Catalina Island for the weekend with my school. It was virtually a marine ecosystem science camp. We went on a boat ride to view the cliffs, talk about seals and spot an eagle's nest. We touched rays and small sharks in the aquarium. We participated in fun activities and contests relating to the senses, sea creatures, and who knows what else. And we went snorkeling. At this point I had been living in the U.S. for a year and a half, with a solid background in American cultural activities such as eating spaghetti, watching Toy Story, and playing Star Wars. I was with my own kind, right? Well, here we were at camp, a very American thing. And it was going to be fun.

The snorkeling was pretty much the highlight of the trip--the thing most anticipated by all of us students. And so of course they talked about it the first afternoon, even though we weren't to go out until tomorrow. They summarized some of the procedures and cautions to expect, elaborating on one point: "Does anyone here have asthma?" Me and another kid raised our hands. I wasn't particularly ashamed of this medical condition. They went on to explain the unique protocol, regarding asthma. Those with asthma were to keep their inhaler on them at all times, in a ziploc bag, tucked in their wetsuit. The camp counselor began to illuminate how important this was. "At any time, one of the instructors may come up to you and ask if you have your inhaler on you! If you don't, there will be consequences!" My socially relative, cultural interpreting skills were telling me I should start to be alarmed. I had left my inhaler at home. The counselor told us blithely what those consequences would be. He began to explain how the 'perpetrator' would be forced to do cartwheels through the middle of camp, naked, while singing Old McDonald Had a Farm.

My fight or flight was ready to go by now and my heart was pumping blood to all the limbs required for instant action. I asked myself if I knew the words to 'Old McDonald Had a Farm.' I asked myself what would happen if I refused to take my clothes off. Would they shut me up in a room? Throw me in the ocean? Flunk me from the seventh grade? I asked myself what the odds were that the instructors just wouldn't actually ask me if I had my inhaler...There was that tiny part of my mind that thought, "Surely they aren't serious. They are joking." But I really had no substantial social reference that could make me sure. I remember passing a very anxious night. And somewhere between that evening and the next morning I convinced myself that it would be better to be upfront about the whole thing and get it over with. So I confessed my trespass: that I had left my inhaler. And in my little culturally confused heart, I pleaded for mercy from God! I was graciously let off the hook. But I remember making a mental note of my merciful counselor's name so that, should another instructor sentence me to doom and demise, I could brandish my protector's name like a weapon.

You may think that this was just a funny incident in the life of a shy teenager trying to adjust to American life. But I started thinking about all of this the other day, because I realized that I still do it. My life is pretty evenly split half and half between countries now. That seems enough time to adjust and become socially confident, right? But the truth is that those socially relative, culture switching days of early on laid a solid foundation of uncertainty that will never quite be removed. My default mode in any new environment is still "watch and imitate." And though I've grown in my ability to predict and understand motive, when there is any uncertainty in the situation, since I am unable to predict an outcome, my mind formulates the absolute worst: it usually involves social shame and/or prison (whether it's an issue of legality or not has nothing to do with it!).

It may sound ridiculous, but it is true. :) I suppose I might be a psychological mess if it weren't for my reassurance that I have citizenship in heaven, and will one day fit in there perfectly. Thankfully, the more my faith grows, the less concerned I become about this issue. But not in the way you might think. I haven't become less convinced that I'll be thrown in prison in these situations, but I have become most convinced that should I be thrown in prison, it would be the Sovereign Will of God, and He would work all things for my good. So, as you can see, I am growing :)