Just like everyone else, the process of pondering upon the person I just invested my time and effort takes a while to either let go, forget, hold deeply inside as a grudge, or, in my case, use this heartbreak as a source of writing. It’s all I think about until something better comes along or I finally let myself pretend that this is how it should be.
I’m currently in the process of finally letting go and telling myself that I can do better, better than I did back in the Czech Republic.
Reverse culture shock — something I’ve been meaning to avoid for a couple of years now by furiously working and finding ways to not return to NYC, but here I am back in NYC, stuck in quarantine, still searching for a job. AKA my procedure of dealing with my heartbreak with my plan of never leaving Europe.
I had a really hard time trying to explain myself and why I was in such a slump whenever I received messages regarding my comeback in NYC so whenever friends would message how are you? how am I readjusting myself ?, I’ll answer back with the nonchalant I’m okay.
It’s difficult to explain that being back here feels so strange and even after being back for about four months, I’m living in constant deja vu wherever I go, while an old friend named depression decides to sit right by my side.
Ironic experiencing reverse culture shock after living in NYC for 96% of my life and never knowing anywhere else except here. I shouldn’t be feeling this weird uncomfortable feeling after all these years. But I do.
Maybe I’m experiencing reverse culture shock due to the hindrance of growth I had while being here and then being forced to grow in a completely foreign environment all on my own.
I was that person that never had the opportunity to live in a dorm, study abroad for a semester, or share cleaning duties with a flatmate. I also never experienced what it felt like to have full-on independence for myself until I decided to take that move to the Czech Republic two years ago. There I truly became the definition of a woman I’ve always dreamt to become, as cheesy as it sounds.
So coming back to NYC and especially being stuck in the same place where I never had the chance to grow accentuates this weird thing called reverse culture shock, where I’m forced to take three steps back on a daily basis from the many steps I took while being abroad.
I guess I would have to describe my situation as a hopeless princess who was stuck in that very tall tower, was rescued, experienced freedom for the very first time, but then she had to return to that very tall tower because of many reasons. Until she’s rescued again, she’s waiting to be rescued again until who-knows-when.
I know there will be lots of friends and strangers who would tell me I should be grateful to even have that opportunity to be away for that long. There actually have been friends who gave the vibe of you did all of that, now it’s time to get back to reality.
But is reality supposed to mean reverting back to a part of me I knew I was never going to grow in? Is reality supposed to mean that I’m supposed to give up this new and better version of myself?
Or I’m possibly lashing out about the number of should-haves I passed on. Or I’m going through another version of the typical heartbreaks I usually have with guys who don’t want serious relationships at that very moment with me. Who knows.