While my body is constantly in America, my mind is often in Ukraine. And I’m not talking about memories. My outlook on life is so changed that I routinely act in manner more befitting a Ukrainian than an American.
I’d been warned about reverse culture shock. I’d been told it would be just as difficult to adjust to as the shock I felt my first weeks and months in Ukraine. But seeing is believing.
A week after I landed in Houston, I have already counted six people in their pajamas in public. I stare at them with an open mouth and judging eyes. Shaming them in the Ukrainian fashion. To be clear, I’m not talking about sweat pants. I mean legitimate nightwear: flannel fabric, patterned designs and drawstrings. After the high-fashion world of Ukraine, I find this appalling.