Not all fun and games

Culture shock is a crazy thing. It’s one of those unexplainable phenomenons that happens completely in your mind. And maybe for this reason, it’s rarely taken for more than one of many catch-phrases travelers love to throw out.
But this time, I definitely caught, came down with, developed ... experienced the shock.

How to explain it? For women, I can simply tell you to think of the worst week of PMS you can remember. You know, those days when everytime someone talks to you, you just want to rip your ears off so you don’t have to listen. So you rush through your day, promising yourself chocolate-chip cookie dough ice cream as a reward for surviving. Now think of those same days when you had some pressing obligation that couldn’t be ignored. Maybe a presentation at work or out-of-town company to entertain.Those times when you have to be especially warm, friendly, and accepting ... even though on this particular day that’s the farthest from your reality. Now, imagine this day with these scenarios, but you find out about both the presentation and company 10 minutes before, none of your 6 co-workers have prepared anything for the presentation and are asking you to cover for them, all your friends and family are out of town and can’t help with dinner, the electricity goes out, your phone doesn’t work, your stomach is cramping, everyone is staring at you like you’re a freak, and the store is out of chocolate-chip cookie dough for the next two years.

For my male readers ... well, it sucked.

This feeling lasted for more than a month. Part of it was a bit of physical adjustment to my new home. Stomach problems, colds, fevers. But the hardest part was knowing how I felt, but wishing that I didn’t. As a trainee, I so looked forward to joining my new community, meeting everyone possible, soaking in the culture, and working with students. But then I found myself stuck in this horrible mood, and couldn’t change it, no matter how hard I tried. Everytime I tried to motivate myself or lift my own spirits, some new misunderstanding would occur. And the longer the funk lasted, the more I started doubting myself and my abilities as a volunteer and my decision to come. I started thinking maybe I was, indeed, a selfish American who had no intentions of learning from others or offering anything to anyone.
But I think at some point I just stopped processing everything around me, and went into auto-drive. Go to class, eat, go to bed, do it again. Maybe I’m too happy of a person for that mood to last too long. Or perhaps I’m not introspective enough for culture shock to do any real harm. Then again, it could be a combination of my renewed health and my directors’ explaining to my co-workers that I’m not slave labor. Whatever the reason, my shock to Mongolian culture is finally wearing off.