For Americans this level of positivity appears to come naturally, whereas when I attempt to smile genuinely at someone I don’t know, it comes off as more of a grimace. I am outgoing and, shall we say, unafraid to share my voice, but even for me this is hard work.
We agreed that with hundreds of languages spoken in the Bay Area, that many things are lost in translation, what would help is a cultural dictionary. Can you imagine?
Books often get a bad rap as gifts go, but I love nothing more than receiving a well thought out book. Though it is safe to say I am slightly book obsessed.
All I noticed in the movie was the unacceptable racist treatment the white characters showed toward the Asian character…he was constantly regarded as “weird” and “different,” foreign, and mostly un-American. Several memories I had repressed came shooting back, and I was instantly transported back to my youth as growing up brown, as an Indian-American, in the Bay Area.
When I first moved back to the Bay Area from the Arabian Gulf, the first places to visit on my list weren’t the Golden Gate Bridge or Lake Tahoe, but instead, Costco and Target! A place where I could get almost everything I needed for my family under one roof? With easy parking and a Starbucks inside? Yes, please! But truthfully, it wasn’t the plethora of wonderful things inside these stores that I had missed, but instead the amazing American customer service that we take for granted while living here, but miss like crazy when we live abroad.
Tipping is tricky. The customs are different for every country, and sometimes even for different regions of the same countries, and tipping too much or too little can be either expensive or offensive.
I grew up in the South West of England, nowhere near a major city or sports club, but I have always been a big sports fan, everything from football (soccer), rugby, cricket, Formula 1, tennis, darts and more. I never excelled at these sports but I love to watch them (yes, even cricket). But sport as I knew it was about to change forever!
After a few months of living stateside I felt like I’d pretty much mastered the San Francisco ‘grocery store’, but one aisle still gave me trouble: the baking aisle.