Alien Diary: Farewell from the Galaxy Far Far Away

On August 15, 1997, I got on a plane to come to America. My heart was beating so fast, and I was hardly thinking straight. Later my mom told me how I hurt her feelings when I forgot to wave at her before I disappeared into a “Departure” door. On my first day in America, there was thunder and lightning up in the air, I missed my connection flight and I lost five dollars of coins while trying to make a phone call to my ride. I spent my first night in America at the rainy O’Hare International Airport. By the time I was greeted by my ride at the Indianapolis airport a day later than scheduled, I was starving and disoriented. Yet, it was the happiest moment in my life. It wasn’t too bad for an opening to my new life, I thought: dramatic enough, so to speak.

If you asked me if I would do it again, I would say no. Older and wiser and knowing what is ahead, I don’t think I can do it again for another new life. But I don’t regret my decision to come to the U.S. For 11 years, I have become an alien with all the freedom in the world and in the universe, have discovered Korean culture before it was too late, have let go of my “America”—the ideal I had conjured since 4th grade, where everything is better and right—and have landed myself in the U.S.—the real one.

With 24 pieces (according to my record), I have shown you the world I have discovered and the people in it. By doing so, I have bothered you with my comments on not so important things in your lives, have asked stupid questions and have disrupted your consciousness. I meant to do all that. Nouns like culture, cultural diversity globalization and cultural sensitivity have been instilled in our lives so much that we barely think about what each means any more. That unfortunately does not mean we have reached the goal of cultural diversity in peaceful ways. Rather, we hide our ignorance behind those cool nouns. Then our cultural encounters become static. We meet each other based on our assumptions about our interactants. We see them through our eyes; there is no clash, no compromise, no change and no transformation. Always convenient yet meaningless! Cultural encounters should be a verb: active, curvy, volatile, beating and dramatic. Sometimes painful yet valuable!

My fellow citizens of the universe, it’s time to say goodbye. Thanks for listening while I was figuring out things out loud. If I may, an alien from your own planet, present the final thoughts: “In intercultural communication, be aware instead of being cool.”

P.S. One day in November, at 8:00 a.m. I stopped in front of Sabor Latino. Waiting for a green light, I noticed two Luther students holding two posters: “Obama for Change” and “Vote.” A driver in front of me was raising his fist at them (in support) and grunting with excitement like Tim the Tool Man. At the back of his truck, I read, “Singing Hammer.” What a pretty name, I thought. It was a pretty day: a perfect prelude to what came next. It was November 4th.