Trying to imagine what my summer Alaskan experience would be was futile. I had no idea what to expect going to work there for three months, but I certainly never expected to be surrounded by so many other cultures.
As I write this, still in Alaska, I’m surrounded by people from all over the world. Never did I expect to typically be the only American when hanging out with my friends here.
I couldn’t be more grateful for meeting everyone here. I’ve gotten to experience not just Alaska, but the tastes of other countries. I now have a bucket list, for the first time in my life, of countries in Europe I need to visit to see my roommates and friends.
My roommates consisted of girls from Bulgaria, Ireland, Slovakia, Malaysia and China. I’ve tried so many traditional foods from these countries that I will attempt to poorly recreate them when I’m back in Michigan, such as banitsa (thank you, Maria).
I couldn’t help but feel extremely lucky all summer. When I switched jobs from being a dishwasher to a tour guide on a covered wagon, I was terrified. I was quickly reminded that I’d be fine-I’m a native speaker, after all.
When I first told people I was going to Alaska, everybody told me how brave I was for going alone. It didn’t feel brave then, and it certainly doesn’t feel brave now. Sure, I’ve been thousands of miles away from home all summer, but I’m still in my home country, speaking my native tongue and navigating systems I’m already familiar with.
It’s completely shifted my worldview. I’ve always tried to avoid having an American-centric worldview, but it’s difficult when it’s all I know. Even just making an attempt to use Celsius felt strange. I adapted pretty quickly to the constant jokes of “what’s that in American?” when other units of measurement were used.
Even when I get a passport and visit all these countries and my friends, it won’t be an exact comparison of what coming to Alaska for a summer felt like. Sure, I’ll be going to some of these countries with a working knowledge of insults and the worst swear words possible, but other than that, I’ll be going in blind.
Just being able to share weird American experiences with all my friends has opened my eyes. How casually we talk about things like healthcare costs, gun violence and more was a bit jarring.
Showing my friends the gun section in the only grocery store in our small little town was incredibly entertaining. On the other hand, explaining the cost of going to my ER visit in Fairbanks, as the clinic in town didn’t take insurance, was mildly disheartening.
The worst bit for me was explaining the cost of education. I was surrounded by J1 Visa holders, and comparing our costs of education left me more angry than anything else. Explaining that Ferris isn’t that expensive in terms of universities in the United States and the costs associated with it was usually met with slack jaws and wide eyes.
I had a conversation about holding three jobs while in school with one of the cooks from Bulgaria, and he pointed out that our wages are way higher and things like gas are way less expensive, so what could I possibly be saving up for? I stared at him for a second before remembering the difference. “I go to school in the US” was what ended the conversation.
I’ve had so many conversations that consist of “what do you mean you have to pay for that?” or “it costs how much to do that?”. It starts wearing you down. Being told that I didn’t seem American, or simply that I wasn’t American anymore was seen as a compliment. I took it as a compliment, anyway.
Doing things like this, being exposed to other cultures and lifestyles, has been one of the most important things that’s happened to me this summer. Getting outside of the bubble of Big Rapids and Michigan as a whole has completely reshaped me as a person, and it wouldn’t have been possible without the melting pot I lived in for three months.
To all my roommates at Doll House and my unofficial roommates, thank you for making this summer so memorable.