I glance at my calendar: 22 days. I’ve been back home in America for 22 days now. 22 days is nothing in the grand scheme of things, but in another way, it’s an eternity. Reverse culture shock is something strange. It’s completely subjective to the type of person you are, the experiences you had while you were gone, and your opinions of the place you return home to. To me, reverse culture shock is nothing but one key realization: nothing has changed. My campus, my American coursework, my classmates, my family, and even my closest friends. There are new subjects, new McDonald’s chains, new boyfriends and new hobbies. But when you break it down to the core essence of our beings, everything is exactly where I left it six and a half months ago.

In one way, it’s a beautiful thing. There’s a real comfort in knowing that life at home in America can be so safe, so consistent. But more than anything, it’s frustrating. So, so frustrating. I hang out with my friends, listening as they gossip about all the crazy things that happened to them at the huge party last weekend, or about the boy who never texts them back–all conversations that I used to be engaged in and always happy to have. Now, don’t get me wrong: I love a good gossip session every now and then just like the next girl. But after spending five months engaged in conversations about American gun laws and the Chinese economy, always intellectually stimulated and being exposed to different ways of thinking on a daily basis, in terms of these conversations, I now feel out of place. I find that I simply don’t fit in anymore with many of the students and overall aura of being on a college campus. Perhaps I felt somewhat like this before I left, but now, it’s enhanced…exponentially.

Humans are all a bunch of puzzle pieces. We have different convex and concave parts that fit in with our surroundings in an intricate way. Most of the time, yes, we’re changing, but only slightly. We change just enough to be shaped differently than the earlier versions of ourselves, but if we try hard enough, we can still force ourselves to fit with the other pieces of the puzzle. It’s not comfortable at first, but if we stay in that mold for a long period of time, we eventually morph, back into that original fit. But you see, this is the problem. My puzzle piece changed immensely. I developed into a piece with twelve convex points in the shape of some weird-looking star, something that just won’t fit into the American puzzle anymore. I don’t know if it will fit into any puzzle, for that matter. If there’s such a term as a cultural identity crisis, where you don’t know what exactly feels like home or which culture you associate with most, I suppose this is it. But hey, I hate sad stories. I don’t want to sit here in sorrow, sulking about how my time in China has passed. I want to move. I want to take action. I want my time in China to propel me forward, to inspire, empower, and spread happiness through me and onward to others. I suppose that in times like these, that’s all you can really do. Move forward and don’t look back, of course, but above all else, to effectively, humbly, and open-mindedly practice retrospect. My 6 months abroad unfolded in a glorious manner, and that is something that no one can ever take away from me. It’s something that will now and forever always be a piece of who I am, and it’s something that will continue to help me develop into the newly-found Leah of her grand-ol’ 20s.

When life gives you lemons, take a seat. Look at the lemons. Think about all the different ways that humans can use lemons in all the corners of the world. Try out a few of these methods, and see what you fancy. Taste what you made, and then go back to the cutting board and discover new ways to use them. Never stop reflecting. Never stop adventuring. Never stop living. There’s a beautiful road ahead of us.