From the gap

Today’s breakfast, a cup of genmaicha tea with lemon and a slice of tomato soup cake. Yes, yes, I know it sounds gross but it’s in truth a tasty spice cake. I made it as an homage to my favorite poet Sylvia Plath, who supposedly used to whip it up every now and then. More on Plath and the recipe, here. There’s a similar recipe here, which also includes a lovely story.

I am an American citizen, but it wasn’t always like that. I wasn’t born in the US. I was born in Sweden and came here in my twenties, straight out of college. I had some big dreams back then. My plan was to go to New York and marry Paul Simon, from Simon and Garfunkel. I thought we’d understand each other perfectly. I thought of myself as quite sophisticated when in reality I was very scared. I didn’t know anyone here, least of all Paul Simon! What followed were years of drifting. I couldn’t find my footing; I didn’t have a real home. I lived from hand to mouth with my belongings in a paper bag in a corner of some room shared with some other girl with similar dreams. Looking back, it would probably have been better for me to stay in Sweden, and gain some life experience first. But hindsight is 20/20 and I can’t help but admire the chutzpah of my twenty-something self.

I see now that I could write a lot about those early years, but that wasn’t my intention. My intention was to take a look at where I am now, being both Swedish and American, and what being an immigrant means. I actually always thought of myself primarily as Swedish, but last year, when I spent a longer sojourn in my native country, I discovered that the years have made me more American than anything else.

Living in the gap between two cultures, two countries, and two languages – well, it has its advantages. It makes me – I hope – a more understanding and compassionate person. It also gives me some room to think. I am not confined to being either this or that; I can turn things around a little in my head, looking at them from different sides. In reality, immigrants can reach further than most other people since we’re equipped with an added country/culture; we have that extra tentacle, a third eye, the secret mark in the palm of our hand. When we get together we nod and smile at each other. It doesn’t matter when you came here or why. It doesn’t matter where you’re from. Homesick? Nod, nod. We know all about it, we’ve been there ourselves, and we show that we know in that nod and that smile. I know what you’re going through when you cannot get the job you want because you weren’t born here. I know what you’re going through when you realize you’ve all but lost your connection to your native country. I know with what pride you talk about your native country. And I know, now more than before, how proud I am to call myself American when I go back home.

When I talk and write and think, I do so from this gap.

Have a wonderful weekend and see you again on Monday.