Disoriented, I walked up the ramp from the plane, through passport control, then customs. The air filled with cigarette smoke; the corridor before me barely visible, a warm feeling descended over me.
No other smell could possibly be more dear to my heart; no other smell could possibly represent such a clear association with my homeland.
One of the many UCLA students with foreign roots, I spent this summer in Moscow, Russia, and learned much about the two lands and myself.
Living in the U.S., we don’t tend to acknowledge our foreign identities, yet we struggle to reconcile the often different expectations associated with these identities. When it came time to immerse myself in the culture of my parents, I didn’t know what to expect.
One evening, I was on my way to visit ancient Arbat Street.
Sitting close to the double doors of the metro cable car, I furiously tried to text-message someone before my batteries died. We made a stop, people came in, and the operator announced the next station just as the doors were about to close. In an instant, someone grabbed my phone, jumped out of the car and blended into the flow of bodies.
With no phone and sore feet (stepped on by an intoxicated elderly gentleman and a buxom woman with two little dogs), I finally had my destination in sight. As soon as I reached the beginning of the long, cobble-stone street, it began to rain. Exhausted yet determined, I decided it was a matter of principle to walk to the end.
Looking around, I was surprised to see that the passersby didn’t seem to notice the rain, walking at their own pace into the hazy darkness.
I envisioned for a moment how UCLA students would react. On our cell phones and looking at our watches, our lifestyles starkly contrast with the calm people before me whose demeanors offered more time for reflection and appreciation for their surroundings.
But the street crowds were mostly made up of young people – high school and college-aged kids laughing like we often do at inside jokes. When these groups happened to pass me, I found myself feeling as though I was back in Southern California – the guys were dressed in baggy jeans, massive belts and trucker hats or sported baby-pink shirts, without which no Abercrombie look could be complete.
The only detail that set them apart was the hair: Mullets graced the head of many men, revealing the hairstyle’s popularity on the Eastern European fashion market.
Being Americans, we tend to think that other cultures are infiltrated by mainstream American culture and consequently lose their individuality. It is vital to realize that despite globalization, every country retains its own identity.
Halfway through the street and past rows of George W. Bush matryeshka dolls, I spotted a young man singing and playing the guitar in the center of a large circle of listeners.
Before he started to play again, he told the audience that he played to support himself, despite the fact that he graduated from college as an economics major.
A few steps ahead stood a woman, modestly holding a sign that read, “Diplomas. Any Major. Cheap.”
Being U.S. college students and attending a demanding school such as UCLA – and putting so much effort into getting into college and completing a degree – we expect to better ourselves and land a decently stable job. However, many Russian students don’t have that assurance with so much uncontrolled corruption in their education system.
Once I left this city of smokers, I had the chance to breathe again, taking in the contrasts. The new atmosphere and different way of life broadened my perspective, giving me the opportunity to take the best of both worlds and acknowledge their problems.
E-mail Oster at moster@media.ucla.edu. Send general comments to viewpoint@media.ucla.edu.