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Since I’ve been back, I’ve been in a fog. A rollercoaster of joyful highs: embracing the past month and sharing what I learned with my dance ladies. Then the rollercoaster dips down into fog; reverse culture shock draws me in to a depression of sorts. The shock set in at school this time. Overhearing a shallow conversation sparked the reality that I am back in the west, back to a culture of excess and loneliness. This happens to me every time I come back to the states, and I feel myself trudging through muck for a while, hiding out in my house when the outside world doesn’t offer sustenance. Not that I am owed anything from my own cultural environment but I expect a warm welcome none the less, yet instead I am slapped with cold reality and an overabundance of toilet paper options at the grocery store.

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