I am an British-Irish-Italian-Sicilian American (mostly Italian-Sicilian)…. moving to Norway. Coming back to the States makes me realize I miss my own culture. I miss being around people that understand me and make me feel at home. I am not saying that my family didn’t try to make me feel at home, but I still felt like an outsider.
I like not being stared at when I speak English or just look like who I am. In grocery stores or public places in Norway, people have a tendency to stare at me. Women like to glare at me more than anyone. I read about this before. It said that Scandinavians are just curious and might stare. Well, let me tell you that my parents would have slapped me for this amount of staring. It’s just rude. My relatives stare back at them to make them look away. Even my family knows that it’s odd.
What I believe is considered odd. I’ve mentioned this before but I am considered to believe an odd branch of Christianity: Catholicism (or old southern style Christianity…. like Catholicism or Orthodox). I must worship false idols and believe in magic. Am I saved by Christ at all? And my favorite are the child molester jokes. Orthodoxy and Catholicism are very…. well…. part of who I am in terms of my heritage and beliefs. I already knew this could be an issue but I’m shocked at just how much of an issue it really is.
Along with the punchline for this blog, food is actually quite different. I welcomed this difference but found myself missing my own food. Like right now, we have food in the crockpot (shit, like, do Norwegians even have crockpots?) that is called “hotdogs and beans” aka hotdog casserole. It has hotdogs, bbq beans, chili beans, peppers, onion and seasonings. It reminds me of what cowboys would have in the desert. I don’t know if Norwegians would eat this. Eating beans is foreign, according to hubs. I made chili and that was okay with them. Spaghetti was different because THEY USE A SEASONING PACKET. *makes gag noise loudly* My ancestors are rolling in thier graves and cursing! I ate this “seasoning packet” spaghetti and it was. . . .okay. They seem to cook everything in butter and cream. I cook in olive oil, wine, and seasonings. I just want my own food sometimes.
I didn’t realize I missed anything until I came back. Now I am savoring everything and realizing what makes up . . . .me.