My writer friend Brittaney came back to Santiago this week for a quick winter-break bum on the couch. Except for the people who continued on in Santiago, I haven't kept in touch with any of my fellow CIEE-ers since they departed back into the wide wide world. Brit and I were talking about her new life in Lima, where she has created a whole bunch of new BFFSM - and perhaps a few WEFSM.
But it was the completely bizarre story she told me about the bunch of Peruvians who pathologically make friendships with the people who pass through her apartment building that got me thinking about how flimsy friendships abroad can really be. Cue background: Brit found out via Facebook that a party was being thrown at her apartment building by thirty Peruvian strangers. Turns out they've been partying with her company's interns (who change every four months) for over a decade. If this wasn't freaky enough, when Brit couldn't find the chip bowl (logical seeing as she'd only spent a week in her new crib) there were a handful of people she had never seen before who new exactly where it was.
So, what do we base friendship on? How long does it take to make a really good "friend"? Do we really need strong friendships in our life to survive and be healthy, sane individuals? And how do all these factors translate into an experience abroad?
In her article "Expat Friendships: Do They Survive When You Return Home?" Mary Richardson writes about friendships abroad as being symbiotic - they thrive on an "interdependence...[her] friends abroad take on a different role [than friends at home] and dramatically impact [her] adaptability." Mary states that making expat friendships while in Okanawa were the only way she could adapt - change to incorporate a new life. However, I find it strange that in the article, it is her Japanese friend who really helps her learn and understand Japanese custom and behavior, while her expat friend merely is who she goes to when she needs a good dose of American pie (and by American pie, I mean reassurance that she isn't, well, turning Japanese).
I often wonder if maintaining expat friends in Chile is a help or a hinderance to my acceptance of Chile as a potential home. A few weeks ago my (expat) roommate, Jackie, and I invited a coworker, Monica, out to sushi. Monica has lived in Chile for two years now after marrying her Chilean boyfriend of 8 months. She has slowly learned to hate Chile. Like the somewhat stereotypical friendly Americans we are, we decided she just needed a good dose of friendship to get her out of her funk.
You can imagine my surprise when, on the walk to the restaurant, Monica bluntly confessed that she "really didn't see the point in making American friends anymore" because "they all just leave after six months anyway." Monica's sad confidence left me dumb. I saw my life stretching lonely before me in a series of six-month serial friendships, learning just enough about other expats to create an interdependent and somewhat parasitic relationship, where each of us sucked the other into a souless incapability of true cultural immersion. If I allowed myself to think all the time like Monica, I'd probably hate Chile, too.
So, how do I solve the balancing act of reassuring myself that I haven't lost the American in me - the part of me that could "struggle with the language, homesickness, and public transportation" and "vent frustrations and joke about funny aspects of [a foreign] culture" with Mary - while still really losing myself in Chilean life?
Monica's solution - ditching serial friendships - could be one answer. My Chilean friends certainly aren't going to desert me by flying far far away. But, as I believe Monica feels, the deeper I wade into Chile, the more truly confused I feel about who I am. I have found that my cultural identity as an American has been an incredibly difficult thing to alter; my attempts at shredding culture have left me feeling stripped and fearful. Not having friendships with other Americans feels like a betrayal of myself, because I feel that part of being human is finding the essential parts of ourselves mirrored in others. And, stuck in a foreign country, I feel like one of my big identity themes has become that big red, white and blue "A" I metaphorically wear. Being American is my targeted different-ness, and really is the first thing Chileans see in me.
That's the other part of the "ditching serial friendships" dilemma: I'm not the only one who has a say in labeling me. Even if I were to weona'o with the best of them, Chileans would always mark me as an outsider. Short of pulling a Michael Jackson and changing my skin tone, even if I were able to ditch my accent, I'm always going to at least look gringa. So, ditching the American and adopting completely Chilean attitudes is, I'm afraid, out of the question for me.
But it is true that too much time spent with my American friends does make me feel like I'm in a "Chileans vs. Americans" binary that doesn't exist. I don't want to be Chilean, but it's also not my perogative to label myself so American that I can't accept their other-ness. Oh, and, there is a very strong heartbreak one experiences when their American buddies leave.
So you've got to put a little hot dog in your chorillana - be flexible enough to appreciate both Chilean and American friendships, no matter their duration. We need friendships to establish who we are in the face of an unfamiliar and constantly changing social universe; the more strange and unfamiliar our world becomes, any little bit of similarity will do. Friendships come and go as it is - they just come and go a bit faster down here. I guess you also have to essentially trust that the ties you make, if they are strong, will last beyond distance - that you always have some sort of safety cord waiting back home, reminding you of who you are - and that you are made of all the people who pass through your life. I'm sure we can all think of one encounter, however brief, that has changed how we see as well as how others see us.
