The northern star guides me not.

Nothing – no book of theory or literature, not even my undergraduate or graduate days when I studied American literature and culture, least of all my many trips to America or even my marriage to my American husband – prepared me for the actual impact of moving to America. I now have the distinct feeling of being different, in many ways an outsider. To be honest, being different here suits me well in some senses and I hope I will continue to cultivate my differences, while making the necessary cultural adjustments. But when I look at the sky and despair over the fact that my stars are all upside down, when I struggle in vain to spot the Southern cross, when the Northern star guides me not, and the constellations have no place in my foreign sky, it’s still to the great literature written in America and the thriving music that I turn to find my bearings and make some sense of this strange land.


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