Questions

The questions, the questions, the questions. They don’t stop, no matter what age or occupation. Did you buy that? Is that yours? Where are you going? Are you going to leave today? Where are you going today? When is practice? Are you going to eat? Are you going to wash your clothes? Why are you doing that? And my least favorite How much did that cost? Initially, it’s frustrating. I already went through 3 months of Training where I had to explain myself, and I was fortunate that my host family kept it pretty simple, even tolerating my weird shower and exercise habits. If you take the time to reflect, you might see that it’s a different way of trying to understand a stranger. Most of the time, it’s easier to directly question an act that’s happening right in front of you, then buck up the courage to ask about a cultural norm. To ask or question in general or actively requires confidence, and when you have lived with the same people in the same place your whole life, you have absorbed most standards and norms. And there is this person. I have to admit to having forgone asking a question, hoping that pure observation with answer my query on its own. Culturally, it’s more appropriate in the States to be passive and just accept; this is what we are taught in most schools. You don’t know, but you are going to be taught, so just wait. Since my community and I are not on the same page culturally, they are not guaranteed that I will explain myself. And they may have waited to see if my actions would explain themselves and found that I’m just too weird and whatever I’m doing is just too out of sync. And the repetition of the same questions simply reinforces the degree of the weirdness of whatever I’m doing, or it’s age appropriate for the youth who just don’t always listen the first time.  I should be glad there are questions; questions express interest and curiosity and, most importantly, caring and a desire to understand. When the questions stop, then I should worry.