I think one thing I never realized, or identified with when I was stateside was that I was an American. Of course, you know this when you live there, when you make jokes about how awful your country is, or in relation to Canadians, but when you live abroad, it becomes a marker of your identity.
When I was backpacking, your nationality was part of your introduction: your name, your nationality, a major city someone knew from America, and what brings you there.
Now that I am stationary in China, American means what comforts I seek (sugar for example, is a marker of American tastes). In the past few months though, I have felt a strange sort of patriotism, or at least horror, as I am asked nearly constantly about my country by others. I’d like to talk a little about my national identity and how it has affected me the past few months.Continue reading “An American Abroad – Part I: Epidemic.”