When I was nine, I experienced my first culture shock

In my childhood, I lived two lives in two countries.

Not a Medium member yet? Click here to read the article.

I was vaguely awake when I was shaken by the rumblings and vibrations of my car seat. The road had a broken jaw. It had most of the characteristics of rough terrain. Soil, potholes, and cracked concrete. The truck I was in blasted through the road. A heavy-duty Isuzu that was supposedly able to withstand any environmental hazard on its way. The windows were pulled all the way down. And they were low enough to stretch your whole arm out. The ACs were on max, blowing, while dangling car fresheners swing with the entering winds.

It was 2011 when we finally arrived in our hometown Calubcub. Rainy was the weather staple in those months; mud was the terrain trend. We rested our car on a hill atop. And the crowd of tall-standing trees were blowing mist from their place to another. I recall hearing loud cricket noises that night. Nowadays, you can barely hear them. Clustered bamboo plants jostling at each other whilst winds blow them in whichever way. These were the facts of the midnight.

They offered me a plate of sumans— those rice cakes cuddled with banana leaves — with sugar on the side (apparently they weren’t sweet enough). And when I…