One afternoon, many years ago when I lived in Singapore, I went shopping on Orchard Road with a Chinese friend. I loved shopping with her. She was the type of friend I'd dreamed of as a pre-teen. The kind of friend who told me what I should wear and what I shouldn't. The day she came over to my flat and excavated my wardrobe is a story for another time.
On this day, I was shopping for a dress and jewelry to wear to a friend's summer wedding. "Ai yo," she exclaimed when she caught me peering at cubic zirconia necklaces. "You're a teacher. Everyone knows that isn't real." In that moment, she taught me that, in Singapore, it's better to wear a small diamond and a real diamond than grandly fake it.
What would Suzanne make of Houston, I wonder? Where any t-shirt, pair of jeans, even tape dispenser can be improved with a layer of bling-the brighter, the flashier, the better. She'd adjust, I suppose. Suzanne was always a 'when-in-Rome-type of girl.' Still, I wondered what she'd make of it all.
When I first moved here, I balked from the gaudy displays and cursed my inability to find a pair of jeans without any sparkles. But I wonder. It seems as though-despite history or intention-when you live in a place, the culture somehow seeps into you, slowly, until you have become part of it and reinforce its rules.
Clothes I wouldn't have thought fit for an indoor cleaning day in Singapore suited me fine for a trip to the mall in Seattle. I'm still no diva, but I now wear eyeliner more days than I don't. Still, there are times when the level of my enculturation surprises even me.
A week before my college reunion, I treated myself to a pedicure with a friend. With a sense of summer splurge, we opted for the SPA PEDICURE complete with paraffin treatment. When asked if I wanted any art, I thought, why not. My big-toe orchid looked so unremarkable next to my friend's full floral that, as we were set to dry, I wondered whether I should've asked for more.
The next week in New York, I happily greeted friends that I hadn't seen in years. As I checked into the hotel, I ran into one of my best girlfriends feeling at home for the first time in months. After we had been talking for a few minutes, her gaze slipped to my new sandals. "Nice sandals," she said. "Thanks," I replied. Then, seeing her gaze linger on my toes, added "Isn't the flower fun?" "Sure," she replied smiling. "It must be a Texas thing." In that moment, the cloud outside the window behind where we stood shifted just enough for a tiny beam of sunlight to break through. The strip of light fell on us, and, in that moment, for the very first time, I saw a flash - a swift sparkle. In the middle of the Orchid-glued in place-lay a teeny--, teeny-tiny rhinestone.
I guess it's true what they say. You can never really go home again.
The next week in New York, I happily greeted friends that I hadn't seen in years. As I checked into the hotel, I ran into one of my best girlfriends feeling at home for the first time in months. After we had been talking for a few minutes, her gaze slipped to my new sandals. "Nice sandals," she said. "Thanks," I replied. Then, seeing her gaze linger on my toes, added "Isn't the flower fun?" "Sure," she replied smiling. "It must be a Texas thing." In that moment, the cloud outside the window behind where we stood shifted just enough for a tiny beam of sunlight to break through. The strip of light fell on us, and, in that moment, for the very first time, I saw a flash - a swift sparkle. In the middle of the Orchid-glued in place-lay a teeny--, teeny-tiny rhinestone.
I guess it's true what they say. You can never really go home again.
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