I lost two cities, lovely ones. And, vaster, some realms I owned, two rivers, a continent. I miss them, but it wasn't a disaster.

What did I do THIS time?

I left you with a kind of cliffhanger in my last entry.

You may be wondering what is going on with my patched up feet. Well, I'll get to that. It's part of my story of the first ten days of living in Oxford. I'm writing this in part to remember it and tell a good yarn, but also as a comfort to anyone who has just started out abroad and is having a tough time.

My first few days were exactly as you would expect. I moved into my apartment, bought items at the local Walmart, collected a package of tea and goodies I had sent myself, and attended several orientations. And I do mean several.

The first was a day-long international student orientation, in which I met students from many countries including Canada, China, Ethiopia and Mexico. The orientation leaders went through the alphabet and had people shout out their countries as we got to each letter. There was some confusion about how to represent us. United Kingdom, Britain, Great Britain, England? I grew up thinking of myself as English and being from England, but American vernacular has seeped in and now I refer to myself as British and from the UK. Whatever. We talked about classes, culture, healthcare, food, politics and, rather importantly, immigration matters. This is why I don't get the movie Like Crazy. Did her school not provide her with an orientation? Why would she just overstay her visa like that?! Everybody knows you don't overstay your visa!

I expected better from you, Ethel Hallow.

The next day we had a very long Graduate School orientation, which unfortunately covered a lot of the same matters... On the one hand, I applaud US universities for making such an effort to inform students right away. On the other hand, I kind of like the British approach which is to mumble awkwardly for 30 minutes then hand you a bunch of paperwork that you will inevitably stash away and forget about. Anyway, we were let out of the auditorium for the glorious sunshine, plus free lunch and a T-shirt. Here I met a few people from my program, who I would see again the next day at the Southern Studies orientation. We sat in the conference room of Barnard Observatory, where I would have many classes, and shared our interests and where we were from. We were introduced to members of the department, including a few second years. Then we had a picture of the 13 of us outside on the steps of Barnard to mark the occasion. "Dear God," I thought, getting in to the spirit of Mississippi life, "Please let me graduate." Then one last orientation for those of us with assistantships.

I'll talk more about my assistantship and classes in another entry, but for now I'll give you the basic details. In the Fall semester, my assistantship consisted of a Teaching Assistant position for a Southern Studies 101 class, and a Research Assistant position for a professor in the department. In the Spring semester, I continued to be a TA while assisting with research for the Mississippi Encyclopedia. As for classes, in the Fall I took a compulsory Southern Studies graduate seminar, a Southern Foodways class affiliated with the Southern Foodways Alliance, and Documentary Studies. In the Spring, I continued with the graduate seminar, plus a class on Faulkner and an internship with Living Blues magazine. I spent most of my undergraduate years attempting to give all my projects a southern leaning, and now I don't even have to try! It's such a great program and I feel very lucky to be part of it.

My new home, Barnard Observatory.

On top of the orientations, there were several social events organized by the department. As you can imagine, the summer evenings in Mississippi are very nice; once the sun goes down it is less unforgivably stifling and a much more pleasant temperature. So many events are held in the garden/yard. Now, given my disaster with mosquito bites during my first week at Chapel Hill, I came to Oxford with many insect repellant supplies: cream, spray, and even a special type of sunscreen with some mixed in. I say that it my own defense, because every time I am bitten someone scolds me for not putting any bug spray on. I DO use it, it just isn't 100% effective and those damn things seem to just LOVE my blood. Actually, I believe they love pasty white English skin, as other internationals have been bitten badly too. Anyway, can you guess what I'm leading up to? I was bitten all over my feet and legs.

It was worse than the time in Chapel Hill. I repeat, IT WAS WORSE THAN THE TIME IN CHAPEL HILL.

Always the overachiever, when I visited the doctor he pronounced my hivey feet as, "the worst case of insect bites he had ever seen." I was then prescribed antibiotics, a large dose of steroids, and rest. So I sat in my new apartment with my boyfriend, who had now missed his planned departure date in order to wait on me, change my dressings, and carry me from the couch to the bed. Here's another important detail to this story: I was already considering moving out. I can't go into the full details, but suffice to say, there was a safety issue with the apartment that I considered to be a dealbreaker. As I was trying to get my head around moving somewhere else already and thinking of all the legal/logistical things I had to do before the semester got underway, I got much sicker.

There is some debate as to what actually happened, as different doctors suggested the following: a) They were not actually mosquito bites, b) They were mosquito bites, and were also carrying West Nile disease, c) I had an allergic reaction to the antibiotics, steroids, or both, d) I was prescribed too high a dosage of steroids. Personally, I think I am just more allergic to bites than anyone most doctors come across (I get hives and dizziness), and the enormous amount of steroids didn't help. Anyway, I ended up in the emergency room, crying about my new ridiculous life in Mississippi and the fact that no one understood my accent, requesting to see my parents, and having to email my department at 4am to say I would be missing the first day. Not a good omen for the rest of the semester.

In the end, it all turned out okay. I moved out of my apartment and into a house with two North Carolinians (plus a cat and a dog), gathered furniture for my new room, said goodbye to my boyfriend, and hung my ER bracelet up on my bulletin board. I kept it as a reminder that, no matter what happens here, it could not be worse than the first week.

But that was before I had experienced finals week.

I'm kidding. I know how much it sucks to have your very first week in a new place be filled with uncertainty, sadness and sickness. In Chapel Hill, I missed a few of the early social events and felt like I was late to the game with making friends. Being sick for my first weekend brought on an unexpected wave of homesickness. I let that homesickness define me. I let it pull me right down into a depression that took months to get out of. In Oxford, I am proud to say that I did not repeat those mistakes. I did experience homesickness again, and I did have some stressful days that made me cry and wish I'd stayed home. But for the most part, I got on with my life. I reached out to people, made new friends, worked hard for my classes and job, and before I knew it the end of the semester was near and Oxford was my new home.

It's hard to have stability in a new place, especially if you've only got a few months or a year to experience it. I remember that before I left the UK, I was told about the stages of culture shock. Theoretically, I was supposed to looove the new place in the beginning and feel some culture shock a few months in. Maybe this is dependent on personality, as some people don't seem to experience culture shock at all. For me, every time I have moved, whether to Norwich, Chapel Hill, Oxford or home at any time, the first month was the hardest. I guess what I want to say is, no matter where you fall on the spectrum of reactions to moving abroad, remember to reach out to other people. Reach out if you need help, but also if you're doing great and could cheer someone else up. (This applies to those at home as well as abroad.) I'm also happy to help anyone who wants some TLC via email or Skype. Really, no one needs to go through what I did the first time around. This is what I realized in Oxford, and I'm much happier for it.

For anyone who's struggling, remember that those of us with the scary experiences have the best stories to tell! Not convinced? When I got back to UEA, I mostly had classes with others who had returned from a year abroad. Sometimes I would start telling a story to the person next to me, and it was often so outrageous it would make everyone turn around to listen. I can promise you that was not the case before.

So how about y'all? If you've lived abroad before, how was the first week? If you're going abroad soon, what are you excited and/or nervous about?

"Is he in therapy?" "Nah, he's got me."

I wasn’t planning to write again until next month, when I am once again going to San Francisco followed by the BAAS conference/banquet in Manchester. However, I recently attended a meeting for outgoing year abroad students which inspired me to write this entry. Dr Rachael McLennan asked me to come so that I could talk about my year abroad experiences and how they informed my dissertation and led to my scholarship. As I sat there, it suddenly dawned on me that all the advice being given was still relevant to me, since… I am going abroad this summer too! I know – I should really try to remember that. Anyway, I wanted to write about what I wish I had known whilst I was abroad in case it is useful for anyone else. I also think it will be useful for me.

I had so many intentions before I left for Carolina, but once I got there my motivation dwindled and I mostly stewed in my homesickness and frustration. I don’t want to make the same mistakes again. I’d like to think that it will all just be easier this time and shrug it off, but if I have learnt anything from my year abroad, it’s that self-awareness is your best friend. I can’t know or prepare for everything that’s to come, and I wouldn’t want to anyway. Oxford is the next adventure for me, and my excitement far exceeds my anxiety. Part of taking a big risk like that is accepting that you’re going to be in freefall. Even so, I hope that my previous experiences will be beneficial (to anyone else, too, if you are reading!).

As you will glean from the structure of my points, I don’t believe in hard and fast rules, but about trying to create a healthy balance. Here are some of my best lessons…

Be Proactive and Assertive

I think at UEA we are lucky to have so many open societies which actively look for more members. I found that UNC was more of a puzzle, and I didn’t have much luck joining anything or finding out about events. Despite the early disappointments, I really wish I had kept trying. I wish I had seen more plays, attended more campus events, explored new places – even if I had to go by myself. I was so used to being part of a group at UEA that I never learned just to go and enjoy something on my own. It’s an important skill and it will stop you from missing out. Out of my comfort zone, I also became more reserved. I stood in my own way when it came to making friends and wasn’t assertive enough; consequently it took me a long time to make them. Don’t allow yourself to stop trying if it doesn’t go your way at first. Keep going. Push yourself.

BUT Take Care of Yourself

Sometimes it’s okay to just watch One Tree Hill in your bed (especially if you’re in North Carolina, then it’s practically research). Really. Don’t feel like you have to do everything if you don’t feel like it. I routinely tortured myself about everything I was missing out on, and it was pointless to put so much pressure on myself. When I look back, I realise that I do have a lot of good memories, even if they were just hanging out with my friends and not doing anything “significant”. Not every day is going to be exciting or even pleasant at all, and that’s okay. Being somewhere new is incredibly stimulating, but it’s also overwhelming. I wish I had been easier on myself, and done more to feel good. I would definitely recommend taking advantage of the free gyms, different sports/exercise opportunities etc. I really regret not taking up running in Chapel Hill, since it’s a beautiful area and it would have kept me healthier. (Better late than never, though – and Norwich is beautiful to run around too!) Also, reign yourself in when it comes to the food. I’m not just talking about weight gain (though that was a definite part of my year abroad), but about the fact that there can be a lot of additives etc which your body is not used to, and it can make you unwell. Also, be careful with alcohol. It’s all very well to have a good time, but you’re much more vulnerable in a new place with new people.

Communicate with Others

It’s great meeting new people, but sometimes you will just want to hear a familiar voice. I was a Skype and Facebook addict the entire year, and for the most part I loved hearing what was going on at home. I wanted to stay connected to my life in Norwich. It’s important to have encouragement from the people who know you best. It’s also important to be open with the people around you. Ask your new friends, your professors, etc, to help you out if you are struggling. I was often far too stubborn for my own good, and did not want to admit how much I needed other people to help me, or to make a change in my situation. I could probably have avoided a lot of pain and drama if I had spoken up earlier about what was going on with me, or accepted the olive branches being offered. It’s also really important to talk to people who have been through the same, whether that’s people at your university who have studied abroad, other international students, or friends from home who have done American Studies or similar. (Here I feel I should say a big thank you to Ailsa Bristow!)

BUT Listen to Yourself

I’ve just admitted that I’m stubborn, but conversely I was a victim of listening to other people too much. When I was having trouble at UNC, I found that a lot of people were (unintentionally, I’m sure) dismissive about how hard it was. When you have never lived abroad, it is completely impossible to truly comprehend how isolating and lonely it can be. Some of my isolation was most definitely my own doing, but a lot of it was out of my control. When you are struggling, it only makes it worse to have someone tell you that it’s not a big deal or that you’re just not trying hard enough. What is even worse than that is to believe it yourself. Be honest with yourself, and try hard, but don’t blame yourself if everything isn’t perfect. The other point I want to make here is how important it is to pay attention to your own needs. I think if I had had the courage to make decisions just for myself, and not worried about what other people would say about it, I would have been much happier. Sometimes it is not selfish or arrogant to decide that you know best, it’s just the truth.

Document Your Experiences

Takes photos, keep a journal, keep a blog (hi), make a box of keepsakes. It’s a good idea to carry your camera around with you, even just to take pictures as you walk around campus. I loved writing this blog. It forced me to have a sense of humour even when all I wanted to do was cry and book a flight home. I’ve written a journal most of my life (regularly for 10 years now), and I think it’s an excellent way to appreciate the little things in life, and to hold yourself accountable to mistakes. When I read back on my personal journal, it’s a little painful to see how much I struggled sometimes, but it also tells the most outrageous stories. The most dramatic of those were from my month of travelling around with Jess and Faye. I have many photos from our trip that I cherish and look over every time I need a laugh. Though it may not feel like it at the beginning, the year goes by very fast, and it’s important to preserve the memories as best you can. As was mentioned in the meeting, something like a blog may come in handy later when you’re applying for jobs. The biggest benefit to me was being able to write something that a lot of people were interested in reading – it actually put me back in touch with old school friends who had followed the links on Facebook. I’m intending to be a more regular blogger when I go to Mississippi.

BUT Remember Your Life is Not a Movie

I said already that I was a Facebook addict. I know it is a double-edged sword. Photos, communication, information, humour = good. Stalking, jealousy, wallowing, grammar atrocities = bad. I was so worried about what people thought of me at home, falling from my social/academic grace abroad, that I became obsessed with how I appeared on Facebook. I haven’t changed my profile picture in two months – are people talking about how I must not have any friends? Was that last status funny, or a little too whiny? WHY IS THAT PERSON HAVING SO MUCH MORE FUN THAN ME? Try to remember that Facebook is not a true reflection of reality. Also, whilst I mentioned that photos/journals are important, the best moments I experienced abroad were not photographed, blogged about, or shared on Facebook. University is an incredibly social experience, and I was so bound up in that at UEA. At Carolina, I truly learned to be comfortable by myself. My most vivid memories are of private moments in which I got closer to a friend, finally felt like I could do Zumba, or finished a particularly challenging project. I didn’t need to stop and take a photo in order to remember it.

Congratulate Yourself

This is probably one of the hardest things you will ever do. Well done for considering it, well done for taking the plunge, well done for staying where you are, well done for making the most of it, well done for coming home a better person. Applaud yourself every day!

BUT Say Thank You

I have to admit, I was not always as grateful as I should have been. I was so consumed in my own unhappiness at points that I did not take enough time to say thank you. I hope that by the end of my time I was a lot better at expressing my gratitude to all the wonderful people that supported me. Part of the reason why I chose to write my dissertation on empathy is because I realised just how important it is. It is because of the people that took the time to listen and to understand that I was able to keep going, to make sense of the difficulties, and to trust that things would get better.

And now for the most important tip of all…

For God’s sake, apply insect repellent.

Good luck to everyone going abroad this summer!

There's not a lot of reason to this other than the fact that I love Obama. And he has great facial expressions.

ETA: So I just discovered that you can look up stats to see how many people are reading. I have had far more people stumble across this blog than I expected! I know that some probably got here by mistake or clicked back immediately (especially if all you saw was the pic of my bug bites - sorry!) but if you do read this blog, please leave a comment to let me know! Sometimes people email me or comment on my Facebook but it would be great to get comments here, too, just to know what your thoughts are, if you've had similar experiences, etc. Once I'm back in the States I would really love suggestions for what to write about. :) /end vanity.

Positive outcomes only!

I thought my most recent entry required a follow up. I realise I sounded rather negative about being out here, and this could be off-putting for anyone planning to go travelling/planning to study abroad/planning to speak to me ever again. Therefore, I thought I would outline the main reasons some parts of the experience sucked, to demonstrate how freakish and unlikely these events were. (If they ever happen to YOU abroad, I will buy you a drink.) Then, hand on my heart and booming out the the Star-Spangled Banner, I will tell you just some of the things that I love.

Things that Sucked At The Time but are Now Told As Party Anecdotes:

a) North Carolina has a lot of bloodthirsty insects. I am allergic to insect bites. Much of my first week here was spent in bed, having feverish nightmares; I was in no way calmed every time I woke up to see my ballooning limbs. I feel somewhat guilty listing this, since two of my family have actually had Malaria, but it was scary!

b) When I say bed, this is a rather loose term... My room came unfurnished, and whilst I waited for a bed to arrive, I slept on a “wafffer-theen” mattress on the floor. When the bed finally arrived two months in, some of the parts were broken. I sent away from more parts, which took another six weeks. These were broken too. Finally I abandoned this whole bed thing and bought a futon on Craigslist, which has been fine except... it's bent and slowly breaking. It's propped up with books and does me fine, but I will probably weep with happiness when I get to sleep in an actual bed again.

c) No one had really explained to me the differences between the American university system vs. the British one. So I picked a combination of classes that didn't work together at all. I won't bore you with the details, but let's just say if I had wanted to actually do all of the reading in order to actually do all my assignments/tests with a hint of comprehension, I would have to have my head in books at least six hours a day. Then work on essays. Needless to say, the whole semester was like those nightmares I used to have at the beginning of sixth form, where I had to sit my A-Level exams already. Tellingly, I did have quite a few bad dreams about A-Levels out here...

d) North Carolina law mandates that liquor can only be sold in licensed ABC stores, which are only reachable by car. You want to talk about illegal activity? HOW IS IT NOT A CRIMINAL OFFENSE TO DENY A BRITISH PERSON OF GIN & TONICS? I mean, I made up for it with beer and wine, but it's really not the same.

And now... Things That I Like and Don't Want To Leave:

1. UNC is like a historical town. It has so many beautiful buildings, stretches of green, and random quotes and statues to remind you to study so you will actually amount to something one day.
   
   
2. I can't be offended when people make comments about my accent, because I love Southern accents so much it's probably weird. (“I love your acce-” “I LOVE YOUR ACCENT!”) It hasn't worn off even slightly as time has gone by.
   
   
3. Chapel Hill is considered to be one of the best places in the US for restaurants. It is a bit of a challenge to stay a size 10, but Weaver Street Market helps.
   
   
4. This admittedly does backfire at times, but it's nice not to have to do a whole lot to get anyone's attention. Simply being from England makes me memorable and interesting.
   
   
5. All of the professors I have had at UNC have been incredible academics, and incredible teachers. Not that I don't admire/borderline stalk the faculty of UEA as well, but attending another university has given me a wider perspective on teaching/learning methods. And made me even more sure that I want to be a professor myself.
   
   
6. Carrboro. Running through Carrboro, wandering around aimlessly in Carrboro, spotting raccoons in Carrboro.
   
   
7. Mountains to the West + beaches to the East = surrounded by perfection. Also, this is the best weather I have experienced in my life.
   
   
8. After years of making excuses in order not to have to sit through football/cricket/rugby, I have finally found a sport I do like: basketball. Who would have guessed?
   
   
9. I have made friends out here that I hope never to lose, and that is no small thing.
   
   
10. Everyone has heard of William Faulkner.

It is a balmy 24C outside right now; sadly I am stuck in the library alternating between my dissertation proposal, reading for my classes, studying for a midterm and working on a paper. But I have Rooney to look forward to tomorrow night, and Spring Break is just around the corner.

As always, let me know if you have any questions about what it's like out here and I'll be happy to cover it on this blog!

Hellcats, the TV show that this entry's title comes from. Another thing I will miss once I go back!

The Living is (not so) Easy

It may surprise you to know that, rather than just having forgotten about this blog due to having Super Happy Fun times at UNC, this is the fourth time that I've started an entry since I last posted. There are many topics I want to post about, but getting started has been an issue. I like to write entries that are at least somewhat cohesive and have a clear line of thought. In fact, that's how I like my life to be too. But America has been nothing if not baffling, so I suppose that's why whenever I sat down to write I ended up with a jumble of emotion and poor syntax.

I had a wonderful Winter Break, beginning in Washington DC in which I visited museums, procured new clothes and caught up with old friends. Then I went to Charlotte, NC to spend Christmas with a friend's family, then back to Chapel Hill for the remaining time with a stint in the mountains too. It was relaxing. Several moments brought me back to who I used to be, whether that was in a hostel in the capital, during long conversations about politics or whilst drinking cup after cup of tea. It's strange how I feel so far apart from who I was back in England. It's strange how it all happened. I have a stronger belief in the human capacity for change than most people – that is, I don't think our personalities are as static as most people seem to – and yet I was unprepared for the course my life took out here. I expected America to be fun, and any potential difficulties I simply glossed over in my mind as being things that would “make me stronger”, whatever that means.

It says a lot about our perception of America, I think. If I was going to study abroad somewhere that isn't a Western country, say Japan, or Kenya, everyone would be in agreement that there would be a big culture shock and that it would take some getting used to. Even in the case of another European country, especially if there was a language barrier it would seem like a tough move. America doesn't have those connotations. For all the criticisms Europeans seem to have of the states, we also take it for granted that it would be easy to fit in here, that cultural adjustment would be minor, and that every day would be filled with something outrageously fun. At least, that's what I picked up from my own expectations, and the expectations others have had of me.

I've been in contact with a lot of people from home whilst out here. What's struck me as interesting is that people are surprised when I say I've found it difficult. Logically, it makes sense. I came to a foreign country by myself, with absolutely no one I'd ever met previously in the near vicinity. The majority of people I come into contact with are already established here, not necessarily looking to make new friends. There are similarities in our cultures, of course, but to say it's not different would be just plain wrong. I have interests which can transcend whatever country I happen to be in – books, music, etc – but I have no idea about TV shows we don't get in England, the local sports teams, or anyone they went to high school with. America is so much about what is current, whereas – let's be honest – I am usually a step behind.

I have a theory that if we were to draw up a list of year abroad placements, America would be considered the “easiest” option. (Maybe Australia, too, but it is further away!) In some ways, that makes it much harder. If I was crying over culture shock/homesickness whilst on placement in Jordan, I doubt anyone would question my feelings. That's not to say that America is a more difficult option, because having only lived abroad here, I have no point of comparison. It is to say that it's hard to answer, “What's so hard about it?”

There is such a huge pressure to be loving the lifestyle abroad, but, like a year at home, unhappy times are inevitable. Some weeks I did nothing but study, only instead of feeling satisfied as I do at UEA, I would wish I could have spent the time travelling. I was also easily frustrated with the work I was doing, which doesn't count towards my degree and is completely different to everything I've learnt all my life. Having such a limited amount of time here played right into my tendency to consider (okay, obsess over) “the road not taken”. I thought a lot about what I should have done last semester to make more friends, exactly when and how I should have asked for more help, even right down to whether I should never have tried to do this in the first place. America was supposed to be the time and place in which I made a million new friends, went to a million great parties, aced all of my assignments to reaffirm my own cleverness, worked out all the time because the gyms are free, travelled to all these wonderful places, and in between all that developed the Zen that was lacking from my life at home.

Well... No. But, I will say this: the positive elements appeared much later, and in unexpected forms. I have some excruciating memories from being out here, unhappy and alone and feeling like a social leper. I've definitely had some of the worst experiences of my life. I mentioned earlier the idea that all of this would “make me stronger”; I certainly didn't believe it at first. I went from being someone who was motivated, friendly, creative and positive to the complete opposite: withdrawn, sad and socially uneasy. It wasn't that I thought I would never recover, but I was incredibly ashamed of how, in my eyes, I had failed to achieve anything out here. I couldn't even pat myself on the back that it would all make me a better person some day, because it didn't feel like that at all. It felt like I was ten times weaker.

Now, I wish I could “do a 180” and tell you that it's all changed dramatically since last semester, that I suddenly fit in here, love every day, never feel homesick. This isn't the case. But, it certainly isn't torture to be here any more, and the mystical “make me stronger” idea is actually true. It didn't happen in the way I expected, and it probably isn't outwardly obvious. Being here, against so many things I didn't enjoy, gave me many things in return. It gave me greater compassion towards others; after so much indifference, I know how important kindness is. It gave me the ability to laugh at things I would normally have worried about, because they're inconsequential now. It gave me perspective on my home country and my regular life. It gave me an appreciation for comfort and familiarity. It gave me patience. There are things that it took away from me, too – I definitely am more cautious about doing new things than I ever was before – but I feel sure I will get these back in time, too.

I don't believe bad things automatically make us stronger, but I do believe they change us. We can choose how, though, and I think when the experience has been difficult it can often shape us in a more lasting way. I guess it's the difference between improving your appearance by getting a haircut vs. having a nose job... Okay, bad analogy. But you see what I mean. It's taken me six months to get to this point, but no part of me worries that I shouldn't have done it. I'm more addicted than ever to Southern culture, and I'm sure I will return here again and again. I've had so many experiences I would never have had otherwise, and, whether bad or good at the time, they all make excellent stories. The story of my year abroad as a whole is far from over, so check back soon for the next chapter.

One very beautiful reason to be grateful for this experience. Also surreal, since I spent my youth imagining these mountains in 'Last of the Mohicans' and 'Rip Van Winkle'.

A little less conversation

I started this blog in order to record and reflect upon my experiences with American culture, so it may surprise you how much I have been thinking about England. Occasionally people from home will try to fill me in on what public service the Conservatives have most recently done away with, since they personally can afford to go private and it's just tough luck for the rest of us. (We still have the NHS, right?) Or inform me that Prince William is now engaged to his girlfriend of an “ordinary middle-class family” who are worth millions. (I am sad to miss out on the bank holiday though.) As you can probably tell, I am a bit of a sensationalist media junkie, and though America may be in some ways a self-interested bubble, they have yet to block BBC News and the Guardian so I'm still keeping up! I especially enjoyed the news cycle of the Pope's visit – did he borrow George Bush's speechwriter for those comments? Anyway, aside from Have Your Say and Skype conversations, I have been thinking about English culture in general.

I think there is a lot that you can't know about your own country until you have lived elsewhere. Only once you have experienced an alternative culture can you make comparisons and draw (tentative) conclusions about what it means to be “British”. I know that there is a lot that I have picked up on about American culture that locals probably never question; there are also things about me which are strange here but perfectly normal at home. Obviously this is what my blog is all about: different expectations and customs that come from being raised with different values. I'd like to make some comparisons between my home and host countries regarding social attitudes, keeping in mind that a) this is based on personal experience alone and therefore somewhat anecdotal and b) I am really only talking about North Carolina vs. South East England. As Dumbledore would say, sometimes we have to make a choice between what is right and what is easy. He was probably talking about taking down Voldemort, but I think it works for not making generalisations as well.

Along with religion, racism and deep fried food, the South is commonly thought of as having a friendly community spirit. At a glance, people here are more friendly than in England. Cashiers smile and ask you how you're doing, people standing in line (queuing) behind you will ask what you're cooking tonight. Sometimes I can find this overwhelming because I'm not used to be talked to by strangers so much. Other times, it is a nice pick-me-up in my day; for instance, the baristas at my local Caribou know my name and like to ask me questions about England when I go in. So why are we not like this at home? Are English people just grumpy? Well, some of us probably are but I don't think that's the whole truth. I worked at Starbucks for a year, and part of the company's appeal is its customer service; we are instructed to smile, make conversation and generally take an interest in the customers. I know that this is something I have always liked about Starbucks, and part of why I enjoyed working there so much. But some people just do not like to be bothered. English people are incredibly reserved and private in comparison to other cultures I've experienced, and I'd be interested to know how this compares across countries. My quick Googling tells me conflicting information about how culture relates to shyness, so maybe I'll dig into that another time.

We may be reserved, but I don't think Britain is commonly perceived as being an unfriendly place. We just express ourselves differently due to different values. Since we like to respect others' privacy, we won't start badgering people we don't know in public. We will talk in quieter voices on the bus or in restaurants because we don't wish to be overheard by strangers. There is also, I think, an aversion to superficiality. Of course this depends massively on you as an individual, but I personally despise fake behaviour and will avoid dishonest people. As you can imagine, in a culture where it is polite to be friendly to everyone regardless of whether you know or care about them, it is much more difficult to decipher what is genuine and what is not. Of course people are superficial at home, too, but it is not such a way of life, so it tends to be done with more deliberation and even malice. I am definitely an upfront person – in fact, I've often been told I'm blunt. To me, dishonesty breeds dishonesty, and the most comfortable way to form relationships is to at least know that there's something real. I don't put on a show or play games, and I know that this is something those who are close to me appreciate. Unfortunately, it's not such a revered quality here.

I mentioned community spirit, and together with all the friendliness, it stands to reason that another stereotype of people here is that they are always helping each other. Actually, I haven't entirely found that to be the case. Like at home, it's not something you can make a sweeping statement about. Personally, I think I am a helpful person; I like to take care of other people and make them happy. I've always been taught to think of others and I try hard to be a good friend, but admittedly I have been frustrated many times by people who are self-centred. There isn't a great discrepancy that I notice between home and here on that front, it just depends on the person. However, I do find that people at UNC keep to themselves more. People are happy to study by themselves, work out by themselves, eat by themselves – things I considered group activities. Perhaps students here are more independent than at UEA, but I find with that comes a “not my problem” mentality. I see less evidence of people taking the initiative to help one another, which for me, being alone in a foreign country, has been extraordinarily hard.

Another difficulty is simply that I am from somewhere else, which is sometimes intimidating to Americans who have never left the US or even the South. I grew up close to London, am half-Irish, and as far as I am aware always had friends of different ethnic and cultural backgrounds. I think in England we also tend to be exposed to other cultures more due to the fact that other European countries are so accessible. (So I guess I am also saying that English people have even less of an excuse for being racist morons, but that doesn't stop some.) I have found that some people have no idea about England beyond stereotypes, and aren't keen to have a conversation with me; whether this is due to disinterest or a fear of causing offence I couldn't say. On the other hand, there are people who have travelled or lived elsewhere, or at least have an interest in other places, who are absolutely fine and just want to ask questions. Most people ask if I am enjoying my time at Carolina. There is a tremendous pride in being a “Tar Heel” (which deserves an entry in itself, so I won't talk about the crazy amount of merchandise available just yet), which is obviously fun to be a part of... Except, I'm not really. A community isn't a community without exclusivity, after all, and here, I am definitely an outsider. So whilst that community spirit does exist, you have to be part of the community in order to benefit.

Another aspect of the “community spirit” mentality is popularity. Some highly unscientific poking around on Facebook leads me to believe that most other British people I'm friends with have around 400-500 Facebook friends, whereas the Americans have 800-1000. Again, might be a privacy issue. Since I am unpopular, with only 350 or so friends, we should move swiftly on... Popularity is one of those concepts that we are all endlessly hooked on; you can tell by our TV shows. I like to go against the grain, but I don't particularly believe in having as many friends as possible. Unless I know everyone or have one other person to stick with me, I am uncomfortable in a large group of people. I prefer to socialise in smalls groups, and I'm not friends with anyone I would hate to be alone with. I don't think this is as much of a consideration here. I've met people who hate to go out unless they're with a large group of people looking to get equally crazy, and others who strictly classify themselves as people who don't party. There must be plenty of people who sit, like me, somewhere in the middle, but the dichotomy feels sharper than at home.

So what does it mean to socialise in a “British” way? Many things, of course, but the most noticeable difference to here is the role of conversation. If I had to nail it down, I would say that Americans like to be perceived as fun, whereas British people like to be perceived as clever. We discuss, debate, explain and commiserate. You can engage almost anyone if you pick the right subject (to those who visit the UK, start complaining about the weather and you'll fit right in). Our social activities are geared towards talking to each other, whether it's over a cup of tea at home or clustered together in a pub. Even in large clubs, for instance the Waterfront or Mercy in Norwich, there are places you can sit and talk to each other if you're not dancing or watching a band. In the American bars I've experienced so far, there are some places to sit but that's not exactly the point of going out; you could conceive of going to the pub with someone for a chat but probably not to a bar. I definitely prefer socialisation that centres around talking since I am so well-practiced at it (!), and I know I am unusual for here in that respect. People have pointed out that when I am asked an off-hand question, I will actually think about it and give a proper answer. It's automatic to me, but unusual for here.

Obviously the lack of conversation here has made my chatterbox nature come out in my writing instead... As always, let me know if you have any suggestions for topics I should write about here. I'm intending to conduct a couple of interviews and get some material to discuss the North/South divide, Greek life on campus, and also about the very different attitude to fashion. Tomorrow is Thanksgiving, and I am going to my friend Kristina's for dinner. Sadly I am spending the rest of the holiday preparing for midterms and finals, but the semester is almost over and I'm so glad. It's been a difficult few months, and I will probably refer to this term as “the disaster show” forever after – for reasons I will share in due course! I've got some good things coming up over winter break and some plans to make next semester more enjoyable, so for now it is just waiting it out. And passing my time playing Geography games on Sporcle. Do YOU know where Azerbaijan, Suriname or Swaziland are? I do. Good conversation starter, no?

Welcome to “the land of big trucks and expanding guts.” (Cody Jones.)

I'm sorry for the lack of regularity where this blog is concerned. I've never forgotten about it, of course, but as any university student can attest, sometimes your weeks are so busy they positively fly past. It's often like you're trying to write an essay whilst caught up in a tornado. Anyway, a lot has been going on and I have plenty to write about. I visited the mountains in a place called Asheville, went to the North Carolina State Fair in Raleigh, experienced my first UNC football game and today is Halloween.

I also found out that, with my combination of modules, it will never be possible to complete all of my assigned reading. In that spirit of things, I got a D on a midterm and my grades started to slip all round. It's been hard to deal with; at home I was often top of my class and it's hard to cope, self-esteem wise, with struggling so much. The one thing I've realised is that a year out here is completely different to a year at home, in terms of what I'm trying to get out of it. Here, I don't have to like everything I learn, but being exposed to so many new teaching styles is invaluable experience if I ever become a lecturer myself. It's not to say that I'm not getting anything out of the classes here – they're excellent. I just can't give them the focus they need, and the style is so different. I excel at long essays with room for creativity and originality, but short answer questions and exams, not so much. The majority of what I'm learning is out of the classroom, and that's how it should be.

On the upside, I feel more confident about my writing than I have done in years. I've never wavered from wanting to become a writer. But being out here has made me doubt myself in all kinds of ways – that I can probably explain in more detail when I have hindsight on my side – just not about writing. If anything, being so isolated has reinforced that need to write, to find escapism, that was probably the reason I began in the first place. I have found other forms of escapism over the years, typical ones which are followed by apologies and de-tagging photos on Facebook. I have found more healthy ones, too, like working out and cooking. Yet writing is still the most central, most fundamental part of who I am and how I live. What's difficult about being an artist at this age, is when we have to transition from escaping to crafting. We write for others, not just ourselves. When I reached the end of my teenage years, I became shy of my writing, constantly comparing myself to others, from friends in the Creative Writing Society to Hemingway. I've reached more of a happy medium now. Writing is like any other art: very little about natural talent, and largely about practice and diligence. Whilst I have given more energy to crafting and improving, I'm happy that it still remains my escape, and if I like, it can still be something that is just for me.

I feel that the title I've given this entry is relevant because it references several topics I've gone over: Cody Jones is a former member of the CWS, an American, and was commenting on a Facebook status I wrote about all the American food I've enjoyed. Which brings me – finally! - around to the subject I was originally intending to write about. Food, not so glorious food. As anyone who has ever been alive for more than two years is probably aware, food is a large part of American culture. The more grease, the better. For a girl whose diet is comprised mainly of wholegrain, fresh produce and hippy stuff like tofu and beans, this was intimidating. It was probably one of the debilitating parts of the experience, but I seem to have found some solutions at last.

At the international orientation back in August, our advisor told us that Southern food was amazing, but to be careful how much we had. Someone also referenced food when talking to us about homesickness, along the lines of: “Sometimes when a student is sad they just sit in their room eating lots of chips and pizza... or they don't eat anything at all.” I did both. In the early days, sometimes I would eat practically nothing at all, because it was so stressful trying to find something to eat that I knew I would like. When every day is filled with unfamiliarity, you just want to have a meal that you know you will like the taste of. Even things that seemed the same, like cereal, often had added sugar or used spices we don't have at home. Then sometimes, I would just eat anything because I was too disorientated to care. Fast food places are everywhere, even on campus. We may criticise Americans for the obesity crisis, but I can say from experience, we have it a lot easier at home. In Norwich for example, I could have lunch at Pizza Hut or Nando's, but I know it would be wiser to go to Tesco and buy salad and some fruit. In Chapel Hill, take Tesco out of the equation and what do you do? There is the odd shop that sells fresh apples and bananas, but not many, and that is literally all that they have.

I decided against getting a meal plan on campus because they are jaw-droppingly expensive and don't have a large variety of healthy options. Besides, I love to cook and I have a decent kitchen in my house. The only problem was getting food. Now, the thing to explain here is that people here rely very little on public transport or walking, so it follows that a lot of things aren't accessible that way. Two of my housemates have cars, and will kindly drive me to get groceries when I need to. However, this still wasn't entirely a solution for me because I'm used to being able to go weekly in order to eat fresh fruit every day, and besides I will admit that I am stubbornly independent. American supermarkets have yet to start doing home delivery, and as much as I asked around, no one was too confident I would be able to walk to get fresh produce regularly like I wanted to. So I had occasional healthy days when I had been shopping recently, but mostly watched in horror as my body proceeded to show me how unhappy it was. My skin was pubescent and painful. My hair was dry and not as shiny. I had sore eyes, couldn't sleep properly and always felt sluggish. I gained weight. I tried making the best of things: walking a lot, drinking plenty of water, having a vigilant skin care regime. But the fact of the matter is, what we eat is so so important. I suspect I have a particularly sensitive system, because you can tell within a couple of days whether I've been eating right or not.

I knew where a couple of supermarkets were from driving there, so one day I decided to go ahead and walk, just to see if it was doable or not. And this is where my two months of struggling becomes very funny. I walked down the road for, oh, fifteen minutes, and immediately came across a wonderland. Weaver Street Market sells mostly organic and local produce, has hardly any frozen food, and everything is free-range. I'll make my point this way: there was about five different varieties of tofu. I think you see what I'm getting at. I thought it would be drastically expensive, but it was actually quite reasonable. I eat very little meat – which helps the budget – but I did buy fresh chicken. I've eaten nothing but frozen chicken for two months and the difference is staggering. I know which I prefer! It has been goodbye peanut butter sandwiches for lunch, hello potato salads. Anyway, having good food again has made me so much happier. Cooking is a kind of therapy for me, and eating is a social activity; my housemates and I are trying to make time for a group meal once a week. I also feel even more qualified to write healthy eating articles for Concrete next year, an idea that's been bouncing around in my head whilst I panic about my lack of work experience.

There is probably a lot more to say about North Carolina food that will crop up in due course: corndogs, Southern barbecues, Krispy Kreme burgers, frozen yoghurt and ice cream places, (savoury) biscuits and sweet tea. Despite what may seem like a negative angle in this entry, some of their food is really good. Or I'll put it this way: their “bad” food, is really, really good. Just so long as it's not my entire diet I'm happy eating it occasionally. And to answer another question that I am asked a lot: I don't see a lot of fat people. Why? Exercise. UNC is a sports-oriented university, all the exercise facilities are totally free, and people here take pride in looking good. They don't gorge on food all day every day just because it's there. If you think about it, a lot of British university students are incredibly unhealthy but not necessarily fat, so it should come as no surprise that I'm not seeing a lot of large people in a college town. On the one hand I am, as ever, jealous that I am someone who gains weight immediately after a bad week. On the other, if I didn't freak out about diet and exercise so much, I would probably never have taken such an interest in it, and y'all would not have had this entry to read.

And now, I shall leave you with the very best part of American cuisine. If you are ever in the states, go there immediately. I first had it back in 2007 during mine and Katharine's Amtrak trail, and it has remained my favourite restaurant ever since. Behold:

The Cheesecake Factory in Durham, NC.

http://www.thecheesecakefactory.com/

He was so learned that he could name a horse in nine languages; so ignorant that he bought a cow to ride on.

So... Wow. It's been almost a month since I wrote my last post. Please accept my apologies, but the explanation can be easily found within this post – because I am going to be writing about UNC, the classes, and the avalanche of a workload.

But first, a little update on the homesickness situation. Moving abroad to somewhere as beautiful, interesting and friendly as Chapel Hill is comparable to an ill-advised rebound. You know, logically, that you have upgraded. Your days together are filled with sunshine, everything is new and exciting, and you know that this is an experience you will never forget. But it is also hard to forget your ex, who helped you become the person you are today. You try to focus on the bad stuff: that time it snowed constantly and you had to wait outside for 45 minutes because the stupid 22 bus apparently had more pressing things to do than show up. The fact that you never know where you stand, like when your timetables are held back until the first day of term. (What am I supposed to do, be up and ready at 8.30am just in case there's a seminar at 9?) Anything to do with Prince of Wales road. Despite all this, your rebound isn't your ex, and Chapel Hill isn't Norwich. There are an infinite number of things that, objectively speaking, make UNC a better university than UEA. But UEA had me first, and it has my heart. With all that said, Chapel Hill is shaping up to be a good second home. We don't have a history together, sure, but I think we have a good chance at a future.

I have many things that I want to write about – and if there's anything you'd like to hear about too, I'm open to suggestions! – but for now... Academia. Wait, don't stop reading! There's weird stuff ahead. I promise.

Firstly, I suppose I should give some background to the American college system in comparison to England's. (Or to cover myself, I should point out that there are probably many discrepancies from university-to-university in both countries, so really my comparison is just between UEA and UNC.) At UEA, we are told how many modules we are allowed to take per semester, and our choices are usually limited to subjects relevant to our degrees. In America, the system is much wider. You don't go in necessarily knowing what you want to specialise (Major) in, and have until the end of your second year to decide. (NB: American degrees are typically 4 years in duration as opposed to the average 3 years in England.) I have to say, I think this is a great system; you get a wider education for longer and it means there's less hassle if you don't end up liking your subject as much as you thought. You can also choose how many credits to take per semester, so you are more in control of how you structure your degree. At the beginning of each semester, you can sign up for many classes and attend the first ones, then drop whatever doesn't suit you. How much do I wish we had this at home? It would definitely have saved me from Shakespeare.

The minimum amount of classes I'm required to take per semester is 4, but I tried out 5. The first of these was the History of Southern Music, which was situated in a place called the Love House & Hutchins Forum, right on the edge of campus. It really was like a little house, with a table and chairs on the porch, and books stacked up around the room. The professor, William Ferris, is originally from Mississippi; I had trouble concentrating because I was entranced for awhile by his accent. Am I the only foreigner who loves Southern accents? Probably. At the end of the class, he got out his guitar and sang, amongst other things, 'Baby Please Don't Go' and something by Elvis Presley. This was actually the class that I decided to drop. I didn't feel that it was designed for someone without prior knowledge, and I knew I would spend the entire semester struggling. I was sad, of course, as I love Southern Music.

The next class that I had was Intermediate Fiction Writing, for which I had to submit prior work in order to get into. (There's nothing more fun than trying to write a short story whilst moving house.) According to my personal journal, it was in this class that I laughed and smiled more than I had done since arriving. The instructor, Randall Kenan, was just nuts. We didn't have to do much in the way of writing. We wrote a short bio and listed our favourite movies, books, authors and food. Then, one by one, we had to go up to the blackboard, hand our bio to him, and draw a picture of a horse whilst he questioned us on something in our bio. I'm not kidding. When someone asked why we were drawing horses, he would respond, "You're such an inquisitive bunch. Because I say so." At the end of the class, he told us it was a tradition started by Jessie Rehder, and that each class he had made to do it had been a good class.

For this class, we are all to write three short stories. We went in reverse alphabetical order, so I only just handed in my own story. We have to both give a hard copy to Mr Kenan, and post a copy online for the entire class to read and critique. Then we talk about it in the next class. Needless to say, I occasionally think about what's coming for me Tuesday and feel ill. I've had some glorious fantasies about just not going, and not reading the comments online. But this, unfortunately, is a big part of being a writer: acknowledging the effect it has on your readers, whether good or bad. I am thoroughly enjoying this class: it might be my favourite class I have ever taken in my entire educational career. Critiquing other people's works has been almost as beneficial as the writing practice itself. The other project we have is to write several papers on a published author, and present our work to the class.

My two literature modules are the American Novel, and Nineteenth Century British Literature. Both have reading lists which are ready to kill me, but they are full of books I either love already or have always wanted to read. I make it sound like I am actually keeping up with the reading. I'm really not. SparkNotes is as much my best friend now as it has been since GCSE. In fact, I'm pretty sure if I ever went as far as a PhD – hell, if I became a lecturer myself – I would still check out SparkNotes and Wikipedia first. The main form of assessment for these classes is exams. This of course, has lead to a number of freak outs on my part, but midterms are actually nothing like our exams at home. You're sometimes given the questions beforehand and can use the book for clarification; the main stipulation is sticking to the time limit (an hour or an hour and a half usually). More than anything, the midterms encourage you to keep up with your reading (or in my case, be diligent when it comes to SparkNotes). They're a less pressurised form of testing than our short essays at home. Finals, on the other hand, may be another matter entirely, but I'll let you know come December.

My last class has caused me a decent amount of stress. Native American Activism, whilst coming under American Studies, is also a history and politics module. How much do I know about history and politics? I know to ask Tash about it. Which, actually, is what I've spent a lot of time doing. Anyway, there is a ton of reading for this class, as well as short assignments every week on top of the bigger assessments, such as short essays, presentations and a research project. I spent the first month convinced I was doomed to failure. But what I lack in general knowledge, I more than make up for in sheer stubbornness. And my fail-safe tactic of turning up, a little hysterical, to the teacher's office. It turns out I'm doing okay anyway, as the two assignments I got back were graded at 90 and 95, and my tutor, Dr. Cobb, thinks my presentation and contributions in class were promising. Plus, this is such an interesting experience that I could never get at home. The way we learn about American Indians (if, indeed, we ever learn about them at all) is so backward, and tied in with this idea that their issues – and they themselves – belong in the past. In some ways the class is intimidating for me: a good portion of the class has at least some Native heritage, and there is a large population in North Carolina anyway. It's been a purely academic interest to me at home, but now it is reshaping itself into something more real.

It's really true that in order to get a better understanding of the country you're studying, you have to go and live there. I've learned so much in the space of 5.5 weeks here that I could never have learnt out of books at home. Like, for instance, about food – which incidentally will most likely be my next blog topic.

And now, entirely irrelevantly, I will leave you a song that regularly erupts in my head when I hear someone particularly Southern:

Y'all need to hide ya kids, hide ya wife...

Take note.