My first impression of the United States was how clean it was—everything looked so tidy and well-maintained.
As I began my job search, I relied heavily on public transportation. The buses and MAX light rail were convenient, though they required some getting used to. I remember having to pull a string on the bus to signal the driver for my stop. Because my English was limited at the time, I often had to show drivers my destination written on a piece of paper and ask them to alert me when we arrived. The drivers were always polite, helpful, and patient, which I truly appreciated.
Those early days were full of cultural confusion. I remember seeing "Smoke-Free" signs and mistakenly thinking they meant I was free to smoke there. I was also puzzled by "On Sale" signs; I wondered why stores labeled specific items that way when I assumed everything in the store was for sale.
Language barriers created some funny moments, too. Once, when I wanted to go to the shopping mall, I told a friend I wanted to go to "the big buildings to get something" because I didn’t know the word for mall. On another occasion, I realized the "grey building" people were discussing was actually a portable bathroom. Because smartphones didn't exist in 1999, I carried an electronic dictionary everywhere—even to the supermarket. Looking back, I wonder why I needed it so much at the grocery store since I could see the products, but I used it constantly.
Some cultural differences were truly shocking. Coming from China, I associated the number "4" with death and tried to avoid it. I was stunned when a friend named his truck "4" because, to him, it sounded like "full."
Yesterday, my husband drove me around Portland to revisit these memories. We found my old apartment building on Morrison Street and drove past Pioneer Square, where I used to go every day. We saw the walkway along the Willamette River where I took evening strolls and visited the Saturday Market. I even looked for the Mandarin House where I used to eat. There used to be a Hunan restaurant a few blocks from my apartment where I spent my only free night—Friday—enjoying a meal and a beer while reflecting on life. Sadly, it is no longer there.
I am grateful for this final trip before I leave Oregon for good. I appreciate the people I’ve met and the experiences I’ve had in this city. Portland was the starting point of my American life, and it will remain in my heart forever. Goodbye, Portland—I have truly enjoyed my life here.
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