Back in #Chicago

I woke up this morning to the wind whistling through the siding of my parents house instead of rain drops going pitter-patter against the windows of the house I shared with my three good friends.

I'm back in Chicago!

Seems a little odd, yet familiar.

Two years ago I was in Vancouver, learning my way around Kits, navigating the bizarre government maze one enters as a foreign worker and just generally trying to get my bearings. Now, here I am, back in Chicago, fresh snow on the ground and a fresh perspective on life. There's some uneasiness, some trepidation, but for the first time I see a future for myself that I like.

The United States is not the same country it was when I left, and I do not see it the same, either. For instance, there is a huge tub of cheese balls for sale at Target. After an episode of "The Office," myself and a couple of my roommates went looking for cheese balls and could not find any in Vancouver. Data plans on all carriers still offered unlimited data plans when I left. As I search for a US carrier, only two offer unlimited data plans: T-Mobile and Sprint. T-Mobile seems to have the better offer, too.

And football! American football. I can watch it in crystal clarity instead of pixelated streaming. The difference is shocking, which may seem obvious but when you're accustomed to guessing through pixels, it's amazing what details you see with a clear picture.

Yes, of course, it being January it is winter in Chicago. I seemed to have missed the Polar Vortex, putting me in that odd category of people who think it is cold out while everyone else is proclaiming it's spring! My sister-in-law suggested grilling outside yesterday. It was 41 degrees.

Right. Different measuring system. That would be 41 degrees Fahrenheit. Milk is now measured in gallons instead of litres…err…liters. Gas is also measured in gallons. Distance in miles instead of kilometers. Weight in pounds instead of kilos. Monetary denominations under $5 are paper, not coins. I can use a credit card. A number of little differences I do not take for granted.

So begins the transition of expat to American, though the American that is returning is not the same American that left.