I sat at a bar graduation party on a patio, my new roommate’s graduation party, and I didn’t know what to do with my hands. My new roommate has tattoos and a septum ring and two Moms and, also, a Dad, at this party and it was me and a patio full of strangers.

For the first time in a long time, I was not the only white person at a social gathering. In fact, there was one Mexican person and the rest, as far as I knew, were white. I was an outsider, but it wasn’t evident from my skin-tone. I was an outsider inside my own country instead of outside it. But just as much outside. Me and the gringos in the “country of dreams.”

I had four conversations, and each one of them required tremendous effort. It wasn’t because the people weren’t nice, or interesting, it was because socializing in English is hard again. One person gave me their business card. I’ve always found this gesture odd, here is my card, and it’s even weirder to me now. I said to him as we started talking: “Full disclosure, I just moved back to the country and I am going through extreme culture shock.” Shortly after is when he passed me his card, always firmly between the pointer and middle finger. He needs case workers who speak Spanish.

“Full disclosure, I just moved back to the country and I am going through extreme culture shock.” It’s what I feel like saying to everyone.

So that’s how the transition is going. I didn’t go through as much of a “transition” in Atlanta because I was hiding from society and seeing only select people. I wasn’t going to the grocery store or paying rent or making meals. I was just hovering between my parents’ and sisters’ and going to Dunkin’ Donuts for sugary caffeine refills.

Now there is no hiding. There is myself, Netflix, Tucson, Grad School, Gas Stations, Groceries, English, Roommates, Traffic Signals, Rent, Running Trails and Graduation Parties. I tried each cupcake, three of the four (I cut part of each) because I love icing and I am a Return Peace Corps Volunteer, try to keep us from the desert table. I bit into it and the icing tasted like coconut oil. That’s because it was coconut oil. Newsflash: All of the cupcakes were vegan, and one was vegan/gluten-free. A stranger in my own land.

No, I don’t miss the food in Guatemala. I’ve met some Guatemalans who’ve moved to the US and said they don’t like the food, and I almost flipped a table. But I understand, it’s what you’re used to. And I am not used to vegan icing, I don’t care how ethical it is. I NEED ICING WITH DAIRY IN IT, GRACIAS Y CON PERMISO.

But what I miss desperately, deeply, completely, is the acknowledgement of the sanctity of eating. “Muchas Gracias.. Buen Provecho” is a phrase shared between people at the end of every meal. When you finish you thank everyone, and when they finish, they thank you. Every time I see a person eating alone I want to call out “Buen provecho” but I know I can’t. I stuff it inside. Buen provecho means Bon appetit. Notice how there is no translation into English, we don’t have an equivalent so we borrow from the French. Some might say the translation is “Enjoy Your Meal” but no one says that in the US like they say Buen Provecho in Guatemala. Only in customer service, not between child and parent at the dinner table, mother and son, sister and brother.

I can’t explain the significance of Buen Provecho except to tell you that I miss it. In Guatemala I said it when I passed someone consuming anything, even if I didn’t know them, and in that way I acknowledged the sanctity of eating. I said it to strangers when I walked into a room and they were eating, I said it to my host family after they finished every meal, and they said it to me. It’s a beautiful communal acknowledgement of respect and gratitude.

My host family never let me eat alone. Here my roommates and I eat in separate rooms, alone, and no one says Muchas Gracias at the end of any meal. Buen Provecho.

But, my roommates are really kind (I’m not dogging them). I am adjusting. On the way to the party Tatiana said: “I got Blake a plant, you can sign the card too so you’re not going empty-handed” and I felt like she was a tiny angel flapping her wings in my direction. I hadn’t gotten Blake a gift, and I felt bad going without anything. It’s like she read my mind, and she threw me a rope: a veritable stranger. And I know that there is warmth within the construct of my country. I just have to adjust to the difference in water temperature, the norms and customs, and gluten-free, vegan cupcakes.