Chapter 5: Reflections and Revelation

Leaving Elaina to settle into her room and make it comfortable, I retreated to my own space. I took a shower and changed into sweats with a matching shirt, a typical weekend outfit for an American teenager. Underneath, I wore a bra and panties, trying to distract myself from the fact that my sister, halfway around the world, had to adhere to a cultural practice where covering her body wasn’t just uncommon—it was against the rules, especially at school.

As I sorted through my closet, pushing summer clothes to the back, Mom’s voice cut through my thoughts. “I’m expecting you and Eliana to help with dinner in about half an hour,” she said.

I nodded, feeling slightly more at ease. When Eliana and I eventually gathered to start preparing dinner, the conversation drifted to lighter topics. We talked about my sister, who Eliana had spent her first months with at school back in Kalvovia. Then Eliana asked something that almost made me cut me with the knife I was holding.

“Are you sure your sister ever wore clothes here?” Eliana asked her tone innocently but her question was unsettling.

The question made me pause, the thought of possibly being like my sister momentarily crossing my mind before I shook it off. As Eliana and I worked side by side, I began to feel a tentative optimism about the upcoming year, even though it promised to be full of unexpected challenges.

Suddenly, Mom’s reaction froze the room. Her expression was intense, her eyes sharp and penetrating. It felt as if her gaze could pin me to the spot, her displeasure almost tangible.

She set aside the pot she was stirring and faced me directly, her demeanor shifting to stern authority. “Sophia Elizabeth Hanson,” she began, her tone signaling that I was in trouble. “There are no laws here or elsewhere stating that bodies must be covered. The courts decided long ago that bodies are not indecent. Legally, everyone in this country can choose to dress—or not dress—like Eliana, even if it isn’t widely accepted.”

Her gaze was unwavering, her tone leaving no room for argument. “If you’re so curious about what your sister embraced, then perhaps you should experience it for yourself.”

The impact of her words hit me like a jolt. I stood there, stunned, grappling with the gravity of what she was suggesting. This wasn’t just a scolding—it was a challenge. Mom was pushing me to step out of my comfort zone and confront the reality of what it meant to truly immerse myself in another culture. She wasn’t merely enforcing a rule; she was encouraging me to understand and respect the essence of this exchange program.

I glanced at Eliana, who seemed oblivious to the storm around her. Her nonchalant confidence in her skin and her willingness to live according to her cultural customs made me question my comfort zone and the rigidity of my expectations. It was as if she embodied cultural relativism, untroubled by the societal norms I was wrestling with.

Mom’s challenge wasn’t about clothes—it was about understanding and empathy, about breaking down the barriers of my preconceptions. The thought of standing alongside Eliana at the bus stop, exposed as she was, sent a jolt of horror through me. I had to check to make sure I was still fully dressed.

The idea of shedding my clothing, even momentarily, felt like a symbolic gesture, a way to connect more deeply with the essence of this cultural exchange. But it was an unthinkable concept for me.

As I struggled to reconcile my feelings, I realized this was the beginning of a profound lesson. I was an American teenager about to start high school, and there was no way I could show up to school like Eliana.

It wasn’t just about the clothes or customs; it was about recognizing the value of different ways of living and learning to see beyond my perspective. The discomfort I felt was a small price to pay for the broader understanding and respect I hoped to gain from this experience.

Mom’s gaze softened slightly, her challenge not intended to embarrass me but to prompt deeper reflection and growth. She wanted me to understand that cultural exchange was about embracing differences, not just tolerating them.

The uncomfortable sensations in my body were mortifying. The rising heat in my cheeks was a constant reminder of my unease. But if I could confront my discomfort and step beyond my boundaries, I would gain a richer perspective on being part of a global community.

“Alright,” I said finally, my voice trembling but determined. “I can’t do that. It would be way too embarrassing. I’ll try to understand this better while keeping my clothes on.”

Mom’s eyes flickered with a mix of approval and relief. “Thank you, Sophia. It’s important to engage fully with these experiences in your comfort. It’s not always easy, but it’s worth it.”

Eliana, still cheerfully busy in the kitchen, seemed unaware of the depth of the conversation unfolding around her. Her focus was on helping with dinner, and her actions were simple. At that moment, her presence was a reminder of the cultural exchange’s fundamental goal: to immerse, understand, and respect.