For me, it was ocean waves. For my boyfriend, it was bombs.
We were in my tiny, trendy loft apartment in Tbilisi’s Vera neighborhood, a posh slice of town full of art galleries, organic wine shops, and indie cafés. Vera is an up-and-coming neighborhood with authentic, crumbling Soviet-style apartment buildings full of vintage chandeliers and whimsical decor. It perfectly embodies the Georgian capital’s boho but brutalist vibe.
It was here that when the wind rattled the metal roof of the building, I closed my eyes, thinking of the waves crashing on the beach. My boyfriend Misha sat upright, pale, eyes wide, and said, “That sounds like bombs.”
Misha comes from the small, mountainous Caucasian country of Georgia — located at the crossroads of Eastern Europe and Western Asia. He is 37 and has lived through the fall of the Soviet Union, the Georgian Civil War, the Russo-Georgian War, and the Rose Revolution.
My teenage years in the 1990s were spent back in the US and were dominated by suburban grunge ennui, the woes of dial-up modems, and the fact that the age on my fake ID never quite matched my baby face.
Breadlines, political unrest, violence, and uncertainty marked Misha’s formative years.
The language and cultural chasm
Misha and my vast differences encompass much more than individual interpretations of what the sound of wind rushing through a metal roof triggers.
His family speaks almost exclusively Russian and Georgian, making communication with his mother and sisters difficult. Although I’m learning Georgian, my understanding of it is still rudimentary.
While I’m included in Misha’s family gatherings, I always feel like an outsider because I can’t fully understand or contribute to the conversation. It’s entirely on me to learn the language of the country I’m living in, and I accept that it’s what I need to do to bridge the gap, but until I can manage, it’s pretty challenging.
It’s also nearly impossible for Misha to get a visa to meet my family in the US, which leads to all sorts of thorny and challenging questions from well-meaning family members who can’t quite understand passport privilege.
Time and tradition differences
In general, Georgians are night owls. Many cafés, restaurants, and coworking spots don’t open until about 10 a.m., and a reasonable dinner time is 10 p.m., which came as an utter shock to me. I grew up with dinner served by 7 p.m. at the latest. When I broached the topic with Misha, he looked at me as if I had suggested that we sit down for our evening meal at 2 p.m.
Our concept of comfort food is drastically different, too. The nostalgia-in-a-box that is Kraft Mac and Cheese doesn’t appeal to Misha, who turns his nose up at powdered cheese and uncooked elbow pasta but will enthusiastically slurp down a white, grainy porridge that he liberally spikes with sugar and Svan salt.
In fairness, I can understand how powdered cheese and hot dogs, two staples of my comfort food roster, would land funny to an adult who hadn’t been weened on the preservative-laden goodness that comes in a navy blue and yellow box or a vacuum-sealed pack of Sahen’s.
Building a future together
For us, communication and compromise are the best ways to keep the peace. We both take a few steps outside our comfort zones; I agree to eat dinner at 8:30 p.m., and Misha agrees to consider a retirement and investment strategy. He was reluctant to have these conversations, another deeply-held habit of living in the now, and we’re nowhere close to a shared plan, but at least we’re talking about it.
I am taking Georgian lessons several times a week, and my parents have both independently come to Tbilisi to spend time with Misha.
I’ve tried Misha’s childhood porridge, although it has not fully been appreciated, and he’s eaten a bowl of Kraft Mac and Cheese with a similar result. On Sundays, we sit down and discuss things we find confusing or strange about each other’s cultures. This type of full transparency leads to a “no dumb questions” space where we can kick back and ask any questions.
Our interpretations of the world, experiences, and viewpoints will never fully match up. That’s OK as long as we practice negotiation and patience in our quest to appreciate and understand each other’s cultures.
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