It’s a normal day at Pomona College. You are walking through Marston Quad to get to your class. A girl smiles as she passes you by. She offers a quick “hi.” You might reply to her. You might not. You do a double take: Do you two even know each other?
Well, if she’s a 5’4” white girl with curly blond hair, that’s probably me. And the answer is: maybe not.
Let me explain myself: In my home country of Brazil, it’s standard to say hello to people on the street. Even people you don’t know. It’s not like you stop and strike up a conversation with every stranger that passes, but you usually slip a quick “good morning” or acknowledge them with a smile or nod. And when it’s someone you know, be it a distant acquaintance or a close friend, it’s considered rude not to wave at them or ask them how their day has been.
Coming to the United States, I quickly noticed that’s not how things work.
At first, I was surprised by how rarely people said hello to the cleaning staff or dining hall staff. But I was even further surprised to see that no one waves to each other on campus. Even if they are friends with the person, they just pass each other by, no smile, no wave, nothing.
In a conversation with my older sister, who also went to college in the United States, she mentioned having a similar shock.
“Several times I talked to someone at a party for hours, then the next day they ignored me when I waved at them,” she told me. “Sometimes they acted like they didn’t know me.”
When I decided to go to Pomona, I knew that U.S. culture would be different from the culture I’d encountered in Brazil. After all, if the two were the same, why would I even come to the States in the first place?
I’ve dealt with other cultural shocks, such as the tipping culture or the size of food portions. But these shocks barely affected me as I rarely went to any restaurants in my first semester, and quickly adjusted to the 5C portion sizes.
Waving (or not waving) to people on campus, however, seemed to hit me the hardest.
People in my hallway looked at me kind of weird when I said “hey” as I passed them by. My “good morning” would be left unanswered by my classmates. Acquaintances ignored me when I waved across campus, and even friends would sometimes pretend not to see me so they wouldn’t need to stop and say “Hi.”
It was as if I was doing something I wasn’t meant to do.
“Well, if she’s a 5’4” white girl with curly blond hair, that’s probably me. And the answer is: maybe not.“
Tired of feeling both invisible and embarrassingly visible whenever I tried to greet someone, I finally decided to ask one of my American friends for advice.
“If it’s an acquaintance, I usually hesitate to say hi,” she admitted, “But if we lock eyes, then I need to acknowledge them somehow. Otherwise, it’s awkward. Usually I just smile at them. If I wanna be friends with them, I wave. And if I want to be friends and they are walking close to me, I ask how they’re doing. I mean, if it looks like they want to talk. If not, I just … ”
And she went on and on, talking about countless scenarios, possibilities and conditions. I never imagined there would be such intricate politics behind waving to people on campus. To me, it had always been an instinctive, effortless gesture.
I thanked my friend for her detailed insight. Though I found it a little weird, I decided to follow her lead. If I really wanted to adapt to life in the United States, I should stop rejecting this aspect of culture that I didn’t understand. Instead, I should embrace it and allow myself to have the whole American experience, including the social neurotics.
My plan was going well: I was no longer waving dumbly at someone who would pretend not to see me. Every now and then, I had my slip-ups and would be ignored. But overall, I didn’t feel like an idiot.
That is, until last week.
As I was walking to my class, I noticed a classmate was walking some steps ahead of me. We’ve never spoken much, but the little we’ve interacted has always been nice.
Then, suddenly, he turned around to get something from his backpack and locked eyes with me. I panicked. Should I look the other way or smile at him? Were we close enough for a wave?
Before I could do anything, he waved and smiled at me — two actions I reciprocated. I thought that was the end of our interaction, after all, we’d see each other in class soon.
However, he stopped: He was waiting for me. I stopped in my tracks for a second. Then I caught up to him and we walked to class together, chatting about the readings.
As I entered the classroom, I felt a cozy sense of nostalgia. For the first time since I’d come to Pomona, I had what would be considered a normal interaction in Brazil.
But then it dawned on me: I hadn’t been the one to initiate it.
I couldn’t help but wonder: In my process of adapting to American culture, had I lost my “Brazilianness”? Were a few months enough to change a crucial aspect of my Brazilian cultural identity, one I’ve had for 18 years?
I had finally been able to adapt to this aspect of American culture. Finally, I was “on the in” for the politics of waving to people. But I didn’t feel happy. Once again I felt like an idiot, but this time, it was an even deeper feeling: In my desperate attempt to embrace American culture, I accidentally rejected my own Brazilian culture.
Living in another culture is a tug of war. If you don’t adjust to it, you get singled out. You feel distant from your peers, and you isolate yourself even further. And if you adjust, fear of Americanization eventually finds a way to keep you on your toes.
Though it was a small interaction, I felt myself questioning my Brazilian identity. To what extent should I suppress my culture and change myself in order to fit in?
Unfortunately, I don’t have the answer.
In the meantime, I’ll stick to what I know. The feeling I had when my classmate stopped me was undeniably happiness. Though it was mere small talk, I was glad to share that moment with him. His action, too, gave me the courage I needed to go back to saying hi to people on campus without overthinking.
So the next time I wave at you on campus, I hope that you wave back. Sure, you can also just ignore me. I know we probably haven’t met, I know it’s kind of weird. But wouldn’t you want to know a little bit of my Brazilian culture, too?
Anna Ripper Naigeborin PO ’28 is from São Paulo, Brazil. Her favorite Brazilian superstition is that if you want a guest to visit you again, you must open the door for them when they leave.
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