Am I a "bad" American?
I spent about thirteen hours of my weekend frantically writing policy memos I was assigned on a tight deadline as part of an assessment for two interviews I have next week. They're for one-year-long positions that lie at the intersection between science and foreign policy, my dream.
But in the US. Or rather, for the US.
I applied for these opportunities despite having decided a couple of years ago that I want to move to Germany after I finish grad school. I applied for them despite the outcomes of the November election that had in my mind solidified my decision to leave. I applied for them despite feeling like I am a "bad" American.
Growing up, I never felt any sort of attachment for the United States. It doesn't not make sense: I was torn away from Russia, my birth country, divorced from the sights, smells, and sounds once native to me. These losses have always accompanied me, but I have been expected to just pretend like none of them ever happened.
I have spent nearly my entire life here feeling like I am an observer at a party I wasn't ever really invited to, instead dragged there by someone I am supposed to please. I don't even like parties.
For a long time I considered the Fourth of July my least favorite holiday not because it didn't make sense to me but rather vice-versa: I didn't make sense to it, I wasn't meant to participate in it. I wasn't invited to it but showed up by chance. It always reminded me that I am American but also not, as I learned from an early age that I can't become the US president. While I've never had any desire to become president, it's weird because I've spent over 97% of my life in this country.
When I turned eighteen, being able to vote didn't really excite me. Unlike a lot of my peers in college, I never felt any connection to American politics or wanted to join someone's campaign, though I consider myself someone very interested in political affairs generally. But don't fret, dear reader: I still vote in every federal election and try to make it out to as many local ones as I can.
I'm not saying all this because I feel special or edgy. Truth be told, I feel ashamed.
I feel ashamed that I have prepared for years to leave the country and earn a different citizenship elsewhere. I feel ashamed when I am sometimes told that I am "not like other Americans" and take it as a compliment and not an observation. I feel ashamed that I'm not from here but have an American passport and didn't have to work for it. I feel ashamed that I'm not from here but don't have much reason to worry about being deported. I feel ashamed because I can afford to be apathetic toward the mess that is American politics. I feel ashamed that I went out of my way four years ago to renew a long-expired passport for a country that the US scorns.
I can recognize a lot of these sentiments as textbook adoptee feelings. I'm supposed to feel gratitude for being here and what happened to me, yet I know deep down that I don't, or at least not as much as I think I'm supposed to. The US gave a lot of things to me but also took many from me.
Anyway, back to the interviews: I want so desperately to be both accepted and rejected. This tornness lingered in my mind while I dedicated too much of my weekend to the assignments. Though they're exciting opportunities that may be worth delaying my move abroad by a year, part of me struggles to understand how I can potentially be hired by the face of a place that in some ways embitters me. I wonder if the interviewers will be able to sense this, to tell how much I feel I am a bad American, regardless of whether I actually am one or not.
Some days, I'm a bad American. On others, I'm not an American at all but rather someone hanging out here for a super extended period of time. I'm going to try to refrain from these thoughts when I fly out for the interviews and just see how things go.