When you live in a foreign country, you adapt. No matter how well you speak the language, no matter how much you look like a local, no matter how much about the culture you think you've learned, you never finish adapting.
It's not a linear process. More like a spiral one, with ins and outs and ups and downs. There are things you understand and others you don't and probably never will.
I'm not sure what it means to be in a constant state of adaptation. And I suppose I'm lucky to have the leisure to contemplate it. If I were a refugee or a clandestine worker in a foreign country, I'd have a lot more to worry about than the essence of adaptation and its effect on my state of mind.
I'm tired today. Tired of speaking a language that is not my own. Tired of switching between formal and informal address depending on who I'm with. Tired of not being entirely understood, and I don't mean my words.
But I think it's really because Boy1 had a nightmare about jellyfish last night and I didn't get enough sleep so I'm just plain tired.