You experience other cultures to give you a kind of shock that

Host: The airport café hummed with that peculiar kind of melancholy found only in places of transit—where hellos and goodbyes blur under the same fluorescent light. The smell of espresso mingled with the faint scent of jet fuel drifting in from the tarmac. Outside the wide glass window, planes glided across the runway like silver birds in exile.

Jack sat by the window, his passport resting beside a half-drunk cup of coffee, his grey eyes reflecting the rhythmic flashing lights of the departing aircraft. Across from him, Jeeny sat curled into her chair, her black hair still damp from the rain, her brown eyes carrying both nostalgia and wonder—the marks of someone who had just returned home, but wasn’t sure what “home” meant anymore.

The speaker overhead crackled with a soft announcement—another flight, another destination, another life waiting somewhere else.

Jeeny: “You know what Mem Fox said once? ‘You experience other cultures to give you a kind of shock that makes you look at your own culture. You appreciate it more as a result of being out of it, but you also realise there are some things lacking in your culture.’”

Jack: (smirking) “Sounds like the kind of thing people say after spending a few months backpacking through Southeast Asia.”

Jeeny: (smiling faintly) “Maybe. But she’s right, you know. You only see your world clearly when you step outside of it.”

Jack: “Or when you finally realize everyone else’s world is just as flawed.”

Host: A plane thundered overhead, shaking the windowpanes. The lights above flickered briefly, as if the sky itself was breathing. Jeeny’s fingers traced the rim of her cup, her gaze lost somewhere between memory and meaning.

Jeeny: “That’s the point though, isn’t it? You learn that no one’s culture is perfect. You fall in love with another way of living, another rhythm—and suddenly, your own feels both familiar and strange. Like coming home and realizing you’ve outgrown your own skin.”

Jack: “Or maybe you just get sentimental. People travel and suddenly think they’ve become philosophers. They see a few temples, a few markets, eat something exotic, and come back preaching about simplicity.”

Jeeny: “You sound cynical.”

Jack: “Realistic. Culture shock is temporary. The moment you’re back home, the old habits return. The comfort of your own system swallows the lesson whole.”

Jeeny: “Maybe for some. But for others—it changes everything. It makes you question what you thought was normal. When I lived in Japan, people bowed even to the bus driver. Every day. Respect wasn’t a transaction; it was part of life. Then I came home and realized how rare simple kindness had become.”

Host: Her voice softened, but carried a quiet ache, as if she were mourning something she had only just learned to see. The rain tapped gently on the glass, blurring the lights outside into streaks of muted gold.

Jack: “You’re saying travel makes you better?”

Jeeny: “No. It makes you more aware. Aware of your own privileges, your own blindnesses, your own walls. You start asking: Why do we rush so much? Why do we hide our emotions? Why do we value competition over connection?”

Jack: (leaning back) “Because that’s how societies survive. Efficiency, structure, ambition. It’s not pretty, but it works.”

Jeeny: “Does it? Look around you, Jack. Everyone’s tired. Everyone’s scrolling, performing, competing. We call it progress, but half of us are starving for meaning. Other cultures remind us there are other ways to live.”

Host: A pause—the kind that seems to stretch time, like a held breath before a confession. Jack’s eyes followed a group of travelers passing by: a family with children laughing in multiple languages, their voices echoing like a soft song of unity in motion.

Jack: “So what did you learn out there, Jeeny? What’s our culture missing?”

Jeeny: (thoughtfully) “Stillness. Gratitude. Maybe even grace. I learned that not everything has to be earned. In India, people shared what little they had without hesitation. In Greece, they lingered at dinner for hours—because time together mattered more than what was on the table. Here… we eat in our cars.”

Jack: (half-laughing) “You’re talking about utopias. Every place has rot under its charm. You saw generosity—someone else might’ve seen corruption, inequality, bureaucracy. It’s all perspective.”

Jeeny: “Perspective is exactly the point! It’s not about finding a perfect culture—it’s about realizing no one owns the definition of right. Once you know that, you stop judging and start listening.”

Host: The barista behind the counter clanged a cup, the sharp sound slicing through the heavy air. Jack rubbed his temple, his face caught between reflection and resistance.

Jack: “You know what I think? People travel to escape themselves. They say it’s to learn, to grow, but really—it’s just to disappear for a while. To pretend they can start over.”

Jeeny: “And what’s wrong with that?”

Jack: “It’s dishonest.”

Jeeny: “Or maybe it’s necessary. Sometimes stepping out of your own world is the only way to see who you’ve become in it.”

Host: The words hung like a truth neither wanted to own. The rain softened, turning into a delicate mist that caught the reflections of departing planes.

Jack: (quietly) “When I was stationed overseas, I thought I’d never miss home. I used to mock the things people back here held sacred—our obsession with schedules, rules, even our politeness. But when I came back, I missed the predictability, the small courtesies. I missed the rhythm. Guess I got my own culture shock coming home.”

Jeeny: (smiling gently) “See? That’s exactly what Fox meant. You left, and that absence made you see what was precious—and what was missing.”

Jack: (nodding) “Yeah. Maybe the shock works both ways. You see the beauty you took for granted... but also the cracks you refused to notice.”

Jeeny: “Exactly. That’s the gift of leaving—it teaches you how to return differently.”

Host: The announcement came: “Flight 72 to Lisbon, now boarding.” A few travelers rose, gathering their bags, their faces lit with a mix of excitement and fear—that strange alchemy of departure.

Jeeny: “You know, sometimes I think we all need to become strangers once in a while—to remember how to see.”

Jack: “And sometimes we need to come home to remember how to belong.”

Host: The camera panned slowly—Jeeny watching the planes rise into the fog, Jack tracing the condensation on the window. Two souls, caught between worlds, bound by the same truth:

That to truly understand where you are, you must first step away from it.
That every culture—like every person—needs both admiration and critique to stay alive.

Outside, a plane lifted into the dark sky, its lights flickering like a heartbeat in the distance.
And beneath it, two people sat in the half-lit quiet of a café, realizing that sometimes, the deepest way to love your home... is to leave it long enough to see it clearly.