I am eggs benedict. More precisely, I am the search for eggs benedict, the effort of the Runaway Bride to find out which type of egg she personally prefers rather than siding along with the will of her fiancé-at-the-time. Not that my taste in eggs has changed drastically based on my fiancés-at-the-time, but this is where I am. Even if it means deciding not to pick a favorite. The choice will be my own.
I don’t want to write about all the self-discovering I’ve been enjoying because, frankly, I don’t want to hear “I told you so.” Secondly, it’s still in the process. And while avoiding “I told you so” should not be my motive, I’m enjoying this bit of privacy. Yes, Daddy, if my time here involves learning something significant about myself, it’s time well spent. In that case, it’s already well spent and I’d like to continue spending some more emotional cash. Preferably on something more than eggs.
Fortunately, however, there’s also been some international development sprinkled into the mix. While international development of other nations is not the same as my self-development that happens internationally, both matter.
I’m going to start with the basic up-to-do’s because the second portion of this entry will be jumbled and probably quite boring for those who aren’t interested in the most complex of my mental adventures.
Work: We just submitted a (quite small) grant proposal so that my partner can start attracting first-time voters to next year’s election. Why do we need money to do this? For a civic participation expert to come run seminars. And for paper. (Hence the “quite small” label.) I say “so my partner can” because I’m not supposed to be related to anything political, even if it’s nonpartisan voter outreach. Peace Corps is one of the only governmental orgs whose representatives are (supposed to be) consciously un-political. But I’m happy to be involved through noninvolved means – helping the people who help inform other people of their voting rights.
Teaching: I love it. But I’m not an English teacher. I’m ESPECIALLY not an English-as-a-Foreign-Language teacher. To be honest, I wasn’t actually sure about my inability to teach the language to people who have no previous knowledge of English. It was more the principle of not wanting others to assume that I would do so that kept the “NO” spilling out of my mouth. I am now quite convinced of my current lack of qualifications. I am, though, grateful for the simultaneous confirmation of my enjoyment of being in a classroom. Let’s hope, folks, that next time it is out of my own will and accord. Especially if I’m on my egg quest.
Speaking of which, I don’t remember why I haven’t eaten mayonnaise for years. Well, yes I do. Does it really taste better here or am I only ignoring the caloric factor? I do know that French butter tastes better than American butter and Moldovan butter tastes like French butter. I embrace the French-famed “don’t eat anything that doesn’t taste good, even if it’s healthy” philosophy. So yes, I eat butter here. I like the butter more than the oil and the mayonnaise better than the sugar. In moderation, of course. Moderation, said the man with the black hat. As did the prince under the tree. The
The
People really do learn English from films. Real people have spoken to me with the English they’ve learned from films. This is a subconscious form of language learning that I am jealous of. I’ve also realized that I quite appreciate English. My appreciation for English richness, for the detailed say-exactly-what-I’m-trying-to-say-ness…it’s flourishing. English is born for those who take too long to think of the right word (Sam). It performs for people who don’t like being misunderstood because they’ve put such care into how they phrase themselves. That, by the way, is the main reason for my sometimes paused-filled speech. It is not, contrary to belief, a desire to tip-toe over delicate feelings, but my preference for being understood.
What is more important at the moment is my realization that the person who is in most need of understanding is Samantha, herself. Thus the Romanian Frustration becomes almost obsolete. The lack of satisfying brainstorming, even in English, becomes inconsequential. Because, at this point, my articulateness (or lack of) is only as important as the thoughts it conveys.
Sorry for the vagueness. I’ll elaborate. I realize that not only do I appreciate this language’s ability for me to express my new discoveries, but I appreciate this language for the discoveries I make about the language. I like languages. I like learning languages. I LOVE learning new languages. For some people, political science is their grasp on reality, their relation to other countries, to an understanding of history. Perhaps science does it for you. Perhaps sports history is your cover-all. I think language is my eggs benedict. I wrote awhile ago (to my own amusement) of the ways in which being bilingual impresses me. I realized that it’s not just the ability to speak multiple languages, but the cultural understanding that comes with it. There truly ARE concepts that do not exist in other languages. (This coming from the “Just tell me what it means!” girl) So a person who has a fluid grasp on more than one language also understands the flexibility of concepts that comes with each. And so, now, I am not only possessed with the almost insane desire to speak 50 languages, but to understand them as well. Slight difference, big change.
I don’t need you to read my words; I just need to say them. I don’t need you to understand them; I just need to understand my own motive. Motive. That’s the key.
So when I say something in Romanian when trying to say something entirely different, I can live. As long as I didn’t insult anyone when talking on the village “radio” three times in one week, I’m good.
There is a reason for all things. There is a reason why God brought me to
So here I am: not writing the emails I should be writing because I’m enjoying watching eggs scramble. And I’m surrounded by a deceptively warm day and a constellation-filled night. And I love it.
P.S. I think the once-a-month instead of once-a-week journal entry is a good sign.
