I just need to give credit to Autumn. It’s beautiful and mysterious. It reminds me abstractedly of California Fall but it’s more surprising. The dry wind still signifies that Thanksgiving Day is coming, but the difference is the proximity of all colors together. Sure, trees change color in California too, but there’s no one to sweep the leaves away here. And the narrowness of the roads brings all the leaves together, so with the above-and-below of auburn, yellow, and orange, I’m surrounded in Fall – and I love it. And Los Angeles doesn’t have the sweet, fermenting wine smell. I have that here.
My stubbornness against the cold won’t hurt anyone else, but I’m a walking contradiction: I hate being cold, but resist layering up in loads of clothing. So I wore a skirt today. A denim miniskirt. (I haven’t worn a miniskirt of any kind since I was a cheerleader, meaning I wore miniskirts every Friday – woohoo!) But I want to soak up all bits of sunlight before I turn pallid, bundled in clothing I don’t want to be wearing.
In 18 days I’ll be testing my English on the GRE. My verbal and math skills had normally been about on par with each other, but studying English words in a Moldovaneasca-speaking country means I speak JUMBLISH. Words I thought I knew now look intimidating and, more often, annoying. Before October hit, I started really missing English, missing my understanding of nuances, missing the richness of our vocabulary. And then I started studying that richness and now I’m not so sure that we need scores of words for “criticism” or “bad-tempered.” And why does there have to be a separate word for “the support structures of measuring instruments”?
When I’m done being tested on my English-language vocabulary, I’m sure I’ll appreciate it once again. But for the time being, I need to start living the “don’t be afraid to aim high” blabber I’ve been exclaiming to those who have dared it before me. Ironically, last week was quite emotional and, frustratingly, without a specific stimulus. All the richness of two languages couldn’t describe my mood. Not that I’m new to the random desire to “cry it out” but an extended inability to sleep hit a head when I was reintroduced to shin splints. Part of aiming high means getting your hopes up – something I haven’t let myself do for a while (maybe that’s why it’s more exciting for me to “leave things to fate”). Trying to do everything you can to “do it right” means that you’ve put energy and hope and faith into it and you risk losing that when it doesn’t work out. But the biggest thing I’m remembering is that keeping your chin up is more important than not getting your hopes up. So I guess this is me saying: I’m not afraid to want something.
Of course this random entry is an example of my need to 1) clarify the previous frustration-filled “I hate winter” entry and 2) procrastinate from studying. But I’m going to get back to my vocabulary enhancing because I 1) see progress and 2) really want to go to graduate school. Since deciding spontaneously about a month ago that I would take the GRE, I’ve since increased my graduate school enthusiasm tenfold. Of course I have a tendency to change my “future plans” spontaneously and radically. I didn’t go to the college I accepted, I didn’t finish grad school applications one month before they were due, I left the Peace Corps decision up to destiny, and I still think about art school – but this is where my heart (and mind) is at the moment.
Not surprisingly, that enthusiasm has come hand-in-hand with a specific program direction. Perhaps if my interest for the program wanes, so, too, will my urgent desire for grad school. But no other program has ever gotten me so eager and motivated. You can’t ignore that spontaneous YES feeling. That’s what I always hope for – the unquestionable desire for something, the lack of uncertainty, and the ease of decision making. In fact, it’s one of the things I pray for on a reoccurring basis – the ease of decision making. But I also know myself well enough to never say “it won’t change,” just that it’s one more factor pointing me in the right direction, and watching it happen is captivating and reassuring. Of course, the other irony is that it’s the one program I scratched off immediately two years ago. Funny how it works out. I have no doubt that my experience here was necessary and that it is truly setting me up for everything that will follow…even if I “abhor pompous words” for a while.
Tuesday, October 14, 2008
Monday, September 29, 2008
One Year Down: Exhaling, Running, and Eating Apples
It’s been a weekend of exhaling, that’s what I’m calling it. It’s amazing how many times you can catch your muscles relaxing when you didn’t even notice that they had been tense. Let me catch you up with what followed my one-year-in-country moment: gray sky. Sixteen days without even a hint of blue sky, not one moment of sunshine. That’s 24/7 moodiness and complaining; 384 hours of “you’ve got to be kidding me” and “it’s way too early for this.” When September 1st came, so did a cool, dry wind, i.e. Fall. I told myself: it’s not that cold yet, this is ok. And then BOOM! My “congratulations for one year” was freezing rain on September 12th. The “cold months” in Moldova (as allocated by the Peace Corps heating allowance) are October through March
(read: HALF OF THE YEAR!). Six months is too long as it is, the additional September phase was not welcomed at all.
But, that’s all over now; there’s blue sky today. And there was blue sky yesterday, too. It started Saturday evening on my way home from a full Friday of baking. Let me tell you, for someone who hasn’t felt sunlight in a while, you can almost forget what it feels like on your face. It’s beautiful and calming. It’s necessary.
Other little “thank you” moments came from finding my tweezers, then my engraved Swiss Army knife, being able to (finally) save my documents after not being able to use the portable hard drive for an entire year, then reloading the operating system and applications on my computer. Being able to sign on to the internet from my own computer was exciting, too. But the largest, most anticipated exhale came today when I submitted two separate grant proposals, one of which asks for way too much money for something that is totally necessary.
Perhaps this is the more appropriate one-year-in-country entry, as only passing the one year mark has made me better able to reflect on it. As with the previously mentioned exhaling moments, I’ve found that my prayers changed a million times over, as well. They went from “please let this pass” to asking for patience to “please let this work” to trying to be open to what came my way. I cannot help but put expectations on some of these project proposals – one of the most dangerous non-defensive moves I can make. Yet the fact that I have actually put a significant amount of tangible work into these is not something I can easily ignore. Of course, there is a second option, and I just hope that I am optimistic enough to follow through with it if this 27,000 Euro request isn’t granted. It would prove that there’s no need to give up after a first try. And while that “proof” would be directed toward my Moldovan counterpart, it would be essential for my own learning as well.
Moldova has emphatically proven to me that what we learn in theory is not always easily transferred to practice. After graduating, I felt confident that I had enrichment my Child and Adolescent Development education with thorough, simultaneous practice. I’ve spouted multiple times that it was the busy schedule, the parallel of work and study that propelled my learning and made it more comprehensive. However, what works in California (in English) doesn’t necessarily work in village of 3,000 (in Romanian).
I realized that my “relationship” with youth, in front of a class, in the gym, and in uncomfortable situations, was language-dependent. Not just language in the English-Romanian sense, but language in my ability to communicate emotionally, to relate through examples, to choose age-appropriate responses and to explain myself. While it was immediately evident that I was the “talky coach,” I hadn’t outlined how I exhibited that – I just thought I talked more. I also hadn’t realized that those methods would be more difficult to utilize here.
Additionally surprising was the realization that I had always been “supplied” a group of youth, kids, girls, etc. What I hadn’t been prepared for was the motivating-from-scratch factor. Sure, I understand the necessity of motivating in all social domains, but motivating a group that isn’t yet formed, in a language you’ve just learned, for an interest that you came up with yourself….well, it develops a lot more slowly.
I also find that my patience with cultural difference, with questions that I feel are inappropriate, with hospitality that comes across as pushiness…well it tires. And yet, just when I snap and say something sarcastic to myself, I’m proven wrong and the motives that I judged as improper dissipate to reveal misconceptions and prejudgments on my part. Of course, I acknowledge the need to express frustration, especially as some get ready to leave for good. Working day in and day out with logistics that don’t make sense and apparent intrusions to personal space…well we spend so much time trying to have patience with it, trying to understand the beauty of cultural differences, that when the time comes when you can exhale and release all frustrations, when you no longer need to conform to someone else’s standard…I can see the liberation. But I’m not there yet. Right now I still have one more year, and, truthfully, I hope that I don’t need to think of it as liberation. I’d rather spend this next year finding better ways to express, explain, and stand up for myself.
And what I never knew how much I loved: chopped apples in brown sugar and cinnamon. I knew I like the combo as it’s the same as apple pie filling (and don’t get me started talking about pie…) but whenever eating or making an apple pie, I never ate the filling before baking it, and I never eat the filling without the crust (or it just wouldn’t be pie). But there’s something so enjoyable about crisp cool apples that make their own glaze when tossed with brown sugar.
I need to acknowledge that any moment of release, any of those “thank you moments” was aided by another person. I have been so blessed by the people around me. I’ve caught myself literally wondering why I have been as blessed as I am, and I know that I won’t hear or see an answer for years to come – if ever – but all I know is that I am frequently filled with divine gratitude and that all I can do is make it all worthwhile, to live up to it, not letting inconsequential factors get in the way of momentous and purposeful experiences.
On a similar subject, I’ve decided to train for another marathon, publicizing it as much as I can so that I have more motivation to get my tush outside when it gets permanently cold and uncomfortable. Last winter I didn’t know what to expect, which, in hindsight, helped me until March when I was confused about why it didn’t feel like Spring. The problem with this upcoming winter is that I know exactly how long it might very likely last and I don’t like it. While hibernating is comfortable when it’s cold outside, the 24/7 sedentary-ness doesn’t help your state of mind. So I’m going to stay active, to keep my mind moving, to fight the emotional-ness that creeps up indisputably in the winter. And yet, even though the majority of my winter-related thoughts involve grimacing and complaining, the random “it wasn’t actually that bad” thoughts come up from time to time, too. We’ll see. I do know, though, that I don’t plan on letting winter get the best of me. So I will run through the majority of the winter and February 13th I will run in Luxor City, both keeping me motivated and getting me to a warm climate in the winter.
And if there were any host family I would want to be snowed inside with, it would be this one. I feel no stress about food or communication here and they are always up for a chat when I need some non-American support. I know that I will stay here, in this house, for the full two years. I will not move families (don’t want to) and I will not live solo (nowhere to go anyway). But instead of being frustrated, I want to embrace the short-lived time when I will have homemade bread available everyday, when the patter of chickens is normal, and when all dairy is home-processed.
It doesn’t surprise me either, that while I may be adapting well enough to this situation, being out of the loop on happenings at home – and unable to help when need be – hasn’t gotten much easier.
Yes, I am enjoying my time in Moldova. Yes, to date I have had the experience that I could wish to have during the first 12 months. But I also know that the next year will bring even more uncertainty and anxiety and that it will shock me, as well. I can’t comprehend, let alone express, the weirdness that is living in an experience that you know will end. Working and adapting and fighting for an experience that you will soon leave can be reassuring but is often discouraging. I came here for an experience that I hoped would not be isolated, that I would utilize for years to come. And I trust that will be the case. But there will surely be some experiences, relationships, realizations, and memories that will remain only here…and that is enormously bizarre.
(read: HALF OF THE YEAR!). Six months is too long as it is, the additional September phase was not welcomed at all.
But, that’s all over now; there’s blue sky today. And there was blue sky yesterday, too. It started Saturday evening on my way home from a full Friday of baking. Let me tell you, for someone who hasn’t felt sunlight in a while, you can almost forget what it feels like on your face. It’s beautiful and calming. It’s necessary.
Other little “thank you” moments came from finding my tweezers, then my engraved Swiss Army knife, being able to (finally) save my documents after not being able to use the portable hard drive for an entire year, then reloading the operating system and applications on my computer. Being able to sign on to the internet from my own computer was exciting, too. But the largest, most anticipated exhale came today when I submitted two separate grant proposals, one of which asks for way too much money for something that is totally necessary.
Perhaps this is the more appropriate one-year-in-country entry, as only passing the one year mark has made me better able to reflect on it. As with the previously mentioned exhaling moments, I’ve found that my prayers changed a million times over, as well. They went from “please let this pass” to asking for patience to “please let this work” to trying to be open to what came my way. I cannot help but put expectations on some of these project proposals – one of the most dangerous non-defensive moves I can make. Yet the fact that I have actually put a significant amount of tangible work into these is not something I can easily ignore. Of course, there is a second option, and I just hope that I am optimistic enough to follow through with it if this 27,000 Euro request isn’t granted. It would prove that there’s no need to give up after a first try. And while that “proof” would be directed toward my Moldovan counterpart, it would be essential for my own learning as well.
Moldova has emphatically proven to me that what we learn in theory is not always easily transferred to practice. After graduating, I felt confident that I had enrichment my Child and Adolescent Development education with thorough, simultaneous practice. I’ve spouted multiple times that it was the busy schedule, the parallel of work and study that propelled my learning and made it more comprehensive. However, what works in California (in English) doesn’t necessarily work in village of 3,000 (in Romanian).
I realized that my “relationship” with youth, in front of a class, in the gym, and in uncomfortable situations, was language-dependent. Not just language in the English-Romanian sense, but language in my ability to communicate emotionally, to relate through examples, to choose age-appropriate responses and to explain myself. While it was immediately evident that I was the “talky coach,” I hadn’t outlined how I exhibited that – I just thought I talked more. I also hadn’t realized that those methods would be more difficult to utilize here.
Additionally surprising was the realization that I had always been “supplied” a group of youth, kids, girls, etc. What I hadn’t been prepared for was the motivating-from-scratch factor. Sure, I understand the necessity of motivating in all social domains, but motivating a group that isn’t yet formed, in a language you’ve just learned, for an interest that you came up with yourself….well, it develops a lot more slowly.
I also find that my patience with cultural difference, with questions that I feel are inappropriate, with hospitality that comes across as pushiness…well it tires. And yet, just when I snap and say something sarcastic to myself, I’m proven wrong and the motives that I judged as improper dissipate to reveal misconceptions and prejudgments on my part. Of course, I acknowledge the need to express frustration, especially as some get ready to leave for good. Working day in and day out with logistics that don’t make sense and apparent intrusions to personal space…well we spend so much time trying to have patience with it, trying to understand the beauty of cultural differences, that when the time comes when you can exhale and release all frustrations, when you no longer need to conform to someone else’s standard…I can see the liberation. But I’m not there yet. Right now I still have one more year, and, truthfully, I hope that I don’t need to think of it as liberation. I’d rather spend this next year finding better ways to express, explain, and stand up for myself.
And what I never knew how much I loved: chopped apples in brown sugar and cinnamon. I knew I like the combo as it’s the same as apple pie filling (and don’t get me started talking about pie…) but whenever eating or making an apple pie, I never ate the filling before baking it, and I never eat the filling without the crust (or it just wouldn’t be pie). But there’s something so enjoyable about crisp cool apples that make their own glaze when tossed with brown sugar.
I need to acknowledge that any moment of release, any of those “thank you moments” was aided by another person. I have been so blessed by the people around me. I’ve caught myself literally wondering why I have been as blessed as I am, and I know that I won’t hear or see an answer for years to come – if ever – but all I know is that I am frequently filled with divine gratitude and that all I can do is make it all worthwhile, to live up to it, not letting inconsequential factors get in the way of momentous and purposeful experiences.
On a similar subject, I’ve decided to train for another marathon, publicizing it as much as I can so that I have more motivation to get my tush outside when it gets permanently cold and uncomfortable. Last winter I didn’t know what to expect, which, in hindsight, helped me until March when I was confused about why it didn’t feel like Spring. The problem with this upcoming winter is that I know exactly how long it might very likely last and I don’t like it. While hibernating is comfortable when it’s cold outside, the 24/7 sedentary-ness doesn’t help your state of mind. So I’m going to stay active, to keep my mind moving, to fight the emotional-ness that creeps up indisputably in the winter. And yet, even though the majority of my winter-related thoughts involve grimacing and complaining, the random “it wasn’t actually that bad” thoughts come up from time to time, too. We’ll see. I do know, though, that I don’t plan on letting winter get the best of me. So I will run through the majority of the winter and February 13th I will run in Luxor City, both keeping me motivated and getting me to a warm climate in the winter.
And if there were any host family I would want to be snowed inside with, it would be this one. I feel no stress about food or communication here and they are always up for a chat when I need some non-American support. I know that I will stay here, in this house, for the full two years. I will not move families (don’t want to) and I will not live solo (nowhere to go anyway). But instead of being frustrated, I want to embrace the short-lived time when I will have homemade bread available everyday, when the patter of chickens is normal, and when all dairy is home-processed.
It doesn’t surprise me either, that while I may be adapting well enough to this situation, being out of the loop on happenings at home – and unable to help when need be – hasn’t gotten much easier.
Yes, I am enjoying my time in Moldova. Yes, to date I have had the experience that I could wish to have during the first 12 months. But I also know that the next year will bring even more uncertainty and anxiety and that it will shock me, as well. I can’t comprehend, let alone express, the weirdness that is living in an experience that you know will end. Working and adapting and fighting for an experience that you will soon leave can be reassuring but is often discouraging. I came here for an experience that I hoped would not be isolated, that I would utilize for years to come. And I trust that will be the case. But there will surely be some experiences, relationships, realizations, and memories that will remain only here…and that is enormously bizarre.
Saturday, August 30, 2008
Queen of the Coop
Using that category as the sole factor for the moment: Seeing as I’ve changed my mind so frequently over this past year (minus two weeks), I’m eager to see how many different routes pop up during this next year (plus a couple months).
Considering November will mark my first Presidential vote, I’ve decided to do something about the “I don’t want to spout uninformed opinions” mentality I’ve been hiding behind. I remember telling my grandpa once about preferring one candidate over another because I had a “better feeling” about one. (I was fourteen.) Well while the rest of my entries demonstrate my “go with your gut” inclination, that doesn’t quite roll with me when it comes to casting a vote. So I made a chart. It took very little time to actually make a visual of each candidate and where they stood on the issues that are most important to me. It doesn’t surprise me that after my (more educated) analysis, I’ve confirmed my previous preference. But now I feel more confident about why I feel one way or another.
And a little village humor now…I was home alone last night and then for the good part of today. So I was left in charge of the poultry. Seriously. It was my job to lock ‘em up at night and let ‘em loose in the morning. Did you know that birds will put themselves to bed at nightfall? I was imagining needing to chase the chickens into the coop before it became too dark to see, then consequently slipping in the dark mud, getting cranky, and leaving some of the chicks out to get eaten by village monsters. But no…I peaked in the coop and heard the “peep peep” of baby chicks, closed the door and went after the turkeys. The turkeys, too, put themselves away at night. They were perched up on ladders, side-by-side facing the wall. I closed the door and chuckled at the fact that it’s taken me nine months to be “farm helpful,” and even then, I didn’t do much. I did, however, get myself out of bed at seven – early even on non-Saturdays – to let the birds out…who didn’t rush out because it was raining. I wanted to see the birds run. I wanted them to fly out at my face with excitement! They didn’t, so I went back to bed.
But I am definitely much more comfortable living here. The school year starts again Monday and 13 days from now will mark One Year in Country (which isn’t quite the same as One Year Left).
Tuesday, July 29, 2008
Finding Serenity in Shock, Storms, and Stretch Marks
Another energy-consumed-by-calm feeling has come over me, signaling only that I’m ready to write again. And while I feel this is a necessary time to write, I don’t know where to start. So I will begin with something I wrote over a year ago:
“The world is blooming in front of me. Some flowers bloom and perfume the air while others turn ugly. But I want to see it all happen. I want to see the world at its ugliest. I want to be shocked and horrified. Surprised and emotionally connected to a world that isn't seemingly my own. I want to be challenged. Before I had wished for a middle-of-the-road experience as my first Peace Corps project. Now I want the hut. I want to be as far away from all crutches as possible...”
The world is blooming literally here – fresh and lush gardens combined with a widening world view. And I do want to see it all happen. I still want to see the ugly and the angry. But I needed to remind myself of that. Because I have been getting angry; I have been feeling disconnected from the world that is still my world, instead of feeling gratitude for this eye opening experience. I have seen generosity and humanity, but I have also seen selfishness and pain – from both fellow countrymen and from strangers.
In addition to the “shocked and horrified” I’ve also been impressed with my own unintentional prediction that one of my biggest goals and challenges would be in maintaining self-discipline throughout the self-defined schedule. Both ideas were written before I even knew I would be coming to
One of the biggest difficulties is finding balance, and it’s not just one type of balance, but quite a ridiculous number of opposites that I’ve been trying to equalize: time in the village and time in the city, responsibility to the point of guilt or acting like a volunteer to the point of indifference, not caring what people think and not wanting to offend anyone, productivity or cultural integration, frustration for change or acceptance for the situation.
Listening intuitively is something I seem to remind myself of only randomly. Sometimes it seems to carry more pressed importance to me than others, but it’s a growing process – though I may forget to listen to the greater will of things at times, when I do listen, my faith and trust grows exponentially so that the general growth is positive…and powerful. You have to try it to feel it; you have to feel it to trust it, to believe it. I’m saying this entirely to myself because I know what darkness feels like. I know what little sense “blind faith” can hold when you are shrouded and deaf. That’s the word: deaf. It’s not so much “sight” as “hearing,” as “listening.” Simple things such as: what do I want at this simple moment, where do I want to be? Then getting up from the bus stop and walking to the river so that I can see some glimpse of water in this ocean-deprived country. And so instead of waiting for the I-don’t-know-when-it-will-get-here bus, I sat somewhere more enjoyable and got up only when I was ready; no looking at the time. Then as I get back to the bus stop, I wait only five minutes before the bus comes to take me home.
Home. Yes, it’s “home” because it is where I felt most comfortable after the three consecutive nights in different places. It’s home because it’s where I was heading when I finally felt relieved of the eggshells I had been walking on for ten months.
At first, I defined that “relief” as the spontaneous readiness to stop caring about what other people thought (while admitting to myself that it had been a silent source of steady stress since coming to country). Though, I now realize that my spontaneous transition is greater than just eggshells. It’s the readiness to listen at every moment. To close my eyes and ask where I want to be, what I feel, where I’m being led at each moment, so that I let things work out the way they are supposed to work out instead of trying to fix everything all the time – instead of thinking that I know what’s best. I don’t. There is a cycle, a purpose, a harmony to things when we let them work out, and I want to let them work out. I don’t want to ignore the obvious. And I’ve said this to myself for the last two years but I don’t always act on it. I feel wholeheartedly that by getting down to the gut-of-the-matter, all of the “Peace Corps balances” will be found.
But I need to acknowledge the others that lead their life this way. There is something necessary in my reading The Meaning of Life and The Tao of Pooh (and, sure, The Alchemist, too) that reminds me that someone else is thinking the same thing. And, yes, that’s nice…but to know the PEOPLE, to see their lives and to feel their energy, their peace, their lightness of step…to know the people who lead their lives on a regular basis based on the subtle “this is where I need to be” feeling…well it’s awesomely inspiring. When we ask ourselves simply: what would I miss most if I couldn’t have it in my life? And then following that, regardless of how weird or scary that path may be… I’m not ready for that question yet, let alone the answer, but I am already grateful for those that I have seen make that step. Ideally, when I get there, I’ll be able to take that jump too.
In one year and four months.
Backing up to tell you a story:
I didn’t know how long I would wait for the minibus, I knew only that there would be nothing between
As I reread this entry, it sounds unintentionally serious. I want to shift slightly to talk about something ridiculous – stretch marks. To me, the name implies that they should come when something stretches, so why then are they popping up by the hordes as I have been shrinking? I expected them to come…like, you know…during the winter…when I stretched. I’ve done enough up-and-down ridiculousness to my body to know that they were bound to make their appearance. It’s the timing I don’t get. But yes, so summer and some larger sense of serenity have brought a natural (and unintentional) return back to normalness – productively and in weight. But it seems like every week there are more little red lines that join the crowd. “Hello to the summer season of shorts and swimsuits,” they say. Lovely and illogical.
And today I was back in Soroca and I saw how much the river has risen in the last few days – it’s incredible! It’s only about a meter from the top of the wall. We used to see cattle grazing on the river bank, but now we see only half of corn fields and the topmost leaves of trees. The river is speeding more steadily, but the rumor is that the storm has been the worst in 100 years! (No wonder I was scared for my life!) The other “word on the street” is that it will flood. And we have no drainage system. Already the bus station in Soroca is blocked by a street’s worth of water.
But summer has also been filled with multiple BBQ’s – the majority of which involve getting rained on. Last summer was a drought, this summer a swimming pool. It’s also involved seminar series and more time reminding myself that I like being in that educational setting. Business plans busted out in too short a period of time, but business plans nonetheless. Less time was spent writing, but I think I made up for it with the length of this entry. And now that I have my new shoes (thank you!) I’m running again, I’m active, I’m outside. I’m punching-bag-less but I’m burning adrenaline, I’m doing something productive with my emotional antsiness. Hallelujah! Another way of relieving stress: cutting your hair…yourself. Three-to-four inches of dry hair chopped off with loose scissors and my own hands. The process is just as refreshing as the fresher and “bouncier” result. A lot of time has been spent thinking about post-Peace Corps endeavors, but I can’t spend the endless amount of time internet-searching grad programs because I don’t have an endless amount of internet time to do so. But I think about it. A lot. I think a lot. Maybe too much. But now it’s time to listen.
Sunday, June 22, 2008
Sunday's Sudden Want
I don't know what it was about today. It was a while in the making, but perhaps the cool lazy breeze on this rainless summer day was the catalyst. Perhaps it was the lack of desire to get on a bus and realizing instead that what I wanted more than anything...what I couldn't stop picturing in my head...was that California back yard on a summer afternoon, with my easle set up under the shade of the walnut tree and a cool glass of water in my hand, a paintbrush in the other. I wanted to be painting. I wanted to be outside. And I wanted to be in a comfortable, home-like setting - someplace I knew where all I would think of was the canvas in front of me, the stroke of the brush, the mood, the world I was painting. It wasn't so much that I didn't want to be in Moldova. It had nothing to do with wanting to leave. I just wanted to have that same feeling with me - and I didn't. It was the strength of that wanting and the subsequent disappointment that surprised me. I know that I can't paint on my bedroom wall anymore, but I wanted to. I wanted a big, limitless canvas. And I wanted it immediately. I bought some paints instead, plus a handful of brushes and some paper. And I will paint soon and I will love it.
Tuesday, June 10, 2008
Sweets and Sweating
I came back to the village last evening since leaving for the States 18 days earlier. I noticed that the roads were bordered by lush green trees and vines overflowing into the roads and I smiled at the semi-rainforest-like appearance. But the biggest excitement was seeing my house, surrounded by natural, fresh greenery. Walkways are smaller as the plant-life reaches out in all directions. Our front door is almost blocked from street-view and when I look to the East I can no longer look directly at the primaria because natural curtains have sprung up animatedly. It’s the speed of this lush development that surprises me, but it’s the natural aesthetics that excite me. I’m living in my own little rain-sprung forest in the middle of
I haven’t unpacked yet. It’s almost
I just picked fresh red strawberries from the garden, washed them and ate them. That was after walking forty-five minutes from the main road where the minibus dropped me off. Which I can do now because it’s still light at
My nails have never grown this quickly and I’ve never had so many split ends – due to the lack of conditioner use probably, considering the less frequent washing makes it unnecessary. “Just condition the tips,” they tell me. Still, the irony: less frequent washing + less frequent hair dryer use = more split ends?
This week we’re officially starting the “I’ll lead classes in exchange for your community involvement” stuff. To be specific: an English class and an aerobics class. The benefit? All are welcome because they’ll be helping out and “demonstrating responsibility.” Yes, I am going to lead an English group. Yes, even though I said I was done teaching English. But I am okay with it since it will only run as long as the community activities keep getting done. Example: this week, after the aerobics group, we’re going to clean up outside of the center for twenty minutes or so. One week we’ll clean up the park, the mayor’s office, the elderly center. Another week each participant will bring a piece of clothing or a toy as payment and we’ll distribute the collection to needy families. This was my condition. And so far, it’s being met with great interest – as long as the “bait” classes are catching attention. English classes tend to do that, so there you have it. In addition, I’ll use the English classes as “project-related seminar-like” time, meaning I’ll teach vocabulary that’s necessary for grant proposal writing and tourism and daily communication. Thus, I’ll use this as an outlet to get some other unofficial trainings in the mix.
Out of all months that have passed – nine now – June has snuck up the most sneakily. I know that has much to do with my significant absence from the village during May, but that time was still filled with goings on and events…hence the speed, probably.
I don’t want to talk about my time in the States, and don’t ask me why because I don’t know. The only possible answer I’ll give you is that I’m tired of talking about it. But I can say wholeheartedly, with neither doubt nor obligation, that I love my family more than ever. And that includes every so-and-so’s wife or cousin or brother. I don’t, however, get tired of saying that the only cultural “shock” was having to remind myself that I could put the paper INTO the toilet…and then subsequently reminding myself NOT to when I got back. That’s what buckets are for. That’s not “shock,” though, just habit-breaking.
Life and work are starting to pick up as summer comes a-callin’ – as everyone said they would. But even as I start taking on more responsibility I still enjoy the free time. I don’t want the high-paced 12-hour work days, 7 days per week. It was a hard adjustment to make from busy to slow, but I rather like it now. It’s probably going to make the reverse transition even more frustrating, but I don’t plan on jumping into a working world anytime soon anyway.
I want to re-iterate my much abused articulation that I love when things get decided for us, when we stress and worry about decisions that tend to work themselves out. And what I love is that it doesn’t only happen for me (of course it doesn’t), but I LOVE that it is also obvious to others. It is a relief to me; it sustains faith and trust in how things work. It’s not blind faith, it’s visible blessings. I’m not talking about things that go “wrong,” although that has its own process of “rightness,” but I’m talking about when you know deep down in your gut that the right decision was made FOR you (or sometimes in conjunction with your choices). No, not when some peer or boss was trying to decide your life for you; I mean the complete opposite. It’s a gentle nudge in the right direction. We don’t always see how we affect other people, but I believe (and I witness!) that when we make the best, most honest and most true-to-heart decisions, they ripple onto others in the most beautiful of ways.
Unfortunately, this weird half-language life we live makes most of us passive aggressive. I don’t like saying “no” to the girls who want me to teach them English. They’ll pay me, they say. They want to work in tourism. They want to find a good, legitimate job. I don’t want to teach them from scratch. First, I don’t really know how. Secondly, I can’t possibly teach everyone that asks (and that’s five now) so how do you say “yes” to some and “no” to others? Slippery slope reasoning tends to come from some rational fear. The trick is having a reaction that’s more rational than the reasoning. Maybe if I teach you English, you can teach me Russian? We also don’t want to offend anyone. But talking to my host mother about some of the interpersonal occurrences that have plagued some volunteers, I see that such things are not “normal” here either, even if they are more frequent.
Here I am fully acknowledging that Saying-No-To-Too-Much-Work was a highlighted issue in my American life, too…as it is for many of us. But language and “cultural sensitivity” combined with wanting to feel useful all tend to exacerbate the dilemma.
I went back and read some of the letters and emails I’ve written to individuals. I think those, more so than my public journaling, will be quite monumental to read when I look back on this in a few years. They’re not necessarily filled with award-winning philosophy or writing, but with experiences that I catalogued in more detail, with more candid reactions.
Blisters, by the way, can eat my feet alive but they’ve got nothing on me! Wearing glasses in the rain, however, is not my favorite thing to do. Although I’ve found that since traveling through rain last summer with broken rolling luggage, I don’t mind being in the rain – as long as I’m not 1) wearing glasses because then I can’t see 2) cold or 3) ruining anything valuable, but seeing as I’m low on that category of belongings…
Besides, when you walk for half an hour in a DOWNPOUR you get to enjoy the “stare at the crazy Americans” faces and the warm clothes you change into. Coming home to someone eating the majority of your remaining PRECIOUS dark chocolate covered almonds, however, is NOT one of my favorite things.
This season is already starting to test my “I’d rather be hot than cold” theory. See, I could always roll down the windows of my air-conditioning-less car, but in
And I have a camera again! Hoorah and thank you! So hopefully I will be able to share more visuals-that-aren’t-displayed-through-figurative-writing. Here’s to extended daylight, fresh fruit, and being able to go outside in shorts!
Thursday, May 1, 2008
The Walrus, The Godson, and the Funeral
April 28, 2008
I had a punching bag at home. I didn’t always use it. But I could’ve. I would like to. Very much. And not particularly because I’d like to hit anyone. If I wanted to hit someone, I would say: I want to hit someone. Instead, I want to hit the punching bag. I want to hit it because it’s possible to hit a punching bag in the winter when you’re tired of doing sit ups in your room but when you can’t go outside because it’s…you know…cold.
I want to hit the punching bag because I have two things: frustration and energy. I’ve realized what my challenge will be while I’m here. And that is invigorating but displeasing.
The time has come, the walrus said,
To get up off your tush.
And though I’m leaving to the States
I feel an angry rush,
To get more done that others see,
To show them what I do.
And not pretend I’ve done enough
Because it isn’t true.
The time has passed, the seasons say,
when language-learning reigns
When I can take my time to act
Because of snowy days.
So now they want to know my cause
The reason that I’m here.
Hope that I, as well, will know,
Before we end the year.
The time is up, my conscience says,
For waiting for my cue.
No more doing this half-way
Or waiting around on you.
Let’s jump into some bigger goals
Let’s start them right away
But, of course, I’m leaving soon,
Thus goes another May.
We can find a middle road. We can all be satisfied – at least you and I can be. Except when I mentioned one of my ideas today, I heard: Great idea, but let’s wait until summer. Ok, so I’ll play it your way until then. But I’m going to bring it up every week until you agree. And if you don’t, I’ll change things around. It’s the balance between “waiting you out” and “getting it done” that we volunteers struggle with.
On a happier note, I really enjoyed Romania. I lived the vacation, without letting the worries destroy the adventure. And I hope to do the same in the States. I enjoyed the stress-free company, the mountain air, the gothic architecture, the small-town feel of Old Town, the rich Italian food and the Scottish pub. I enjoyed being legally away from my village. I enjoyed the eagerness with which I returned, the tulips flaunting their bright red vastness. “Do you have these flowers where you are?” I don’t like this question. I feel ignorant when I don’t know. No, I wanted to say. “But I guess there must be,” is my normal sort-of answer, “because the country is so big.” Regardless, I’ve never seen so many, so bright, so magnificent. I tried sketching them but they deserve the richness of paint.
When in Romania, I was told that my accent is more Moldovan than American. “You’re learning, then,” they tell me. I didn’t take it as an insult; I think it’s amusing. In Moldova, I’m Dutch, Finnish, Romanian…and sometimes American. People either immediately guess I’m American or it’s completely confused. Fine by me. I’m never this ambiguous in the States. It’s kind of fun. And if they know I speak English, I’m American, not English.
We were actually only in Romania for two full days. The other two were dedicated to travel. But I thought it would rain the entire time we were there (or even snow). It only rained momentarily and we were inside at that point anyway. It was such a wonderful weekend. It was a blessing. We were going to go two weekends earlier, when it would’ve been gray and rainy anyway. You can’t always plan these things. In fact, you’ve probably read a million time that I don’t think they are planned. They’ve been happening for me. And I want to always remember that. To always be grateful for that.
And Easter was lovely. The two days before consisted of leisurely baking – one type of bread after another, and then some more. At four thirty in the morning I went to church (well, outside the church) to bless the special “pasca” bread. The day of Easter was blue and perfectly warm, with a slight breeze. The following day (today) was gray and rainy. It could easily have been reversed. But it wasn’t. And that just makes me calm with excitement. Perfect. The Easter service apparently took place the night before – starting at eleven and ending right before the bread blessing. Not that I could’ve attended (we were still preparing stuffed cabbage leaves, “sarmale” – yum!) but I would’ve like to. Although there are times when women are not allowed in the church. Actually, there’s only one time when they’re not allowed, and it repeats every month. Unless you’re Samantha, in which case…well enough of my bleeding health. It was a beautiful day regardless of what time the service started that I didn’t know about.
And what a perfect day to baptize a baby! Easter Sunday! I’m a godmother! You will come visit me in America, I thought. And then his father brought it up as well, though apparently his first-born, nine-years-old, said it first: he will go visit Samantha. I’m serious, I said. “So am I,” he repeated. Good, we’re agreed. And you, baby boy, will be my reason for never forgetting Romanian.
And then…
I don’t know why it feels that deaths happen around holidays. Of course they happen every day – multiple times a day actually. But in this instance, you can’t possible look at this last week and not feel the purpose behind it, the unbeknownst beauty of it. Exactly one week ago today, this full-headed baby boy was born. And then comes Easter, monument of the cycle of birth and death and rebirth. And then early Tuesday morning brings the mourning of a loss, a death. Exactly one week after this family celebrated a new birth. But she got to see him.
But the day was eye-opening. How many people came to help and support and prepare food and move tables! The holidays normally have family members preparing food in their own houses, but as this was a one-family affair, it seemed as if all flooded into the house – and it was wonderful. Everyone was busy with something that they seemed made for. You cut this and I’ll chop that. I’ll set up the candles and you can clear the wine. And it kept moving and kept rotating. And there was no stopping. Even as I walked out of my room at nine, there was evidence of emptied glasses, eaten food, and the whole Easter set-up had been turned into a traditional wake. In fact, it’s almost midnight and there’s still been no pause – although all are inside now. I’ve also never seen so much bread in my life. And this is after announcing the pre-Easter bake fest.
The service was hardest for me because that’s when the reality set it. It’s also when the homesickness-that-didn’t-exist decided to exist. “I don’t need to go to the States,” I said, “so it’s a good time to go.” Well during that service, I wanted my family. I came home, cried for thirty seconds, and felt better. Long day, and here is May.
I had a punching bag at home. I didn’t always use it. But I could’ve. I would like to. Very much. And not particularly because I’d like to hit anyone. If I wanted to hit someone, I would say: I want to hit someone. Instead, I want to hit the punching bag. I want to hit it because it’s possible to hit a punching bag in the winter when you’re tired of doing sit ups in your room but when you can’t go outside because it’s…you know…cold.
I want to hit the punching bag because I have two things: frustration and energy. I’ve realized what my challenge will be while I’m here. And that is invigorating but displeasing.
The time has come, the walrus said,
To get up off your tush.
And though I’m leaving to the States
I feel an angry rush,
To get more done that others see,
To show them what I do.
And not pretend I’ve done enough
Because it isn’t true.
The time has passed, the seasons say,
when language-learning reigns
When I can take my time to act
Because of snowy days.
So now they want to know my cause
The reason that I’m here.
Hope that I, as well, will know,
Before we end the year.
The time is up, my conscience says,
For waiting for my cue.
No more doing this half-way
Or waiting around on you.
Let’s jump into some bigger goals
Let’s start them right away
But, of course, I’m leaving soon,
Thus goes another May.
We can find a middle road. We can all be satisfied – at least you and I can be. Except when I mentioned one of my ideas today, I heard: Great idea, but let’s wait until summer. Ok, so I’ll play it your way until then. But I’m going to bring it up every week until you agree. And if you don’t, I’ll change things around. It’s the balance between “waiting you out” and “getting it done” that we volunteers struggle with.
On a happier note, I really enjoyed Romania. I lived the vacation, without letting the worries destroy the adventure. And I hope to do the same in the States. I enjoyed the stress-free company, the mountain air, the gothic architecture, the small-town feel of Old Town, the rich Italian food and the Scottish pub. I enjoyed being legally away from my village. I enjoyed the eagerness with which I returned, the tulips flaunting their bright red vastness. “Do you have these flowers where you are?” I don’t like this question. I feel ignorant when I don’t know. No, I wanted to say. “But I guess there must be,” is my normal sort-of answer, “because the country is so big.” Regardless, I’ve never seen so many, so bright, so magnificent. I tried sketching them but they deserve the richness of paint.
When in Romania, I was told that my accent is more Moldovan than American. “You’re learning, then,” they tell me. I didn’t take it as an insult; I think it’s amusing. In Moldova, I’m Dutch, Finnish, Romanian…and sometimes American. People either immediately guess I’m American or it’s completely confused. Fine by me. I’m never this ambiguous in the States. It’s kind of fun. And if they know I speak English, I’m American, not English.
We were actually only in Romania for two full days. The other two were dedicated to travel. But I thought it would rain the entire time we were there (or even snow). It only rained momentarily and we were inside at that point anyway. It was such a wonderful weekend. It was a blessing. We were going to go two weekends earlier, when it would’ve been gray and rainy anyway. You can’t always plan these things. In fact, you’ve probably read a million time that I don’t think they are planned. They’ve been happening for me. And I want to always remember that. To always be grateful for that.
And Easter was lovely. The two days before consisted of leisurely baking – one type of bread after another, and then some more. At four thirty in the morning I went to church (well, outside the church) to bless the special “pasca” bread. The day of Easter was blue and perfectly warm, with a slight breeze. The following day (today) was gray and rainy. It could easily have been reversed. But it wasn’t. And that just makes me calm with excitement. Perfect. The Easter service apparently took place the night before – starting at eleven and ending right before the bread blessing. Not that I could’ve attended (we were still preparing stuffed cabbage leaves, “sarmale” – yum!) but I would’ve like to. Although there are times when women are not allowed in the church. Actually, there’s only one time when they’re not allowed, and it repeats every month. Unless you’re Samantha, in which case…well enough of my bleeding health. It was a beautiful day regardless of what time the service started that I didn’t know about.
And what a perfect day to baptize a baby! Easter Sunday! I’m a godmother! You will come visit me in America, I thought. And then his father brought it up as well, though apparently his first-born, nine-years-old, said it first: he will go visit Samantha. I’m serious, I said. “So am I,” he repeated. Good, we’re agreed. And you, baby boy, will be my reason for never forgetting Romanian.
And then…
I don’t know why it feels that deaths happen around holidays. Of course they happen every day – multiple times a day actually. But in this instance, you can’t possible look at this last week and not feel the purpose behind it, the unbeknownst beauty of it. Exactly one week ago today, this full-headed baby boy was born. And then comes Easter, monument of the cycle of birth and death and rebirth. And then early Tuesday morning brings the mourning of a loss, a death. Exactly one week after this family celebrated a new birth. But she got to see him.
But the day was eye-opening. How many people came to help and support and prepare food and move tables! The holidays normally have family members preparing food in their own houses, but as this was a one-family affair, it seemed as if all flooded into the house – and it was wonderful. Everyone was busy with something that they seemed made for. You cut this and I’ll chop that. I’ll set up the candles and you can clear the wine. And it kept moving and kept rotating. And there was no stopping. Even as I walked out of my room at nine, there was evidence of emptied glasses, eaten food, and the whole Easter set-up had been turned into a traditional wake. In fact, it’s almost midnight and there’s still been no pause – although all are inside now. I’ve also never seen so much bread in my life. And this is after announcing the pre-Easter bake fest.
The service was hardest for me because that’s when the reality set it. It’s also when the homesickness-that-didn’t-exist decided to exist. “I don’t need to go to the States,” I said, “so it’s a good time to go.” Well during that service, I wanted my family. I came home, cried for thirty seconds, and felt better. Long day, and here is May.
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