March 17, 2009
A couple of weeks ago I found myself very irritable, stuck within some frustrating combination of apathy and anger. I would cry at unnecessary moments, snap at those who were trying to help me, and get frustrated at the simplest of questions. I felt significantly disappointed by those around me and I didn’t really know where it came from. The answer, though, always almost comes from within.
We were told from the beginning to reevaluate our expectations. Every step of the way, a sign of frustration is followed by someone questioning our expectations. Lowering expectations is not something you can say to a group of overachievers who have crossed great ponds to meet their high standards. And if my “unrealistic expectations” had been replaced by something more appropriate from the onset, perhaps I wouldn’t be where I am. But no one can give you a correct set of expectations while simultaneously telling you that each experience is unique.
My current frustration came from the shock of another awkward transition from the dead depression of winter to the unexpected wake-up call of not-quite-spring. You see, I have reassessed my expectations on a continual basis, trying to find ways to match any worthwhile outcome to existing opportunities. And yet, it keeps getting redesigned, new expectations keep getting thrown out at me, and what I once threw out as dead or dying has been resurrected and thrown in my face.
As of the 12th, I have been in Moldova for a year and six months. And the first of us will Close Service in 7 months (excluding those who have/will leave early for medical, educational, personal, or additional reasons).
I think, ultimately, it’s fatigue. It’s not homesickness; it was an overall lack of energy and a reluctance to take on more responsibility because I don’t want to be disappointed, to fail.
“Many volunteers feel they need to create a monument,” he told me. And I didn’t get it at first. “Like a statue?” I said. “No, like a monument project: one concrete accomplishment to signify their service.” And I got the impression that he was either judging them or trying to persuade me into not relying on that same evaluation of my service: based on one concrete accomplishment. And I do agree that the perspective I’ll gain in ten years will shine light on the significance of each of these daily activities, but I also understand the longing for something solid…at least until the time of great perspective has washed over me.
Purging expectations is not the same as lowering standards.
When March came and I noticed the grayness, I remembered two stories. In Moldova, spring starts on March 1st and there is a story that starts on that day: the story of “Baba Dochia.” (doh-kee-ya) In this story, a woman ventures out with the first sign of spring on March 1 and as the sun slowly comes out, she gradually undresses. First her scarf, then her hat and gloves. Next come her large coat and sweater. And once she has taken off all of her clothes and the sun has warmed her whole body, the winter wind whips back and freezes her to death. This is the warning of the first week of spring: it’s a tease, keep your clothes on. What a depressing story. But I definitely remember to keep well-clothed and to not be tricked by the sun.
The second story is actually a memory. I forget the reason (probably that same intestinal parasite), but I stayed in the medical apartment last March. I was in the kitchen with a volunteer who would finish up that summer and we were both looking out the window at the gray March sky. I was wondering why it didn’t look like spring yet. “I remember it being nice by April,” she told me. True enough, I remember the Romania trip taking place on the first sunny weekend, the second week in April. So my shock at the March grayness was mitigated this time around and, knowing that spring truly is around the corner, I feel more patient.
Some of the girls that I had been working with have just let me know that they are going to be too busy to continue our weekly English meetings because they’ll be studying for their graduation examinations, etc. I understand, but I’m saddened; these were great girls and I enjoyed this source of consistency. I had also hoped that the relationships would develop. There’s still time. And that’s not the full extent of my activities in the village, but I looked forward to it. And it was an opportunity. The fewer people I meet with, the fewer opportunities there are.
As grim as this letter might sound, I actually feel a lot better. I feel calmer and I try to remember to stretch and pray more frequently, to say my mind, and to not take things so personally. And I feel like a have come through another transition and am now in a new (although unchanged) part of my service. I still have no doubt that I want to finish – and part of it is simple curiosity to see what will come of the full experience, what might come at the end. I’m also just not ready to leave.
Thursday, March 19, 2009
Sunday, February 22, 2009
Masa Hypocrisy
To add a little humility to my seemingly “I know how to live life correctly” entry below, let me just say that I’m humbled by my own realization that I have not been invited to nearly as many meals as I assumed I would’ve. I’m not normally the “I can’t believe I wasn’t invited” person, but this is supposed to be a culture of inviting everyone over, of spontaneous meals that come from nowhere for the guest who just popped in. And even my host mom commented that it was weird that none of the students I work with invited me to their house for one of the millions of holiday celebrations. Or my former partner (ever). But that’s the weird line between teacher and friend. I’m neither I guess.
I am perfectly aware of my hypocrisy; I want to be with my host family. Having spent so much time running back and forth to Chisinau, I like to just be at home, especially during the holidays, when we have family here as well. And there has been a friend of the family who has invited me to her village on innumerable occasions and I have turned her down repeatedly because of the rarity that I am actually at home and thus prefer to stay home. And the spontaneous “you need to come to my house to eat loads of food” hospitality can sometimes be stressful instead of flattering.
But now that I realize that I’ve only been to one spontaneous evening (which included two houses – and that was one year ago), well I feel a little disappointed. Am I just not warm with these people? Is my village just slightly less tied to this tradition? I do know that the various traditions of saying “good morning” also vary from village to village. In some villages I should only speak to women. In other villages, anyone older than me (as in my current village now). And the frequency with which young children (and teenage boys) say hello to their elders varies greatly. It is then my hypothesis that the “open doors, big table” attitude parallels the variations in “good morning” frequency.
And yet, I still feel a bizarre combination of rejected, guilty, and disappointed.
I am perfectly aware of my hypocrisy; I want to be with my host family. Having spent so much time running back and forth to Chisinau, I like to just be at home, especially during the holidays, when we have family here as well. And there has been a friend of the family who has invited me to her village on innumerable occasions and I have turned her down repeatedly because of the rarity that I am actually at home and thus prefer to stay home. And the spontaneous “you need to come to my house to eat loads of food” hospitality can sometimes be stressful instead of flattering.
But now that I realize that I’ve only been to one spontaneous evening (which included two houses – and that was one year ago), well I feel a little disappointed. Am I just not warm with these people? Is my village just slightly less tied to this tradition? I do know that the various traditions of saying “good morning” also vary from village to village. In some villages I should only speak to women. In other villages, anyone older than me (as in my current village now). And the frequency with which young children (and teenage boys) say hello to their elders varies greatly. It is then my hypothesis that the “open doors, big table” attitude parallels the variations in “good morning” frequency.
And yet, I still feel a bizarre combination of rejected, guilty, and disappointed.
Saturday, February 21, 2009
Going in Circles
February 8, 2009
I recently wrote an email detailing my marathon experience. I wanted to post the whole thing, but it wasn’t entirely publicly appropriate. In fact the details that are the most emotional are simultaneously the most personal – but isn’t that normally the case? I can say, though, that I was surprised once again by the strength of my own body. I have not experienced anything as motivating as the confidence that comes after completing a marathon, especially after not thinking you would and wrestling an angry stomach with an absence of toilets. I finished. And I’d be lying if I said I didn’t doubt it. It had gotten to the point pre-race when I just accepted that it would be painful, but temporary. Muscularly, it felt much better than anticipated. Emotionally/stomach-wise…not so much. But the resulting high that came from emotional stress rather than muscle fatigue was more satisfying.
The trip to Morocco was fantastic. I enjoyed each moment of the trip and was continuously impressed by events that worked out for us. When I first got back to Chisinau, I felt invincible. I was sure that I would be able to battle the remaining winter weeks with style and energy. It turned out that the week of my return was much harder than I imagined. I succumbed back to habits of Office-watching and pajama-wearing. Knowing that a bath would help me only added to the frustration; I didn’t want to start heating water again. There was no longer a marathon routine. No scheduled run, shower, or activity. But there was definitely still winter.
Except yesterday it was a shocking 50 degrees – almost as warm as when we were in Morocco.
February 21, 2009
Well that warm-ish weather left as surprisingly as it showed up. It’s back down to zero and there is snow once again upon the ground. I want the weather to start heating up, but that means mud. I forgot how much I disliked the mud – especially as I was complaining about the ice. The fact was that if I had worn my Yak Traks the snow/ice wouldn’t have been as much of a problem.
They don’t work as well with the mud which is ridiculously slippery. Sometimes the thicker stuff is better – just trudge right through it with those cheap Moldovan boots that you’re going to throw away in a few months anyway. But the thicker stuff acts like a plunger, sucking in your foot and making the same sloppy, popping sound when you pull your foot out.
I’ve gotten back into a semi-routine now, but I wouldn’t mind being able to run again (it’s too cold for pleasure walks). And I remember why the February wind was my enemy; it bites. Unfortunately I left my running stuff in Chisinau before leaving for the race and I haven’t been able to bring it back yet. It’s barely been three weeks since I’ve been back (seems like ages). And I’m already back contemplating what I’m still doing here – or what I’ve ever been doing here.
The mental perception of November-March seemed longer last year. But this year it’s still too long. I’m tired. Tired of heating water for a bath (but I am oh-so-efficient now). I’m tired of washing laundry by hand (so sometimes I just don’t). I’m tired of carbs (and how I usually love them). I’m sure this is all exaggerated by winter. Once things get moving again, when everything starts warming up and I can be outside in the sunshine, I will likely cheer up. But I will be ready to go when the time comes. I can’t wait for the summer sun-heated shower that drips over me bucket-free. I guess, then, it’s not just Moldova…it’s winter in Moldova.
When April comes, I’ll tell you that I didn’t gain 15 pounds this winter. March was the peak of last year’s winter weight. I’d never had a winter weight before. And that will be Marathon Goal #1. Check.
No this experience has not been what I expected but I think that is a factor of my expectations. I don’t want to hypothesize on my final Peace Corps recommendations as I’m not done with the experience yet. But I am more solidified in my belief that each person needs to follow their own direction and that following the advice of people who have different intentions will only end up in frustration and disappointment.
Ironically, this also means that I’ve shifted gears slightly when it comes to graduate school planning. I’m still planning on getting all of my applications ready by the time I leave Moldova, but my expected direction has morphed again. My interests (numerous as they are) haven’t gone away. They haven’t narrowed themselves or changed drastically in any other way as I expected them to do during my two years in Moldova. Instead, they’ve become more unified and magnified as a whole. Thus it’s become more essential to find a program, a field that would allow me to study the relationship between each of my interests. And, funnily enough, it leads me right back to the place I started. Every step, every degree idea I’ve researched (and on dial-up, each “idea” is a month-long process of researching schools, courses, and options) has led to the next, more specific program. It follows the same theory that discovering what you don’t like (or “what you’re not writing about” as the metaphor started) leads you to what you DO want. And it’s taking me in a circle, which each turn more educated than the last.
It’s funny too, that one small green book continues to echo in my mind, telling me something I knew even before I read it. Isn’t it interesting, too, that my “favorite little book” is one that agrees with my own thoughts? Do what you love. If you have the chance to be where you want, to do what you want, take a leap and do it and things will end up where they are supposed to end up. Follow your gut. Get down to the simplicity gut-driven heart of the matter. Me, who has been so lucky in the past…how could I not trust that? I have seen the way that life leads ME in the right directions. And I’ve spouted this to friends and family, so why not follow it myself? It’s not a matter of what you are good at but what makes you feel good. (I’m writing this to myself now.) And the scariest part is sometimes feeling that you aren’t supported in your bizarre interests, your unorthodox desires. But if there’s a natural gift within you for something, if it sparks a fire…that’s the type of motivation you want to follow! And I’ve have been so phenomenally supported by friends and family (especially throughout my Peace Corps experience) that I can almost throw out the “what if I don’t have support?” whopper.
And so when I think about what I’ve actually taken my precious dial-up time to read about, to argue about, to research and discuss…well that’s as simple as it gets. The things that interest me most about the youth I work with, for example…the idiosyncrasies that may not stick out to someone else. Or perhaps they are frustrations to someone else and, in this particular interest, they are curiosities to me…something I want to get to the heart of. Simply put, this is what I want to study and if I can find a place where I can explore each of these (I can) then why not? Why choose one and feel incomplete?
Perhaps this is the most time I’ve devoted to talking about a program I’m not naming (but I’ve changed my mind so passionately so many times).
So I’ve come around the circle once again, both with my feelings about being in Moldova and my ideas about what to do when I get back. Undoubtedly I’ll flip around a dozen more times, but there is something reassuring in the fact that it’s brought me back to the same spot each time.
I recently wrote an email detailing my marathon experience. I wanted to post the whole thing, but it wasn’t entirely publicly appropriate. In fact the details that are the most emotional are simultaneously the most personal – but isn’t that normally the case? I can say, though, that I was surprised once again by the strength of my own body. I have not experienced anything as motivating as the confidence that comes after completing a marathon, especially after not thinking you would and wrestling an angry stomach with an absence of toilets. I finished. And I’d be lying if I said I didn’t doubt it. It had gotten to the point pre-race when I just accepted that it would be painful, but temporary. Muscularly, it felt much better than anticipated. Emotionally/stomach-wise…not so much. But the resulting high that came from emotional stress rather than muscle fatigue was more satisfying.
The trip to Morocco was fantastic. I enjoyed each moment of the trip and was continuously impressed by events that worked out for us. When I first got back to Chisinau, I felt invincible. I was sure that I would be able to battle the remaining winter weeks with style and energy. It turned out that the week of my return was much harder than I imagined. I succumbed back to habits of Office-watching and pajama-wearing. Knowing that a bath would help me only added to the frustration; I didn’t want to start heating water again. There was no longer a marathon routine. No scheduled run, shower, or activity. But there was definitely still winter.
Except yesterday it was a shocking 50 degrees – almost as warm as when we were in Morocco.
February 21, 2009
Well that warm-ish weather left as surprisingly as it showed up. It’s back down to zero and there is snow once again upon the ground. I want the weather to start heating up, but that means mud. I forgot how much I disliked the mud – especially as I was complaining about the ice. The fact was that if I had worn my Yak Traks the snow/ice wouldn’t have been as much of a problem.
They don’t work as well with the mud which is ridiculously slippery. Sometimes the thicker stuff is better – just trudge right through it with those cheap Moldovan boots that you’re going to throw away in a few months anyway. But the thicker stuff acts like a plunger, sucking in your foot and making the same sloppy, popping sound when you pull your foot out.
I’ve gotten back into a semi-routine now, but I wouldn’t mind being able to run again (it’s too cold for pleasure walks). And I remember why the February wind was my enemy; it bites. Unfortunately I left my running stuff in Chisinau before leaving for the race and I haven’t been able to bring it back yet. It’s barely been three weeks since I’ve been back (seems like ages). And I’m already back contemplating what I’m still doing here – or what I’ve ever been doing here.
The mental perception of November-March seemed longer last year. But this year it’s still too long. I’m tired. Tired of heating water for a bath (but I am oh-so-efficient now). I’m tired of washing laundry by hand (so sometimes I just don’t). I’m tired of carbs (and how I usually love them). I’m sure this is all exaggerated by winter. Once things get moving again, when everything starts warming up and I can be outside in the sunshine, I will likely cheer up. But I will be ready to go when the time comes. I can’t wait for the summer sun-heated shower that drips over me bucket-free. I guess, then, it’s not just Moldova…it’s winter in Moldova.
When April comes, I’ll tell you that I didn’t gain 15 pounds this winter. March was the peak of last year’s winter weight. I’d never had a winter weight before. And that will be Marathon Goal #1. Check.
No this experience has not been what I expected but I think that is a factor of my expectations. I don’t want to hypothesize on my final Peace Corps recommendations as I’m not done with the experience yet. But I am more solidified in my belief that each person needs to follow their own direction and that following the advice of people who have different intentions will only end up in frustration and disappointment.
Ironically, this also means that I’ve shifted gears slightly when it comes to graduate school planning. I’m still planning on getting all of my applications ready by the time I leave Moldova, but my expected direction has morphed again. My interests (numerous as they are) haven’t gone away. They haven’t narrowed themselves or changed drastically in any other way as I expected them to do during my two years in Moldova. Instead, they’ve become more unified and magnified as a whole. Thus it’s become more essential to find a program, a field that would allow me to study the relationship between each of my interests. And, funnily enough, it leads me right back to the place I started. Every step, every degree idea I’ve researched (and on dial-up, each “idea” is a month-long process of researching schools, courses, and options) has led to the next, more specific program. It follows the same theory that discovering what you don’t like (or “what you’re not writing about” as the metaphor started) leads you to what you DO want. And it’s taking me in a circle, which each turn more educated than the last.
It’s funny too, that one small green book continues to echo in my mind, telling me something I knew even before I read it. Isn’t it interesting, too, that my “favorite little book” is one that agrees with my own thoughts? Do what you love. If you have the chance to be where you want, to do what you want, take a leap and do it and things will end up where they are supposed to end up. Follow your gut. Get down to the simplicity gut-driven heart of the matter. Me, who has been so lucky in the past…how could I not trust that? I have seen the way that life leads ME in the right directions. And I’ve spouted this to friends and family, so why not follow it myself? It’s not a matter of what you are good at but what makes you feel good. (I’m writing this to myself now.) And the scariest part is sometimes feeling that you aren’t supported in your bizarre interests, your unorthodox desires. But if there’s a natural gift within you for something, if it sparks a fire…that’s the type of motivation you want to follow! And I’ve have been so phenomenally supported by friends and family (especially throughout my Peace Corps experience) that I can almost throw out the “what if I don’t have support?” whopper.
And so when I think about what I’ve actually taken my precious dial-up time to read about, to argue about, to research and discuss…well that’s as simple as it gets. The things that interest me most about the youth I work with, for example…the idiosyncrasies that may not stick out to someone else. Or perhaps they are frustrations to someone else and, in this particular interest, they are curiosities to me…something I want to get to the heart of. Simply put, this is what I want to study and if I can find a place where I can explore each of these (I can) then why not? Why choose one and feel incomplete?
Perhaps this is the most time I’ve devoted to talking about a program I’m not naming (but I’ve changed my mind so passionately so many times).
So I’ve come around the circle once again, both with my feelings about being in Moldova and my ideas about what to do when I get back. Undoubtedly I’ll flip around a dozen more times, but there is something reassuring in the fact that it’s brought me back to the same spot each time.
Friday, December 19, 2008
Walking on Ice
Here we are as close to the holiday season as we can get without already being stuck in the up-and-down-ness of winter blues, gray skies, and knee deep mud. Unfortunately, we’ve already met Mr. I-don’t-like-the-cold, Mrs. The-skies-are-still-gray, and their daughter Ms. I-wish-I-was-still-on-vacation. And instead of mud, they’ve brought ice with them. I don’t remember there being as much ice last year though. I’ve already fallen three times on the ice and yesterday I stood in the middle of the frozen road because every step was ice skating. I was 1) too scared to move seeing as I already have a 4” diameter bruise on my leg and 2) hoping the boys who were sliding around would leave and grant me the honor of falling in privacy. They didn’t leave. But my director called, giving me a reprieve from decision making and a reason to stay put for the duration of our conversation. She brought good news: I would still be able to leave in January for the marathon though it conflicted with a program conference. But once the conversation was over I had to get back to the business of walking on ice.
I never thought I’d say this….but I’d prefer the mud…even the slippery, you-think-you’re-going-to-fall-with-every-step, so-ubiquitous-that-there’s-no-way-around-it, everything-is-covered-and-clothes-are-ruined type of mud. But the anger at risking falling in mud is nowhere as nerve-wracking as not being able to put a single foot down because each step slides underneath you and your aching knee is too stiff (or sore or temperamental) to help you stay up. (Mommy, I have a new found empathy for what I used to think was just your humorous clumsiness. My apologies.)
Yesterday, after my run, I tried to take a bath. A real bath. I heated up what I thought would be enough water to fill the tub once I mixed it with an equal amount of cool water. It wasn’t enough, but I sat in the water and poured it over myself anyway. Either way, I had used up all the buckets of water in the house, and, trying to be a thoughtful host daughter, I decided that I would go to the well to refill at least one of the two buckets. First mistake: I didn’t wear gloves and the handle of the well was solid ice. Second mistake: I wore slippers. Don’t ask me why, but I did. Though my only other pair of possibly appropriate shoes was the same Nikes I was wearing when I was skating to work, frozen in indecisiveness in the middle of the road. I filled up the bucket and made my way slowly back to the house until, just in front of the house, the slightest of inclines brought me down, spilling all of the cold water I had just filled. I could’ve gone back and tried again, but I didn’t. I settled with a half-hearted attempt at being responsible and thoughtful only to find that as I left to work I also left the door unlocked.
But while I grumble at the cold and curse the ice, I don’t feel nearly as gloomy this December. I’m more homesick for holiday traditions, but not as depressed. It’s an odd balance. Part of my sanity is most likely due to three things: a semi-regular schedule, having people I enjoy talking/brainstorming with, and running. I’ll take them apart: the semi-regular schedule is only possible because of the new arrangement made after last month’s conflict, so for this, I’m grateful; the people I talk with has helped salvage my idealism and optimism in being able to accomplish something during my time here; both the schedule and the people have led to a feeling of regular productivity – or at least the hope of it; the marathon, though proving more painful than I imagined, has kept me more active, as was the intention.
We volunteers have set out across seas toward adventures that we knew would be “challenging and rewarding” but we could not have guessed what the challenges or rewards would be. The beauty though, is that this has been the reoccurring case with all expectations I’ve been setting thus far. It does not only refer to my service itself, but also the individual goals and ideas. We didn’t expect that moral dilemmas, persevering through boredom, and resisting a pessimistic outlook would be some of the major challenges. I know that I didn’t expect to tire so quickly of boiling water and washing my clothes by hand. I thought the adaptation would only become more established, not that it would drop after its peak.
I knew that training during the winter would be a pain in the butt and that I would need major moments of self-motivation and discipline to keep myself going (and wasn’t that the goal?); however, with about 5 weeks left until warm-weather running, I’m realizing that the challenge is greater than just wind and rain. I’ve tried to be honest with myself. I’ve tried to keep to a regime that would be realistic and still allow for community involvement (and marathon completion). (And when you have to heat your own water, an hour run turns into a three-hour process.) I’ve also tried to be realistic about my expectations while simultaneously recognizing pains and balancing the need for pushing through them and holding back. My goal for the race has changed three times over and each adjustment is an inner struggle to discern between laziness and realities. While the right knee is more upset during these iced-road runs, I have to remind myself that this was the exact same pattern in Sunny California: knee in the beginning, shin splints in the middle, knee at the end…only more exaggerated. Last time the knee kept me off the road for 4 weeks before the race. I used bikes and stationary exercises instead. But that’s not an option right now. But the clincher is that I don’t remember my everyday walking being affected. Do I stretch enough? Surely not. Have I been strengthening my calves enough? No.
But this training – getting outside, staying active, having a goal – was supposed to help reduce stress and stabilize my winter emotional-ness. It wasn’t supposed to add to pressure, worry, and pain. And yet, wholeheartedly, deep down in the heart of the matter, I know that this surprise challenge will make it all even more worth while. And that is one of the reasons why I’ve no doubt that I will get through this, that I will finish and that I will have a much better winter – both than last winter and than would’ve been possible otherwise.
I’ve also re-acknowledged my frustration with people who are supposed to represent me. Yes, frustration with people we are conflicting with is a continual aggravation regardless of the person, but frustration with those who are supposed to represent us is even more deep-rooted. When someone tarnishes something that I’ve been working on, I am more angry than discouraged, especially when they ruin the effectiveness of a whole, well-intentioned group. This isn’t a new realization. Just rare enough for me to need to comment each time.
But here is a wish for all of you: that whatever surprises have come your way, that you have the love of those around you to help see them through. I’ve been blessed enough to have enough clear days to run, to have enough people to talk with, and to have enough coal to keep the fire warm this winter. I hope that each of you has something for which you are grateful this holiday season and that you have others to share it with.
I never thought I’d say this….but I’d prefer the mud…even the slippery, you-think-you’re-going-to-fall-with-every-step, so-ubiquitous-that-there’s-no-way-around-it, everything-is-covered-and-clothes-are-ruined type of mud. But the anger at risking falling in mud is nowhere as nerve-wracking as not being able to put a single foot down because each step slides underneath you and your aching knee is too stiff (or sore or temperamental) to help you stay up. (Mommy, I have a new found empathy for what I used to think was just your humorous clumsiness. My apologies.)
Yesterday, after my run, I tried to take a bath. A real bath. I heated up what I thought would be enough water to fill the tub once I mixed it with an equal amount of cool water. It wasn’t enough, but I sat in the water and poured it over myself anyway. Either way, I had used up all the buckets of water in the house, and, trying to be a thoughtful host daughter, I decided that I would go to the well to refill at least one of the two buckets. First mistake: I didn’t wear gloves and the handle of the well was solid ice. Second mistake: I wore slippers. Don’t ask me why, but I did. Though my only other pair of possibly appropriate shoes was the same Nikes I was wearing when I was skating to work, frozen in indecisiveness in the middle of the road. I filled up the bucket and made my way slowly back to the house until, just in front of the house, the slightest of inclines brought me down, spilling all of the cold water I had just filled. I could’ve gone back and tried again, but I didn’t. I settled with a half-hearted attempt at being responsible and thoughtful only to find that as I left to work I also left the door unlocked.
But while I grumble at the cold and curse the ice, I don’t feel nearly as gloomy this December. I’m more homesick for holiday traditions, but not as depressed. It’s an odd balance. Part of my sanity is most likely due to three things: a semi-regular schedule, having people I enjoy talking/brainstorming with, and running. I’ll take them apart: the semi-regular schedule is only possible because of the new arrangement made after last month’s conflict, so for this, I’m grateful; the people I talk with has helped salvage my idealism and optimism in being able to accomplish something during my time here; both the schedule and the people have led to a feeling of regular productivity – or at least the hope of it; the marathon, though proving more painful than I imagined, has kept me more active, as was the intention.
We volunteers have set out across seas toward adventures that we knew would be “challenging and rewarding” but we could not have guessed what the challenges or rewards would be. The beauty though, is that this has been the reoccurring case with all expectations I’ve been setting thus far. It does not only refer to my service itself, but also the individual goals and ideas. We didn’t expect that moral dilemmas, persevering through boredom, and resisting a pessimistic outlook would be some of the major challenges. I know that I didn’t expect to tire so quickly of boiling water and washing my clothes by hand. I thought the adaptation would only become more established, not that it would drop after its peak.
I knew that training during the winter would be a pain in the butt and that I would need major moments of self-motivation and discipline to keep myself going (and wasn’t that the goal?); however, with about 5 weeks left until warm-weather running, I’m realizing that the challenge is greater than just wind and rain. I’ve tried to be honest with myself. I’ve tried to keep to a regime that would be realistic and still allow for community involvement (and marathon completion). (And when you have to heat your own water, an hour run turns into a three-hour process.) I’ve also tried to be realistic about my expectations while simultaneously recognizing pains and balancing the need for pushing through them and holding back. My goal for the race has changed three times over and each adjustment is an inner struggle to discern between laziness and realities. While the right knee is more upset during these iced-road runs, I have to remind myself that this was the exact same pattern in Sunny California: knee in the beginning, shin splints in the middle, knee at the end…only more exaggerated. Last time the knee kept me off the road for 4 weeks before the race. I used bikes and stationary exercises instead. But that’s not an option right now. But the clincher is that I don’t remember my everyday walking being affected. Do I stretch enough? Surely not. Have I been strengthening my calves enough? No.
But this training – getting outside, staying active, having a goal – was supposed to help reduce stress and stabilize my winter emotional-ness. It wasn’t supposed to add to pressure, worry, and pain. And yet, wholeheartedly, deep down in the heart of the matter, I know that this surprise challenge will make it all even more worth while. And that is one of the reasons why I’ve no doubt that I will get through this, that I will finish and that I will have a much better winter – both than last winter and than would’ve been possible otherwise.
I’ve also re-acknowledged my frustration with people who are supposed to represent me. Yes, frustration with people we are conflicting with is a continual aggravation regardless of the person, but frustration with those who are supposed to represent us is even more deep-rooted. When someone tarnishes something that I’ve been working on, I am more angry than discouraged, especially when they ruin the effectiveness of a whole, well-intentioned group. This isn’t a new realization. Just rare enough for me to need to comment each time.
But here is a wish for all of you: that whatever surprises have come your way, that you have the love of those around you to help see them through. I’ve been blessed enough to have enough clear days to run, to have enough people to talk with, and to have enough coal to keep the fire warm this winter. I hope that each of you has something for which you are grateful this holiday season and that you have others to share it with.
Tuesday, October 14, 2008
Many Words and Miniskirts
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.
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.
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).
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)