I hung my laundry outside today. This may seem like super mundane news to some but it’s actually pretty monumental in my life right now. The sun is out, there’s a lovely breeze and I swear I can feel Spring all the way down to my bones. As soon as the fruit trees outside my apartment start to bloom, I’m hanging my мартеници on the prettiest one and taking a picture of that bad boy for ya. You’re welcome.
So, Word is telling me (with a patronizing little green squiggly line) that Spring isn’t actually capitalized. I feel like that’s wrong. We’re supposed to capitalize names, right? And Spring is the name of what’s making me happy right now so…bite me, Word. Just. Bite. Me.
Capitalization also implies importance in some cases. Maybe. I’m going to build off of that idea and showcase my feelings for the Four Seasons with grammar or punctuation or whatever:
SUMMER
SPRing
Fall
winter
Yeah, I’m pretty happy with that.
So, the dreaded season of snow is over and, according to my Bulgarian friend, Tsvetla, “we will feel overwhelmingly tired for a little while as our bodies adjust but soon we will be happier and more energetic than ever before!” (this wasn’t a direct quote or anything – if I’d directly quoted her there’d be red and green little squiggly lines everywhere)
My colleagues are so aware of my disgust for cold weather and my desperate desire for warmer weather that the past few days have been full of them pointing out the window and saying, “Слънчево! Sunny!” I give them a big thumbs up and we both walk away feeling as though that particular cultural exchange went really well.
Well, I have a sink full of underwear in need of washing so I can hang them on my balcony for all to see. I imagine my neighbors have really missed my polka-dots over the past few months. Who knows, maybe some of them have even forgotten what my underwear looks like. Wouldn’t that be a shame. No worries, neighbors, there’s months and months of future underwear sightings to be had and be assured I’ll be taking a gander at yours as well (though it really takes the mystery out of the whole “boxers or briefs” game).
-Age
Friday, March 25, 2011
Monday, March 21, 2011
Temporary Like a Status
There seems to be a great number of commonalities Peace Corps volunteers share. One being an attraction towards impermanence. Another being a desire to feel like an individual, team-player, leader, helper, and many other contradictory adjectives. It’s interesting. It really is.
For one thing, I know, for me, part of the appeal of the Peace Corps was the fact that it was a two-year commitment. I knew it had an end. Even now, while we do try to integrate and be useful, influential participants in our communities we also can’t shake the feeling of “this is only temporary.” Temporary. This isn’t our “lives” – I mean, it’s our lives now, from 2010 until 2012 or maybe even 2013 for some – but it’s not our lives forever like the majority of Bulgarians around us. I assume (and assuming is something I do a lot of despite the idiom) that very few of us have a place that is our “forever.” I certainly don’t. There are so many places I want to call “home.” But only for a little while and then moving on will be absolutely necessary.
Why is that?
I can only answer for myself (though don’t think I haven’t the gall to answer for everyone, cuz I do)… Huh. As it turns out, after sitting here for some minutes trying to find the right way to word my answer, I realize I don’t have one. Whoops. It seems I can answer for no one – not even myself.
Talking to many other volunteers, their “after Peace Corps” plans include:
Going to grad school and then moving on
Touring the globe and then moving on
Visiting family and friends for a bit and then moving on
We just move on and move on. Though, I suppose, it’s age-appropriate for most of us. Young, ready to start our own lives. But I’m not quite as young as everyone else here and yet I can’t seem to picture my life more than a couple years in advance. And even then it’s fuzzy. Maybe I need to up the prescription on my brain.
For months, my dreams were about the US. People from the US. Places from the US. Nothing about Bulgaria. Occasionally some PCV’s would join in with my friends and family from back home in a dream or two, make an appearance. But only recently, and by recently I mean in the past week, have I started to dream of my life here, in Bulgaria. My work colleagues. My students. My friends here. Only recently has my subconscious decided that this is my life – for now. Took long enough.
Is it wrong to want to be with people, help them, and at the same time wait impatiently for the day you can leave them and move on to something new? Maybe. I’m not just talking about Bulgaria either. What makes a person want to stay? I want to know what makes a person say, “this is home, where my life is,” as opposed to, “this is my house, where I keep my stuff.” I wonder what it feels like, what many of my colleagues, students, and neighbors must feel, to know that you’re living the life you’re always going to live. You’re in it and this is it.
I’ve been wondering lately if it’s possible to be overly ambitious. To think you want more than you actually do or are capable of. Grad school. International Studies. NGO’s. New York. Boston. DC. Why can’t I just go home? Get a nice job. Visit my parents once a week. Be still. What’s wrong with that? People do it all the time and they seem perfectly content. At ease. In their element.
What’s my element?
Probably to ponder unanswerable questions until I’m in a nursing home with nothing more to ponder than the paper peeling off the walls. Sorry, I’ve been reading a lot of JD Salinger lately. I’m reading Ernest Hemingway next so hopefully my mood will brighten and I’ll stop being so damn critical. I also have no idea what Ernest’s work is like so it may only get worse.
-Age
For one thing, I know, for me, part of the appeal of the Peace Corps was the fact that it was a two-year commitment. I knew it had an end. Even now, while we do try to integrate and be useful, influential participants in our communities we also can’t shake the feeling of “this is only temporary.” Temporary. This isn’t our “lives” – I mean, it’s our lives now, from 2010 until 2012 or maybe even 2013 for some – but it’s not our lives forever like the majority of Bulgarians around us. I assume (and assuming is something I do a lot of despite the idiom) that very few of us have a place that is our “forever.” I certainly don’t. There are so many places I want to call “home.” But only for a little while and then moving on will be absolutely necessary.
Why is that?
I can only answer for myself (though don’t think I haven’t the gall to answer for everyone, cuz I do)… Huh. As it turns out, after sitting here for some minutes trying to find the right way to word my answer, I realize I don’t have one. Whoops. It seems I can answer for no one – not even myself.
Talking to many other volunteers, their “after Peace Corps” plans include:
Going to grad school and then moving on
Touring the globe and then moving on
Visiting family and friends for a bit and then moving on
We just move on and move on. Though, I suppose, it’s age-appropriate for most of us. Young, ready to start our own lives. But I’m not quite as young as everyone else here and yet I can’t seem to picture my life more than a couple years in advance. And even then it’s fuzzy. Maybe I need to up the prescription on my brain.
For months, my dreams were about the US. People from the US. Places from the US. Nothing about Bulgaria. Occasionally some PCV’s would join in with my friends and family from back home in a dream or two, make an appearance. But only recently, and by recently I mean in the past week, have I started to dream of my life here, in Bulgaria. My work colleagues. My students. My friends here. Only recently has my subconscious decided that this is my life – for now. Took long enough.
Is it wrong to want to be with people, help them, and at the same time wait impatiently for the day you can leave them and move on to something new? Maybe. I’m not just talking about Bulgaria either. What makes a person want to stay? I want to know what makes a person say, “this is home, where my life is,” as opposed to, “this is my house, where I keep my stuff.” I wonder what it feels like, what many of my colleagues, students, and neighbors must feel, to know that you’re living the life you’re always going to live. You’re in it and this is it.
I’ve been wondering lately if it’s possible to be overly ambitious. To think you want more than you actually do or are capable of. Grad school. International Studies. NGO’s. New York. Boston. DC. Why can’t I just go home? Get a nice job. Visit my parents once a week. Be still. What’s wrong with that? People do it all the time and they seem perfectly content. At ease. In their element.
What’s my element?
Probably to ponder unanswerable questions until I’m in a nursing home with nothing more to ponder than the paper peeling off the walls. Sorry, I’ve been reading a lot of JD Salinger lately. I’m reading Ernest Hemingway next so hopefully my mood will brighten and I’ll stop being so damn critical. I also have no idea what Ernest’s work is like so it may only get worse.
-Age
Sunday, March 13, 2011
RePost: For Japan
From Jenny, The Bloggess:
"This post isn’t really a funny one and I apologize for that but it needs to be said so just bear with me a minute, okay?
I love Japan. I’m not much of a traveler so it’s the only far-off place I’ve ever been and it holds a special place in my heart. If you’ve read here long enough you know about the time that a young girl named Chicako volunteered to show me around Japan for free. She didn’t know me and had no idea I had a blog but the people of Japan have such a strong feeling of civic duty and politeness that they regularly sign up to escort strangers around their city so they can practice their English. She took me to her favorite local dives and sat patiently while sweet make-up artists made me into a prostitute (long story). I met so many amazing people in my time in Japan and was almost embarrassed by how generous and selfless they were to a total stranger. That’s why the earthquake and tsunami that struck there this week really hit home for me…because so many people I love are struggling there now. And chance are, if you read this blog regularly, they’re people you love too.
You can’t always tell, but a lot of our regular commenters are in Japan. They read. They laugh. They interact with you and me. I usually have several hundred Japanese readers stop by on average. In the past two days there’ve been only 40. I hope to God that they’re all alive and well and are busy helping others and I wish I was there to help. But I can’t be. The only thing I can do is to donate to the Red Cross and Doctors without Borders and to encourage you to do the same.
They aren’t strangers. They’re us.
PS. One of the easiest ways to donate is to text the word REDCROSS to 90999, and your $10 donation will just show up on your phone bill. It’s crazy-easy and after you do it you’ll feel technologically savvy and philanthropic.
PPS. We go back to the funny, fluffy stuff tomorrow. Promise.
PPPS. I’m including an old video of me eating Japanese boobie pudding as a small “thank you” for donating. It’s really long because it was before I knew how to edit properly. You totally have my permission to skip it because I realize my Minnie-Mouse voice clashes with my online persona. Also, yes, my books are organized by color because that’s what normal people do. Stop judging me."
-Age
"This post isn’t really a funny one and I apologize for that but it needs to be said so just bear with me a minute, okay?
I love Japan. I’m not much of a traveler so it’s the only far-off place I’ve ever been and it holds a special place in my heart. If you’ve read here long enough you know about the time that a young girl named Chicako volunteered to show me around Japan for free. She didn’t know me and had no idea I had a blog but the people of Japan have such a strong feeling of civic duty and politeness that they regularly sign up to escort strangers around their city so they can practice their English. She took me to her favorite local dives and sat patiently while sweet make-up artists made me into a prostitute (long story). I met so many amazing people in my time in Japan and was almost embarrassed by how generous and selfless they were to a total stranger. That’s why the earthquake and tsunami that struck there this week really hit home for me…because so many people I love are struggling there now. And chance are, if you read this blog regularly, they’re people you love too.
You can’t always tell, but a lot of our regular commenters are in Japan. They read. They laugh. They interact with you and me. I usually have several hundred Japanese readers stop by on average. In the past two days there’ve been only 40. I hope to God that they’re all alive and well and are busy helping others and I wish I was there to help. But I can’t be. The only thing I can do is to donate to the Red Cross and Doctors without Borders and to encourage you to do the same.
They aren’t strangers. They’re us.
PS. One of the easiest ways to donate is to text the word REDCROSS to 90999, and your $10 donation will just show up on your phone bill. It’s crazy-easy and after you do it you’ll feel technologically savvy and philanthropic.
PPS. We go back to the funny, fluffy stuff tomorrow. Promise.
PPPS. I’m including an old video of me eating Japanese boobie pudding as a small “thank you” for donating. It’s really long because it was before I knew how to edit properly. You totally have my permission to skip it because I realize my Minnie-Mouse voice clashes with my online persona. Also, yes, my books are organized by color because that’s what normal people do. Stop judging me."
-Age
Thursday, March 10, 2011
The Day of the Woman
Yesterday was Women's Day in Bulgaria. Not Mother's Day. Not Grandmother's Day. Women's Day. Ден на Жена. The Day of the Woman.
Needless to say, I loved this day.
First, the 2nd grade teacher invited the mother's of all her students to the school for a morning of flowers, poems, songs, and cuteness. Ridiculous amounts of cuteness. She asked me to teach the students a song in English that they could sing to their mothers. We decided on "You Are My Sunshine." They learned it quickly, sang it beautifully, and one student was even able to translate it into Bulgarian - amazing.
After OD'ing on the sweetness of the morning, I went to teach my normal classes and received flowers and Честит Осми Март's from all my students. They even behaved...kinda. To make it through the terror that is seventh grade, I decided to teach the lesson to myself. It was about Ireland and their traditions. Occasionally, when a student would get really loud and yell at another student cuz he cheated at poker, which is what they play while I teach...yup, I would say something like, "I know! I'm excited too! Ireland and it's traditions are so interesting I can barely contain myself as well! I love the enthusiasm, keep it up!" They think I'm crazy. I told my mom that sometimes the school is like a circus and seventh grade are the clowns. She said, "and what are you?" - - - "The English teacher." Naturally. Just try and imagine teaching English to a group of clowns...while they're performing.
Anyway. Sheesh, it seems like I'm always giving seventh grade the spotlight (that's probably how the lion-tamer feels. Damn clowns.)
After school, all of the other teachers and I went to the local restaurant to celebrate the awesomeness that is us and all the things that make us amazing women (like teaching seventh grade. There I go again!) and I had a really great time. I got to practice my Bulgarian, see my colleaugues in a more casual and carefree setting, and dance horo.
Dancing horo is no simple task. Especially if you have no feet-brain coordination like myself.
Towards the beginning of the evening, I danced an easy one on purpose to get it out of the way so I wouldn't have to dance again but, later on, I was tricked into dancing once more. A woman stood up and asked others to "go" and I thought we were leaving so I stood up and began to gather my things. She wasn't leaving. She was dancing. And she thought the American had bravely volunteered. Well, shit. What choice did I have. I blushed, joined the line of dancing women and horo'd for what seemed like hours. The song really did last FOREVER. I kept asking my colleague, Lenka(sweetest lady in the world), if we were going to be dancing forever. She just laughed. Which wasn't an answer. At some point she asked if I was tired and wanted to stop. I said in what was probably terrible Bulgarian, "Аз не мога да спи преди бабите,"(I can't stop before the old ladies) which instantly made me the funniest person in the room. I like being that person.
We ate good food, drank good wine, danced until our faces were red, and enjoyed being the beautiful women we are - it was nice. I really enjoyed Bulgaria on that particular day.
Also, there is no Day of the Man. Just saying.
One more also, a few women at the restaurant got drunk off rekia and started "sexy" dancing all over the place. Then one of them did a cartwheel. She almost killed a few people. There wasn't a whole lot of dancing after that. It was awesome.
-Age
Needless to say, I loved this day.
First, the 2nd grade teacher invited the mother's of all her students to the school for a morning of flowers, poems, songs, and cuteness. Ridiculous amounts of cuteness. She asked me to teach the students a song in English that they could sing to their mothers. We decided on "You Are My Sunshine." They learned it quickly, sang it beautifully, and one student was even able to translate it into Bulgarian - amazing.
After OD'ing on the sweetness of the morning, I went to teach my normal classes and received flowers and Честит Осми Март's from all my students. They even behaved...kinda. To make it through the terror that is seventh grade, I decided to teach the lesson to myself. It was about Ireland and their traditions. Occasionally, when a student would get really loud and yell at another student cuz he cheated at poker, which is what they play while I teach...yup, I would say something like, "I know! I'm excited too! Ireland and it's traditions are so interesting I can barely contain myself as well! I love the enthusiasm, keep it up!" They think I'm crazy. I told my mom that sometimes the school is like a circus and seventh grade are the clowns. She said, "and what are you?" - - - "The English teacher." Naturally. Just try and imagine teaching English to a group of clowns...while they're performing.
Anyway. Sheesh, it seems like I'm always giving seventh grade the spotlight (that's probably how the lion-tamer feels. Damn clowns.)
After school, all of the other teachers and I went to the local restaurant to celebrate the awesomeness that is us and all the things that make us amazing women (like teaching seventh grade. There I go again!) and I had a really great time. I got to practice my Bulgarian, see my colleaugues in a more casual and carefree setting, and dance horo.
Dancing horo is no simple task. Especially if you have no feet-brain coordination like myself.
Towards the beginning of the evening, I danced an easy one on purpose to get it out of the way so I wouldn't have to dance again but, later on, I was tricked into dancing once more. A woman stood up and asked others to "go" and I thought we were leaving so I stood up and began to gather my things. She wasn't leaving. She was dancing. And she thought the American had bravely volunteered. Well, shit. What choice did I have. I blushed, joined the line of dancing women and horo'd for what seemed like hours. The song really did last FOREVER. I kept asking my colleague, Lenka(sweetest lady in the world), if we were going to be dancing forever. She just laughed. Which wasn't an answer. At some point she asked if I was tired and wanted to stop. I said in what was probably terrible Bulgarian, "Аз не мога да спи преди бабите,"(I can't stop before the old ladies) which instantly made me the funniest person in the room. I like being that person.
We ate good food, drank good wine, danced until our faces were red, and enjoyed being the beautiful women we are - it was nice. I really enjoyed Bulgaria on that particular day.
Also, there is no Day of the Man. Just saying.
One more also, a few women at the restaurant got drunk off rekia and started "sexy" dancing all over the place. Then one of them did a cartwheel. She almost killed a few people. There wasn't a whole lot of dancing after that. It was awesome.
-Age
Wednesday, March 2, 2011
Честита Баба Марта!
Today was an interesting holiday in Bulgaria: Baba Marta. Grandmother March. Баба Марта. Here's the story:
Baba Marta gets real pissed cuz it's winter and so dang cold. So usually around March 1st she says, "Alright. Enough of this. Let's start celebrating the coming Spring. Right. Now." So all the little Bulgarian boys and cute, little Bulgarian girls give each other мартеници (martenitzas): bracelets made of white and red string usually with a cute bead in the shape of an eye, heart, flower or butterfly (you can even buy them with Hannah Montana's face though I'm not sure how Baba Marta would feel about this).
You where them until you either
See a stork
or see budding flowers and leaves on the trees
Both signs that Spring has arrived and Baba Marta is happy once again.
It's then time to hang all your martenitzas on a tree outside. These two entertwining strings represent health and good fortune so hanging them all over the village is an important part of the tradition and something I'm very much looking forward to - favorite Bulgarian holiday so far.
Because I'm a teacher, I received 31 martenitzas today - I'm not going to keep them all on (I left 3 on each wrist) but they are each a little different and quite adorable. Bring on the storks!
-Age
Baba Marta gets real pissed cuz it's winter and so dang cold. So usually around March 1st she says, "Alright. Enough of this. Let's start celebrating the coming Spring. Right. Now." So all the little Bulgarian boys and cute, little Bulgarian girls give each other мартеници (martenitzas): bracelets made of white and red string usually with a cute bead in the shape of an eye, heart, flower or butterfly (you can even buy them with Hannah Montana's face though I'm not sure how Baba Marta would feel about this).
You where them until you either
See a stork
or see budding flowers and leaves on the trees
Both signs that Spring has arrived and Baba Marta is happy once again.
It's then time to hang all your martenitzas on a tree outside. These two entertwining strings represent health and good fortune so hanging them all over the village is an important part of the tradition and something I'm very much looking forward to - favorite Bulgarian holiday so far.
Because I'm a teacher, I received 31 martenitzas today - I'm not going to keep them all on (I left 3 on each wrist) but they are each a little different and quite adorable. Bring on the storks!
-Age
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