Regrouped, Refocused.

"There are those of us who haven't yet told our stories, or refuse to tell them, and so we become them: we hide away inside the memory until we can no longer stand the shell or the shock." Zoli Colum McCann

Zoli is a novel loosely based on the life of a Gypsy poet roaming Czechoslovakia as fascism spreads in the 1930's. I’ve shared the above quote with a lot of different folks as I travelled around the central region of Armenia last week (which you can blame my recent delinquency on). I also read it to my Daddy over the phone, encouraging him to start writing me some freaking letters! (And that there, my friends, was another plug).

Last Saturday, I caught the 9am bus to Yerevan on the side of the road all on my own- like a big girl! This was the first time my host father did not insist he drive me the 10 minute walk to the roadside. For some strange reason, I felt like a small child running away with my big backpack, increased heart rate and six-pack of Hot Cars in a plastic bag. The toy cars were for Vartincheek, the grandson of my first host mother, Silva. Just thinking back to that morning, which was about 10 days ago, feels like a month.

What’s that age old saying, “time flies”? (So much for the teacher who once told me to avoid, at all costs, using clichés in my writing). I am struggling to come up with some clever, poetic way to describe the whirlwind effect of life these days. It seems I woke up a few days ago and it was October, and in one more it will be November. I haven’t yet figured out how to straddle and ride this horse in a manageable way. It all just keeps getting away from me.

Anyway, once I got into the city I dropped my stuff off in the most American feeling apartment in Yerevan and headed out to Akunk. It was surreal driving back nearly three months later, alone and twice as independent than when I first left. The first bit of time was a little awkward, both the family and I needed some warming up. I admit, I've been slacking in keeping contact with them. I feel badly, but I don't feel close or connected to them the way that I did over the summer. It's almost like they were my starter relationship. I was naive in the ways of the nature of this relationship and while in it, felt it was the perfect fit for me. Yet now that I have found someone new, I realize that we weren't really all that close or similar. Ultimately though, I was happy to see them and we laughed at the same old jokes. They asked me about my new family, school and told me to come home soon. 

Afterwards, I met my friend in the nearby town and later we headed to Yerevan for a birthday celebration. I guess I needed to remind myself why I should steer clear of Jameson. Well, I remember now. Sunday morning, I was lucky enough to have the wonderful facilities of the Norwegian Consulate's apartment (an American who's been in Armenia for 13 years and works closely with Peace Corps). My friend Brian was kind enough to bring me back some breakfast from my favorite establishment in Yerevan, Green Bean. It feels like America in there. They serve unlimited unfiltered coffee, bagels and other gloriously American things. I got to bake in the hot sun for a good two hours on the back patio, sipping coffee and eating my bagel. In the afternoon, I headed back to the city of Talin with Brian and his sitemate (and my friend) Erica. Brian and I reminisced about high school as we watched 10 Things I Hate About You, then later made chocolate chip cookies with the girls and watched another movie.

In the morning, I left with my friend Phi's sitemate and headed to their site. I got to walk around Karakert and go to Phi's English club. I taught the kids the Barney "I Love You" song. It's ironic to be so in love with teaching this song when as a kid I thought it was really stupid. My third graders and I sing it together every class. Now that they actually know the words, it makes my heart melt. But, as I was saying, my time with Phi was short but sweet and the next morning we hopped the train with her two counterparts and headed back to Yerevan. I left her at a Peace Corps workshop and walked to the center of the city. It was really cool to explore a part of the city to which I had not yet ventured out. I parked my bum back at Green Bean. They started playing the album Rumors from start to finish and I opened my journal. For a two full hours, I was in absolute heaven. 

By the time I finally made it back to Malishka on Thursday afternoon, I was totally wiped out. I had been gone for five nights, but it felt more like ten. The next day I had the same workshop with my counterpart and peers from this area. We all got together afterwards to celebrate Halloween, as we weren't able to make it up North to meet with the rest of the volunteers. Fun was had by all; jokes were made, wine was drank, songs were rapped and tears of laughter were shed. I could not have asked for a better Halloween weekend. I didn't even have to get dressed up! 

Now, I am getting back into the groove with my counterpart at school. I swear, I left for one week and a quarter of what we had worked up to had been lost. This week my school started the winter schedule, so we do not begin until 9am. It's really nice for me because I am keeping my 6:30 alarm, but have more time to pretend like I have no responsibilities as I lay there listening to music afterwards. It's also really incredible how much that cold was sucking the life from me. I feel like a new person, both in and outside the classroom. It's so nice to be healthy again, after a full month of battling germs. 

Ok, that's enough for now. I'll share more thought provoking stories another time. 



Quote Of The Week: "I am computer." My student
Song Of The Week: "Every Single Night" - Fiona Apple

The Daily Grind

Ok gang, so I realize I haven’t been so great at giving ya’ll a better idea of what actually transpires day to day.  I am going to talk about some things going on that are exciting and others that are… not so much.

As you may remember, I teach grades 3^rd through 12^th. At first grades 4^th, 7^th, 8^th, and 9^th were not a part of my schedule. After the TEFL director came for her visit last month, I started reexamining the areas where I might be needed and those in which I might not. It had been suggested to me that my time would be better well spent with the younger children than the older ones. Now, I skip 12^th grade once a week and go to 4^th grade twice a week. In my 11^th grade, I take the four students who give me their attention and work with them separately in the English room, while my counterpart babysits the others. Soon, once I get over this damn cold, I will start clubs for 7th, 8th, and 9th.

Over the summer during training, when previous TEFL volunteers would tell us how they had decided to stop attending certain classes, I remember not really understanding or agreeing with the decision. After a month in school, I now know better. Here’s the thing: while these kids have been ‘learning’ English since 3^rd grade, there are a handful of reasons why most of the 11^th and 12^th graders have retained as much of the language as the 5^th graders.  1. It seems English teachers are on high rotation. 2. Many of these previous teachers could not, themselves, speak the language.  3. The idea of the ‘America Dream’, which is used as a motivational tool by other teachers in the states, is out of the question.

By the time most of these students are in their early teens, they know what it’s going to be for them. Typically, the girls are waiting on a man to come ask for their hand in marriage, then later pop out a baby and maintain the household. One of my seniors is already engaged, and while she claims to want to leave Armenia ‘so freaking bad’ (a song lyric I taught her), she is the most stubborn in regards to learning. She will flat out refuse to participate in most of the activities I plan out. The boys will inherit the manual labor of their forefathers or continue perfecting their trade, whether it be fixing cars or driving them, fishing, farming, etc. On average, maybe two or three students per grade will go on to study higher education.  (I’m speaking in regards to my specific school here in Malishka).

If I were them, I would probably be similarly unmotivated.  They know that they are far behind, and many adults gave up on them back in the 5^th grade.  What do they care about this goofy unmarried American girl that tries to act cool, while speaking gibberish to them? They don’t.

Okay, so now for the exciting part. My little babies in the 3^rd, 4^th, 5^th, and 6^th grades are so excited to have me there. (Well, not so much 5^th grade, because my oppressive stern nature is required in that classroom). The 4^th graders literally celebrate my arrival to class twice a week. They still believe anything is possible and that they are just as capable of learning as their neighbor. One of my small victories thus far, is when the bad boys know they are being bad, I give them ‘the look’ and mockingly they say, “PLEASE BE QUIET!”. But hey, they are speaking English and appropriately (it also makes me giggle on the inside). 

Also, there is a big, fat diamond in the rough here. I discovered her one mundane afternoon in my 10^th grade class, maybe in week two or three. For homework I had assigned 10 sentences using new vocabulary. Most of the students reiterated a version of the examples we had gone over the class before; but these sentences she made, Oh.My.God.! They were impressive for a student in the states! They were thoughtful, complex and revealed a greater understanding of life. Luckily, the volunteer before me also recognized her shimmering, shinning light and had been strongly encouraging her to participate in the FLEX program. 

FLEX is a program sponsored by the American Councils, that sends between 20-30 high school students, from mostly ex-Soviet countries, to study at a high school in America for one year. The application process is really similar to Peace Corps, with medical exams and all. Malishka’s diamond just got through the final round of testing this past week. It’s a crime if she is not given the opportunity to see life outside the village! Just an example of how incredible this girl is: Last week, before the FLEX interview, I invited her over to my host family’s house for a mock interview. When I asked her to speak about important things she learned at GLOW camp from the year before, she started talking about the gender issue in Armenia. Gender issues.  I don’t even think gender issues were on my radar until college. Now, I have her reading Franny and Zooey by J.D. Salinger. It’s so inspiring to sit and discuss terms like ‘existential crisis’ with this girl.  I can’t get over it.

All in all, the good and the difficult are well balanced in my professional life here. Some things are tough, and I wine to Siranush about them, others are awesome and I gush to Siranush about them.  Then, I call my brother Andrew and we laugh about everything. 

Quote of The Week: "I did yoga for two weeks, it was good. Yoga is good."

Song Of The Week: Cat Power: Satisfaction

An Apology

Dear Friends and Family,


I want to express my deepest apologies if you have found any of my posts vulgar and or offensive. This was not my intention when I set out to keep a blog. Sometimes I find myself getting carried away, and while I want to 'be myself', I realize this blog is to inform you darlings of my experiences over here - not to reveal my fondness of sexual innuendos or vulgar language. I must admit, these are perhaps parts of my personality you've had the pleasure of never encountering. What can I say, I feel like an adult with the freedom to behave as I see fit. And well, I guess, I am not exactly concerned with other's perceptions of how I approach life.

This is beginning to become a justification though, so let's get back to the matter at hand. I'm sorry if some things I may have said were too over the top, or just downright (in your eyes) wrong. I will be sure to take your feelings and sensitivities into greater consideration from here on out.

Yoga and Cartwheels Over a Sunset

Well hello, my darlings! I have missed you like the desert misses the rain! (Remember that tune from the mid to late 90’s? “Annnnndd I misss youuu yeaaahh”).

I had the great intention of writing a new post directly after the weekend, but it just so happens that frolicking in the grass barefoot until the sun goes down when you are on the back end of a cold is a terrible, terrible idea.  I am not one for sickness, I can often be found boasting an immune system of equal strength as my astrological sign during cold season. So, knowing this, you might guess I am appalled at my body’s recent inability to kick a simple cold. Maybe it is the lack of understanding about how colds are passed here in Armenia, maybe it was all the cigarettes Friday night, maybe it is the frolicking barefootness – one will never be able to say. All I know is, I don’t have a bathtub to cry in over the ordeal while in the fetal position so as to cope, and it’s really beginning to wear on me.

I digress.

This past Friday was Teacher’s Day at school. Classes were cut short and school let out around 12:30 so that the teachers could all go home and get ready for the party. I have had my fair share of experiences with Armenian parties, so to an extent I knew what would transpire; I would be asked to toast, to dance, to eat a lot, and encouraged to drink amounts of alcohol that no other female Armenian would consider appropriate with my Director.  In the meantime, I would be on call to give directions to any volunteer leaving the capital trying to find their way down to Vayots Dzor for the Wine Fesitval.

I was genuinely looking forward to seeing both familiar and unfamiliar faces over the weekend. I also had plans (for the first time) to cook a big brunch Sunday morning for both my friends and host family.  I left the teacher party earlier to go get sassed-up and head to the nearby town where my fellow Club Yeg members and their guests would be awaiting my arrival. (Well, this isn’t exactly true. I may or may not have harassed my friend Chris with an overuse of vulgar language on the drive over with my host dad. Some might say the recent increase in my affinity for speaking vulgarly, because those around me do not understand a word of it, is becoming a slight problem). I had spontaneously cut bangs into my hair the night before and was anxious for positive attention.  Mommy got what she wanted!

When we got home my family had the honor and privilege of experiencing my friend Phi. That’s right, you don’t meet Phi, so much as you experience her. They were delighted with her goofiness and fun loving nature – the same reasons we are such good friends. Where I am rough around the edges, Phi is soft, and we balance one another out well.  We had a lazy morning and headed for the festival around one.

At the festival, I quickly ditched my host family so that I may be uninhibited. Also, my host father was getting a little irritated with Phi and I for not speaking in Armenian, so it was time to part ways. We soon found another volunteer and he acted as our tour guide for a short time. Afterwards we walked around, taking in all of the sights: impromptu Hikakhan dancing (Armenian style), the President’s body guards and car but not the man himself, and all the free wine a wino like myself could dream of. There were cheeses to taste as well, but something about the hot sun and warm white wine made the cheese extremely unappealing.

Later on, Phi and I eventually made it out to the field where the rest of the volunteers had gathered. I really have no idea who originally found this place, but it is was key. We had all the freedom to be our most ridiculous selves, and ya’ll know I took full advantage of this.  The last couple of times I have spoken with friends or family back home, I’ve tried to explain the nature of these get-togethers. I know for me, one of my most regular and needed releases is unavailable to me in my daily life. What is this, you ask? Busting chops. Good lord. I don’t think I really understood how much this was a part of my personality. Even if I knew how to bust chops in Armenian, it wouldn’t exactly be appropriate. Essentially, all of this pent up sarcasm is near boiling over by the time I am with other Americans. And man, do I let loose. As someone whose life has been characterized by being, how shall I say this, a little odd – being ‘proper’ and ‘appropriate’ is seriously exhausting for me.  I can only speak for myself, but I think this is true for everyone to varying degrees. Alas, the get-togethers.

Over the weekend I took a lot of pictures, did cartwheels and yoga as the sun set over the mountains, conversed with a good amount of people and in general had a really good time. In the past, my summers have had at least a few occasions similar to the wine festival, so being able to get one last lick in before the cold weather comes was absolutely worth the bad cold.

Sky's The Limit

As promised, I am posting off of my usual schedule. How exciting! 

You must excuse my recent theatrical, dramatic, I don't really know what, tone of writing. I have been reading Tom Robbins, again. Typically, when I am overindulging myself within the pages of an author with a very unique style of writing, I find my own writing (or 'voice') heavily influenced. You can see similar behavior in earlier postings, but at the time I was a Game of Thrones junkie, so I was using terms like 'small clothes' in regards to those silky undergarments scarcely to be found amongst my belongings.

Anywho, I finally had the opportunity to speak with the volunteer whom was here in Malishka from August of 2010 until April of 2012. He passed along some very pertinent information as I stood outside the school and six 11th grade boys stood around trying to look tough. I was so glad to get feedback from him about everything here. It's a funny thing to have never met a person, but be (somewhat) standing in their exact shoes, two years later and get to talk it over. I hear so much about him from community members and my counterpart, that after talking to him for an hour, I feel like we are close friends.

If you remember from my last post, I have been a little under the weather this week. I woke up last Wednesday feeling like poop and then on Thursday morning, just plain old shit. I was Zicaming and Emergencying all day long and after another day of rest on Friday, felt ok to go to our make-up day of school on Saturday. Yes- that's right; when there is a holiday on a Monday, school is held on a Saturday. The children are also allowed to run, scream and play in the hallways in between classes for five minutes. (This probably the reason why they are all so well behaved afterwards). As I was SAYINNNGG, I have been ridden with mucus coming out of every possible pore for about a week now. Unfortunately for me, Armenians consider blowing your nose in public akin to dropping your pants and popping a squat in the great wide open for all to see your goodies. All week, I've had to retire to my bedroom, the bathroom, or just somewhere away from others to honk the nasal horn. It's a real pain in my ass.

This past Sunday was the twin girls' 15th birthday. In the afternoon, their classmates came over to awkwardly giggle, blush and smile at one another until the 12 of them killed a bottle of red wine. And then, well, after that things got pretty wild. I decided to write letters in the meantime. I finally RECEIVED my letter from my college buddy, Sean. He's quite the character and I admire him for his complete lack of f-giving. I also received a package from my dear mother. I had asked her to please include some peanut butter M&M's as they are unavailable here. She swore they would melt and I bet her $50 they would not. She owes me. I nightly enjoy slowly sucking them down to their tasty peanut buttery insides as I watch episodes of True Blood and squeal in my nightgown inside the sleeping bag my brother Philip bought me two years ago when I was in the application process.

In the evening, the rest of the family came over for round two of the birthday party. There was much dancing and very loud music until about 2am (on a Sunday, mind you). I went to bed around 11pm and I suppose Siranush wanted to make sure that I wasn't mad about all the noise. Now, I have been sleeping on the floor since I moved here. The bed is more a less a hammock made out of springs from World War II. Nightly, I pull off the makeshift mattress, covers and such, and sleep. It doesn't bother me a bit, so I didn't feel this was something I needed to share with Siranush. In the beginning, I would be so anxious that someone might come in and find me! I haven't been thinking of it often, as I know now that the family respects the closed door. If the door is closed, it means don't bother me, or knock to make sure I don't mind you bothering me. Anyway, Siranush knocked and simultaneously opened the door. I felt like I'd been caught doing... something, with how guilty I felt. She played it real cool though and only finally addressed it today. She simply told me they would fix the bed to be more supportive.

And that, my loves, is why I am staying here for the winter.


Quote Of The Week: "Maybe, if they keep me teaching the brats, I will - I dunno, kill somebody." Anonymous 50+ y.o. 

Song Of The Week: Norah Jones - Travelin' On