The Road Taken

The Peace Corps road is full of unexpected twists and turns. Flexibility is rightfully spoken about throughout the application process, for this very reason. To say this is an emotional roller coaster is an understatement. Every time I sit down to record the most recent happenings in my yellow leather bound journal ( I'm a very important person, I have many leather bound books), I find myself overwhelmed trying to simply recall the last five or seven days. It seems whole months pass from one weekend to the next. A lot happens that needs noting and I struggle to remember it all.

And yet, one time, I received a response email that I'd completely forgotten about writing. I thought to myself, "Oh right, that was a few days ago." When I looked at the time stamp from my original email, it had been 12 freaking days before. Being in Peace Corps is sort of like being high all day, every day... not to say I know anything about that. I've read many studies. From my leather bound books. While smoking a cigar. But, ummmmm yeah -right- like I was saying; Studies have shown that the active chemical component of marijuana affects our sense of time. Users report feeling time either slowed down or sped up, and their short term memory is temporarily affected. This pretty much sums up my life. A good example of this 'stoned' (as the kids like to say) feeling is the last few days of my life here in Armenia.

Typically, by Wednesday of the school week I hate everyone and can't wait to pass my day off (Thursday) alone, farting in my room. (Clears throat). What I meant to say was, I love everyone all the time and go to school on my off day because I can't stand to be away from the children. Regardless, Thursday I get to have a late morning, which means I can stay up as late as 10 p.m. the night before! YOWZA!! In the day I will do some school and personal inventory, do my laundry, clean my room, etc. In the afternoon I have club for the Sr. High girls and my diamond in the rough comes for tutoring at the house around 5:30. Recently, I've been walking her home, as it's dusk by the time we are finished and this time I finally agreed to come inside. I met her grandparents and spent quality time with her mother and brother. We had some tea and fruit, talked about various topics and I left soon after. My student and her mother insisted they then walk ME home, as it was fully night by that time. It was a beautiful starry night, with a new crescent moon shinning; and also the first time I was out walking around after dark since being in Malishka.

Once home, I sat down to eat dinner by myself and enjoy a glass of wine. Siranush eventually came to join me, as she can not guiltlessly allow me to eat dinner alone. Everybody has started making their homemade wine, including my host dad. He realized I was in the drinking mood, so he joined us at the table and broke out the good stuff. His most recent batch was so strong, it tasted closer to hard liquor than wine. We had a grand old time and got to a new level of understanding and respect for one another (which often happens in non-party drinking situations). I was able to ask him important questions like, "What do you want for your daughters' lives?", and, "Can the cat PLEASE sleep in my bed with me?" By the time I retired to my sleeping quarters, I was shocked to discover that it was after midnight! How unlike me, on a weekday no less! I promptly turned on my DROID to look up phone numbers of people in America I would not normally call. I had just had the most enlightening and important conversation of my lifetime! Someone needed to know! I believe I called five different people, and after not a single pick-up, I then resorted to gmail. Fortunately, a friend was on and I demanded that he call me, I had important things to say. The next morning, I was surprised to learn the duration of our phone call was 40 minutes. In times like these I like to quote Vonnegut, "I have this disease late at night involving alcohol and the telephone."

Luckily, my Friday schedule is short and easy. After getting home and eating lunch I started to crash hard. I called my site-mate Lauren to tell her that I wasn't going to make it out to Shatin ( our other site-mate Elisabeth's village). I took a quick nap before my very first English club for the teachers. My host mother, Siranush, is also a teacher so she sat in and then pulled me out halfway through to see if I wanted to hop a ride to Yeghegnadzor (the midpoint between my village and Shatin) with her and Samvell. I still needed to run errands in Yeg, so I agreed. After going to the bank, I ran into another site-mate Ed who was on his way to meet up with the rest of Club Yeg (as we affectionately call our little family). After pizza, beers and some more procrastination - I decided on a whim to in fact head over to Shatin with the gang. We had a grand old night, farting, cuddling and being generally ridiculous. We talked of all the things we want to do together as a family unit: be better about our spending, cook together more often, go to a festival somewhere in Europe over the summer...

The next morning, as we started preparing to head back to Yeg, Trevor - the 4th member of Club Yeg dropped the bomb he'd held on to for the last 15 hours, that he was ET-ing. ET stands for Early Terminate, meaning you leave and never come back. To an extent it came as a great shock to us. Lauren and Elisabeth were much closer to Trevor than I was; yet, Trevor and I spent our summer together in language class. We had a lot of good laughs and are close in our own way. That morning, I got to play therapist while the girls cried and I asked Trevor level headed questions about his decision. Essentially, he feels his place is at home - that that is where his purpose and priorities lie. Later that morning, as the shock passed we decided to stay together that day. We had a big brunch with mimosas and all. I am sad to see him go, disappointed that our relationship won't have a chance to be whatever it may have been after being site-mates for two years. Yet, I'm grateful for all he did bring into my life, for facilitating the great relationship I now have with Lauren and Elisabeth, for always telling me how beautiful my voice is, for supporting me through the final stages of my break-up and always accepting my oddities and quirks without blinking an eye. He's one of the good ones, but we do what we must.

In the end; it is as it always was, as it always was going to be.

Reckoning

Don’t ever forget

the true source. It's location


what it looks and feels like


how it tastes. Though beauty


and magnificence are fleeting, their


origin is constant. Don't lose

what you know


to be true, to be real. Seek love

from those with their arms already extended,

you can not force open closed fists.

You can not will a thing.


Know this. Remember

you are the rock in the rushing river.

This past week, I was at a conference with the rest of the volunteers. The group I came here with in May ( A20s) all arrived together Tuesday evening. Then on Thursday, the group that came the year before (A19s), as well as the RPCVs, rolled in. The hotel we stayed at was the nicest one yet. It meets your average expectation of a Marriot. I was excited for everyone to be together again, if only to jot down all of the very ridiculous things that come out of people's mouths. I also was looking forward to facilitating my first TEFL session with one of my site mates, Lauren, and to teaching my first ever group yoga session! I was far more excited about the latter, as you may imagine.

I want to give you some back story on my relationship with yoga. For the last three years, we have been dating seriously and had been fooling around for maybe five years before then. In the beginning, I simply wasn't ready to be committed. This had to partly do with how we'd gotten together. Things started out pretty casually, I didn't take it seriously and found it to be unimportant in my life. Later, when I decided to get my act together my senior year of college, we took it to the next level. I began realizing that yoga gave me what I had been seeking out in all the wrong places, all the wrong people. The hours I spent with yoga started to become all I really needed. When I finally let yoga become a part of my routine, making time to be together and eventually being alone with yoga, taking it back home; well, that was when I understood the true nature of our relationship. My love for yoga is not jealous, it is kind, it is all those things people like to recite at weddings. 

I am grateful for all the hours spent in the English classroom, because the jitters and stress of leading a group of people have nearly washed away completely. For my first class, I tried to be fancy and give a regimented Ashtanga Series A session. Everybody had really wonderful and encouraging responses, but I knew to some extent they were being kind. I didn't feel totally in the groove, so there's no way that they did. Later that evening, I experienced some jealousy, some anger and then later, total elation when I won. The evening came to a close with my friend David catching me repeating something I'd said earlier in the evening to my reflection in the window.  In summary, there was a lot of dancing and good times, sliced with some hurt. 

The next morning, when David came over at 7am for a private session, I explained that hopefully he wasn't seeking anything in particular, because I really needed to do my own thing and simply have him follow.  He complied and we commenced our practice. There is nothing better than an early morning yoga session. I have always loved (but not always been so committed to) rolling out of bed and onto the yoga mat. That morning, Lauren and I kicked off the day with our TEFL session. We received a lot of positive feedback from both my Director and peers. 

Somewhere in that day, lines from the above poem started coming to me. In the morning, before yoga, I felt I'd acted immature at some points in the night. That I'd digressed to a less evolved version of me, somewhere closer to my state of being during college. It's never a good feeling and it isn't the first time in-country that I've felt this way. Many of us joke about this state of affairs; that it feels like high school and we act like we're in college. The high school aspect comes with the cliques, the gossip, and other bullshit. The college part, is the sleeping around and the attitude that this isn't 'real life'. In an effort to cope, we lose ourselves completely and the aftermath (for the most part) it ain't pretty. I'm not alone in this feeling. Many of my friends are experiencing something similar. Maybe not so much with the social aspect, but for many of us - the parts of ourselves we wished to leave behind in coming here, have somehow escaped their cages. We are forced to confront them and it isn't easy. For me, it means seeking from people who simply are not capable of giving me what I need. 

So, I digested these thoughts for a day or so, had some useful conversations and the next day, spit out the above poem during a Safety and Security presentation (...oops). The poem was also partly inspired by the sunrise I'd chased that morning. At the end of the day, I had another group yoga class and felt that I would be more in-tune with the classes needs if I practiced alongside them. The conference was over with and everybody just wanted to celebrate this, via relaxation. For me, coming back to what I know makes me feel whole and complete. My yoga practice has been, hands down, the most integral component of this experience. When I am on the mat, everything retreats: my insecurities, my fears, my doubts - all of it. I am left only with a relaxed body and a clear head. I feel sexy, empowered, energetic and fearless. 

So yes, yoga is my most long term, serious relationship and I am certain we have a future together.


Album Of The Week: In Rainbows Radiohead
Quote Of The Week:  After a long pause on the phone...
                                    Soleil: "Carolyn?!"                                       Me: "Yes?"
                                    Soleil: "I ate dinner."

My Most Homesick Day of the Week

... is Sunday.

I wake up most Sundays missing home. I yearn for the foods, sounds, smells and sights. Instead of telling you what's new (because nothing really is, besides the fact that we got a toilet!) I am going to write a lengthy post describing Sundays of my past. It's important to point out that this isn't to say I am very homesick right now. Actually, that was about three weeks ago. Yet today, as I felt that strong pull to be home, I decided to share this with you - my beloved followers (and secret stalkers).

Growing up, Sundays were not my favorite day of the week. It meant (without fail) church in the morning and homework in the evening. These two factors blinded me from the awareness of the magic that was happening around me. When it wasn't golf season, my father would sometimes wake up early enough to make his famous French Toast, with extra crispy bacon on the side. Sunday was ALWAYS fresh bagel day. I can close my eyes and smell the sweet inside of a cinnamon raisin bagel. No one, no one I tell you, knows how to do a bagel like New York.

Sunday afternoons were spent out in the backyard on the trampoline, swing set or hammock in the warm months. My whole life (when living with my parents) Sunday night is our sit down family dinner. My father will cook nice steaks on the grill with a side of potatoes and asparagus. When we were kids, the vegetable side was broccoli - so some things have changed. On Sundays, there was also a good chance there would be dessert after dinner. And as you may imagine, I shamelessly love my desserts. Ugh. Brownies and a cup of cold skim milk was like heaven on earth back in those days. This is still true, but I have switched to almond milk. (Which I daydream about drinking on a regular basis).

In grade school, many of my CYO basketball games were on Sunday afternoons. Before I started playing, my Dad coached my brother Andrew's team. I fancied myself their manager - going to practices and holding the clipboard, fetching my crush his gatorade. Later, it meant seeing my friends and having fun. The girls I played CYO with are still some of my closest friends. I distinctly remember the first day Jessica Sgueglia asked me to come over after practice. I thought she was so cool!

Once I was older, and no longer forced to go to church, Sundays became my absolute favorite day of the week. In the summer, I would wake up around 10 a.m. , put my bathing suit on and either jump in my or my friends' car then head for the beach. In the evening, my girlfriends would come over and watch HBO or Intervention together. In the fall and winter, it meant waking up whenever I felt like it and laying in bed reading for hours. Finally getting up, only to put a pot of coffee on and continue reading a book or journalling. Eventually, making brunch or going to it with friends. In High School, during football season it meant watching JETS games with my Dad or friend Caitlin Munson while eating Tostitos.

More recently, while I was living at home in Babylon before leaving for Armenia, Sundays took on a whole new meaning. It meant waking up with my niece and father, him cooking breakfast for both his baby girls. Later that evening, a shared bottle of wine and The Walking Dead.

What can I say, Sunday just means home. That home that exists mostly in our hearts and doesn't have to do with one place, person or time. It's that sense of belonging, the routine, knowing my place and what to expect, whether it be a bomb-ass steak dinner or an hour long cry fest with your girlfriends.

Oh, I have almost forgotten the most glorious component of Sunday: Bath time.

Oh, my bathtub!! My sweet, my love, our separation has affectedly me deeply. I long for your warm embrace, my solitude and serenity! But as you may have heard, I return to you soon. We shall be reunited again. Kisses and such - Carolyn.


Quote Of The Week: "Look at her tryna dance all cool and shit, like she didn't just fart."
Song of the Week: Asaf Avidan - One Day / Reckoning (Wankelmut Remix)