One of the Good Ones

A post about an Armenian that makes me feel like I can stay…

Admittedly, my posts have been infrequent as I find it difficult to put finger to key board and write happy things when I’m not happy. Winter has come and with it seasonal depression. I am homesick for my family (in all of their madness) around the holidays. I am sad that I will miss my niece’s 5^th birthday and it breaks my heart that she’s been asking me if I will come and visit her. Few people truly like winter and the constant roller coaster of emotions as a volunteer don’t help. Yet, today I am inspired to write about a person in my life who soothes my anxiety and makes me feel truly welcome.

Movsisyan in Siranush's house taken with Photobooth

The first time that I met Movsisyan (this is the name by which I know and refer to her but her first name is actually Satenik) was in Siranush’s kitchen during my very first visit to Malishka. I was having my first “ Oh my GOD, what have I done?!” moment as a Peace Corps trainee. The saint that she is, Siranush sensed this and ordered me to lay day and rest after an hour or so into our first meeting. When I finally summed up the courage to leave the room that was to become mine in a month or so, I headed straight for the kitchen. As I entered the kitchen, Movsisyan and Siranush momentarily stopped dinner preparation to welcome my arrival.

Movsisyan’s deep-set eyes examined me with a well-intentioned curiosity.  She reminded me of photographs of my maternal great grandmother with long salt and pepper hair pulled up into a tightly wound bun. Just as many other older women in Armenia, over the years she had collected a mouth full of shiny gold teeth. She pulled out a stool from under the table and ordered me to sit. She cleared an open space in front of me rearranging the surface crowded with peppers, tomatoes, onions, garlic, salt, pepper, sugar, coffee, miniature Turkish coffee cups and a large decorative glass bottle that I could only assume was filled with homemade vodka. Siranush placed in front of me a small cup of Turkish coffee, seemingly from out of nowhere.  I sat in silence, allowing the calm of the home’s hearth to wash over me in a dream like state.

“Do you like tomatoes?” Movsisyan inquired. “Yes, I like them very much,” I responded like a small child and not the 25-year-old woman that I was. “Good, because we are making a soup with tomatoes, potatoes and onions,” she stated. For the next twenty minutes I intently watched her prepare the meal with Siranush. Her hands moved methodically wielding the knife like an extension of her own body. Cutting boards are not something you can expect to be found in an Armenian kitchen. Using sharp knives half the size of an average utensil women hold the vegetable in one hand and cut with the other. Preparing food in this way comes so naturally that while I sat and watched Movsisyan’s hand, she stood watching me watch her. Every now and then our eyes would meet, her calm and piercing stare  reassuring me that I was okay and everything would be okay.

From the beginning I have appreciated Movsisyan’s ability to speak with her eyes. Not only does she speak with them, she analyzes, contemplates and understands with them as well. While I understand that this is true for most people she does it in a way that a spectator can notice. With all of the staring and looks that I endure on a daily basis you come to know all sorts of stares. The difference between a kind and a cruel one, one of judgment and another of compassion is evident. When she looks at you she is truly looking at you, drinking in all of your movements, expressions and reactions like a foreign cocktail. She swishes the combination of these things around in her mind deciding if it brings her pleasure or not. 

She was introduced to me as the family 'tatik' (grandmother) but I learned later that she in fact was not a blood relative. Armenians are quick to give friends family denotations whether it be ‘sister’, ‘brother’ or ‘grandma’ and ‘grandpa’. I also learned that Movsisyan was the ‘master’ (homeroom) teacher of the twin sisters Hasmik and Anna. She had been their ‘homeroom’ teacher since the third grade and the relationship is a different than that which we are accustomed to in America.  Your master teacher, if unchanged from the third until the 12^th grade becomes an equally respected, feared and loved figured as that of a parent. Movsisyan and Siranush became close when Siranush returned from her University studies in Yerevan during the ‘Dark Time’ to begin teaching Armenian language classes at the school. Being her senior by at least twenty years and an Armenian language teacher herself, Movsisyan took Siranush under her wing forging an invaluable relationship of trust and support.

I have forever felt grateful for both women extending this relationship toward me. Social politics at the school can at times be similar to walking a tight rope. One wrong move and then a long fall (hopefully) to your safety net. This past year at school has been particularly difficult for me in the social/political realm. A person whom at first meeting I was weary of has made a point of being an antagonist in my life. Details are unimportant but the presence of this individual is a thing I at once fear and dread. When things came to a head a little over a month ago it brought me to a new level of low concerning feelings of isolation and community integration.

In the school there is a small room tucked away on the second floor, far from the teacher’s lounge and Director’s office called the language cabinet. In it, the senior Armenian language teachers including Movsisyan and Siranush each their lunch, drink coffee, grade papers and socialize in there with the other language teachers. I have realized that when I first came to the school and Siranush told me to treat this room like it was a space for me as well that I wasn’t fully aware of the privilege that I had been afforded. This small cabinet has become my refuge in the school. It dawned on me one day that only Movsisyan and another elderly woman spent their free periods in there. It was clear to me that my counterparts did not feel it was appropriate for them to casually hang out in there, while that is exactly what I do.

As of late Movsisyan has been extra careful to make me feel included and cared for. If she is making herself a cup of coffee or tea, she makes one for me as well. If she has brought some cheese and lavash to snack on, she will make me a small wrap and tell me to eat. She never asks how I’m doing and yells at me when she doesn’t believe I am dressed warm enough. After being sick and missing school for a few days she inquired where I’d been and why I didn’t tell anyone I was sick because I can’t just let people sit around and worry that I’ve been stolen or got lost. All of these things combined have served to shine a bright spotlight onto Movsisyan’s kindness and her role in my life here.  To say it shortly, she means a lot to me and has been a huge influence on my time here. 

Movsisyan is one of the good ones and I love her for all that she provides me. 

"Welcome Home! Btw, you need to move..."

Dearest Babies, Lovas and Friends,

It's been so long since we last spoke! I know Ari had her guest spot, but I have not sat down to share with you a tale or two in a over a month. I haven't taken this long of a hiatus in I don't know how long! You must forgive me as I was busy giving Ari the good 'ole Hayastani tour, then frolicking in the land of gold and honey, THEN some very unexpected housing upheavals. I have been trying to find the time/energy/will to write you all since I have been back but alas, it only came to pass now.

So, perhaps you are such an avid reader that I need not remind you of what was going on at the start of August but I fear the truth of the greater majority is that you do not have any clue nor do you care. Alas, a quick recap is needed. At the start of August I was wrapping up the grant completion report for this past National Poetry Recitation Contest and gathering together a team of volunteers to create a committee for the 2014 installment. Unfortunately, about two weeks after the first committee meeting the team lost its most valuable player as she decided to end her service early. Luckily, I have been able to keep the ball rolling without her, even though it just isn't quite the same. Expect more about the 2014 National Poetry Recitation Contest soon!

My time with Ari in the last two weeks of August was absolutely marvelous. It engendered a completely new lens through which I am currently viewing my service. While there are difficulties and challenges faced on a daily basis Armenia truly has a special place in my heart. From the comfort and love I share with my host family, to the beauty of the landscape, to the taxi drivers calling me their sister upon hearing my Armenian there was much I felt proud to show Ari. All these things and more began to take on a new shade of meaning. The thing I appreciated most about Ari's trip was our on-going in-depth conversation about the culture here. We did many a thing, met many a volunteer and spent our final night together on the green patch of grass in Yerevan until 2 a.m. waiting for out flight times.

On the morning of August 28th both Ari and I boarded flights back to JFK airport. Unfortanutely, our flights were booked about four months apart and we did not have the same itinerary. After a day of time travel I arrived in my beloved NY and was picked up by dear friend Meagan. The first thought I had upon exiting the baggage terminal was, "UGH, the freaking humidity!". I had truly forgotten the oppressive nature of late August heat in New York. Without hesitation Meagan and I headed over to the most reasonable sushi joint in Babylon. I thought I'd be a pal and take care of the check as she'd driven all the way out to pick me up. Good lord! America, can we please relax with the cost of a dinner out?! Jeez louise. In the morning I was very grateful to spend time with my other dear friend Kaitlin. In the bagel shop I exclaimed, "OMG, KAIT! LOOK! THEY HAVE ARIZONA ICED TEA IN HERE!!!!!", all the other normal Americans in the place looked at me like I was on drugs. I think I embarrassed Kaitlin a bit but after a lifetime of friendship this is merely something she has come to expect.

Lord, I could tell you every last detail of my trip home but it would truly take too long and I don't want to waste either of our time. The highlights of my vacation were as such : a most perfect beach day on Lake George swimming with my niece Soleil; docking the boat before a storm like a champ; gurlfrands and brothers camping; a night cap at The Point with MK and 'firsty'; a most perfect beach day on Long Island with Regina; mani pedis with Momma; a night out in Babylon full of ridiculousness; yet another beautiful day riding the Cross Island ferry to CT; good times with cousins; a tasty meal with brother Andrew and sister Tess; kitty snuggle fest; motorcycle rides in the night and day; last meal in America with seriously tasty mussels; the royal treatment to end it all perfectly. Whew, feels good to finally get that all out there. In all honesty, it was the perfect trip home and I am so glad I made the decision to do it.

After waking up for my connecting flight in the Paris airport with 30 seconds before the intended departure time, I safely arrived in Armenia. I headed over to my friend Ashley's apartment in a small village which sits directly outside Yerevan. The next morning my host father Samvell called me. I thought it was a kind 'Hey- welcome back!' but I shortly realized his phone call was so prompt due to necessity. The family whose house I'd been living in was set to return to Malishka in approximately 5 days. He explained that I had that same amount of time to leave the house. I was on such a high from America that I floated through this process as in a dream. I felt no rush to return to a place that was no longer my home so I instead visited my friend Phi at her somewhat new place.

Five days later, my site-mate Elisabeth and I packed up the OBSCENE amount of shit I have gathered since being out on my own, then into Samvel's car and later his house. I have been living back with my host family since September 16th.  There was a house which I fell in love with which wasn't approved about a week and a half ago. I don't want to remember the beautiful balcony there because it only makes me want to cry. Yet tomorrow I finally get to move into my new place. I will post pictures as soon as it's ready!

Songs Of The Month: Sara Lov - Frankie
The XX - Stars

Summer Unplug-ish

Well, well, well. My efforts to remove myself from the outside are and were not as solid as originally planned. I never expected that the grant report I was working on would require so much communication with my advisors and supportive friends. Unfortunately, my version of Microsoft Office is not compatible with the format and therefore I had to travel into the capital where our Peace Corps Office is so that I could put all the required information into the form. There were some other complications and hiccups, plus the beer at lunch time helped none for motivation. I ended up staying at a friend's for the night so that I could finish work the next day. Now, all I need to do is collect all necessary documents and receipts and send that bad boy in to staff. Yay for a completed project!! (In case you were wondering, this report is for the National Poetry Contest that took place back in May).

While to my great embarrassment I have been checking Facebook and gmail daily, then yesterday I spent two hours gchatting with girlfriends at home, I still have been getting things done that I sought out to do when the Unplug was planned. Most important among those things is spending more time with community members here in Malishka. One of my goals for Year 2 is to spend more time socializing with Armenians, not saving my social hours for Americans. It will also continue helping my language along. Speaking of, I have had a lot of funny language incidents recently.

One came with my little boyfriends who will be in the 5th grade next year ( they have the naivete and energy of boys entering the 3rd grade in America...). My neighbor's son Tigran will come over my house nearly everyday and occasssionally his friend Eric will join him. They enjoy using my electric fly swatter and playing 21 questions. Typically, once I shoo them away they will come barreling up the stairs one last time, just for the thrill of getting yelled at when they reach the top. Once they're really on their way out, they will break roses off the bush in my front yard and shoot them into the kitchen window with Tigran's hand made bow and arrow; which I might add, is pretty impressive...now making me suspicious of who actually made it...anyway, I digress.

The boys love to meet other volunteers who come through town and were particularly infatuated with a boy from Chicago for his desirable good looks (blonde haired, blue eyed boys are admired by all for their Caucasian beauty) and athleticism. Last week, when Eric returned from a little vacation with his family, he and Tigran came for their usual visit. I hadn't seen Eric since the Border2Border team was staying at my house so we had a lot of catching up to do.

But first, a quick lesson in language. In Armenian, if you want to indicate that a person or thing is in a certain location, you add "oom" (ում) to the end of the place. For example, if I wanted to tell my family that I was in Yerevan, not Malishka I would say: "Yes Yerevanum em, hima. Malishkaum chem." (I am in Yerevan, now. I'm not in Malishka). Ok, hopefully you can understand that. I will now give a transcript of my conversation with Eric.

Eric: "Ms. Caroline - do you have a place in Chicago?"
Me: "In Chicago?" (Having not understand that 'chikagoyum', pronounced with a hard 'ch' sound instead of the 'sh' Americans use, was indicating in chicago, thinking instead that it was an object).
Eric: "Yea, you know - like your friends."
Me: "Uh, I don't know Eric."
Eric: "UGH, IN CHICAGO, DO YOU HAVE A PLACE? IN CHICAGO!? IN CHICAGO?!"
Me: "What is this word, I don't know this word 'chikagoyum'... what is it, can you explain?"
Tigran: "ERRRRIIIC, she doesn't understand. But she's from New York."
Me: (Beginning to pick up the gist) "Eric, are you asking me what state I'm from?"
Eric: "Yes. No. I mean, do you have a place in Chicago!?"
Tigran: "No, my brother, she is from New York. Her parents live there."
Eric: "Yea, brother, but does she have a place in Chicago?"
Tigran: "Oh my god, Eric, you're an idiot."
Me: "Ok, Eric, say this word again I will find out what you mean."
Eric: "Chi-ka-go-yum."
Me: "Alright, I'll ask someone."
Tigran: "Ms. Caroline, did you call Kevin yet? I want him to bring us an electric fly swatter like yours, so call him - okay? OKAY?!"
Me: "Yea... I don't know Tigran, maybe. Alright, goodbye youse, I have work to do."
Tigran and Eric: "AAAAAAAHHHHHHH GOODBYE( in English)!!!!!!", as they run out the door and down the stairs.


The next day I met with my student, Christine, who will travel to Texas on August 5th to stay and learn for one year in an American high school. I wanted to take her out for ice cream in Yeghegnadzor and catch up on lost time. If you remember, this is the Malishka gem that I've referred to in the past. She's incredibly intelligent and mature. Even though I am ten years older than her, I admire her in many different ways. On our way back to the village, I remembered my conversation with the boys and decided to ask her about what it meant. As I was trying to remember the exact way that Eric had pronounced it, I ended up using the soft 'sh' that as Americans we use in pronouncing Chicago. The moment it left my mouth, I realized the misunderstanding. Together, Christine and I laughed at this very simple word that got seriously lost in translation.

A couple of days later, my gas tank (with which I cook) emptied. I called my host father Samvell to take care of business, as he so loves. A few hours later he and his friend showed up, took the tank, called the electrician about my dying refrigerator and headed into town. They returned less than an hour later and then took me over to the host family's to do laundry. I was unexpectedly and pleasantly surprised to find Siranush's mother, two sister-in-laws and their beloved family friend Shushan all sitting around the table. I had arrived just in time to be fed (which, lets be honest, is always the case). I didn't realize how much I'd missed tatik's (grandmother's) cooking. When I was living with the family she'd come over a few times a month and cook us a meal. I haven't had her cooking since probably March. She was just as excited to see me as I was her, heating up the food and setting me a place at the table. She didn't sit down until I was totally situated.

Over the next two hours, I sat listening to the women laugh and trade stories. It reminded me of sitting around the table in my Nana's house in Rhode Island as a kid with my cousin, Sara. My mother and her sisters would relish in the company of one another. Sharing stories about their husbands, laughing so hard they cry, reminiscing about ridiculous times from their youth and just like the women at the table in Siranush's house forgetting for a while that they had an audience and talking about...adult subjects. It has been a long time since I sat around listening to my mother and her sisters laugh with one another. It didn't exactly make me homesick, as I simply felt grateful to be a part of a sisterhood like that once again.

It's moments like that when I forget that I am not 'one of them' and feel at home. It's moments like that, when I can see and understand why I am who I am. One of the things I appreciate most about being in Armenia is the very different colored lenses through which I am able to reflect on my life. In general, I am very introspective and reflect on all things that occur in my life, good or bad. I try to understand them fully and intricately. Often times I will be in the midst of a moment or experience here and suddenly memories will come to me, things that I have not thought about in forever. Not that they'd been forgotten, but that they had gotten lost in the mix of things. Generally, they are positive memories. Almost always the thought following the memory is something along the lines of, "God, at that point in time, I would have never imagined my life where it is today. At this table, with these women, in this language, and me - 26 years old. Ha. Weird."

I will continue with my unplug as planned until the 1st of August. Now that the bulk of the grant report work is finished I can sit back and relax. I picked up one of my favorite books, Forever by Pete Hamill, at the Peace Corps Office so I have something to occupy my time with. Some of you should expect letters in the mail, as I have been writing more of those than usual.

Alright my babies, back into my bubble I go. Tell yourself I said, "hi". Then, go buy a nice bottle of dry Sauvignon Blanc and drink it on my behalf. Stare at the stars and moon, and know I do the same every night.


Lovers youse

p.s. Can you (Phil, Crystal, Mom, Dad) give my baby Soleil a kiss for me? Tell her I miss her to death.

Border2Border Part III: How Do You Say Hostess In Armenian?

That is the question I asked my host mother Siranush, as I continued to kill time at her house - hiding from my guests. I am lucky to have someone like her, because nearly 100% of the time our natural ability to understand and communicate with one another always leads to the word I am seeking. Our conversation went something like this:

"Carol-jan, are you hungry?"
"Yes, very much so."
"Sit down, I made your favorite."
"I love you Siranush."
"Oh, Carol."
"So, I have all these people at the house right now. What does that make me?"
"I don't understand you."
"Ok, I have guests, right? So then, I am...what?"
"Carol, I don't understand."
"Ok, ok. When you have children you are a mother, when you have guests you are..."
"A hostess! Hahaha, oh Carol-jan."
"Yes! This word! I am a bad hostess."
"Ha, carol, carol, carol. Why are you bad?"
"Because, I am always trying to leave the house."
"Ahhh, whatever. Sit, relax, eat your lunch and take your time. Let them work in your garden for five days - who cares? Come here everyday."
"Yeah, I probably will."

Brotherhood (Malishka)

   The morning of June 20th, I departed from Sisian and soon arrived in Malishka. Once home, I realized my landlord had turned my water off. I called him, he said he would be over in an hour...that turned into four. Meanwhile I walked in circles around the house, throwing away the food that went bad in the refrigerator because it had turned itself off at some point.  I was smart enough to leave myself some eggs, but didn't have much of an appetite. I decided to finally do some redecorating in my living room, pulling out letters, postcards and pictures. I thought I would make something pretty in my free time before the group's arrival.

The next morning was pretty rainy and cloudy. I was happy to be in my house, and not out there battling the forces of nature. Without much thought I sent a text message to Lauren, letting her know that if the group wanted they could come a day early. I was thinking that two nights with everyone was 100% doable. A little later she called me, and asked that I check weather. It was around 10 a.m. and they hadn't yet moved from the so-called shelter of an abandoned building they sought the night before. The forecast wasn't' looking too good for the next day and a half. I jokingly mentioned that it was going to be 80's in Malishka the next day. I told Lauren to let me know what they were going to decide. About a half an hour later I got a phone, explaining that while they 'weren't proud' everyone wanted to come to 'Florida'. ( I secretly believe that their missing of me was too much to bear, and the weather a convenient excuse).

Do you not realize I have a knife in my hand?

I called my host father, Samvell, to help me figure out how to get taxis to the middle of nowhere and back to Malishka. Without a moment's hesitation he decided that together we would go rescue my friends from the rain. A little while later we were on our way with another car in tow. They turned out to be an hours drive from my house. Once we picked them up, we stopped in the town of Vayk (where two new volunteers are bound in August!) to grab food stuffs.

Meg is a boss.

Kevin plays human knot with my babes!

Once in Malishka, I promptly began politely barking rules. No shoes in the house; wear these shoes in the out house, smoke outside, smoke outside and use this ashtray, no luggage/clothes/dirty socks/
basicallyanythingbutmyshitandyoursleepingbags in the living/bedroom; if you cook you don't clean; if you're not cooking or helping to prepare the meal you better be doing something useful; we do not fall asleep with the t.v. on; limit your peanut butter intake; morning voices until I say; there's organic and non organic trash- do not confuse them; this is the pee bucket- do not cook with it...and so on and so forth.

First dinner on the 'patio'.

After everyone was fed and beveraged, I took off for my host family's house. They'd told me a letter had arrived while I was gone. I love receiving letters and it was a convenient excuse to escape. I told everyone I would be gone for 30 minutes, I returned 3 hours later. At my family's I caught up, told them how I wanted to prepare for B2B in Malishka. Samvell and I drank his wine, and then he remembered the letter. When I looked at the return address my draw dropped. I had forgotten writing this individual at all. I crumbled up the letter and put it in my pocket. Samvell gave me a funny look, and gestured ' What the f?' I laughed, and explained I wasn't ready to see what was inside.

I had purposefully left my phone back at the house so no one could call me while I was gone. Once I waltzed back into the door, the gang was already laying down for bed. I informed them that I had a letter, grabbed a cigarette and shut the front door behind me. Afterwards, I crawled into bed with Lauren and began reciting lines from the letter. "Dear Carolyn," followed by insane laughter.

Putting the boys to work.

The next morning I woke at 5:30am and decided this was an opportune time to clean and organize all the packs, hanging the wet tents etc before anyone else got up. About two hours later Lauren and Kevin woke up and enjoyed the last of the American coffee my dear cousin Regina had sent me. We had a full beautiful day ahead of us and that afternoon Kevin, Jesse and I worked in the garden gathering berries, clearing a patio space and loads of other things. That evening we enjoyed our first meal out on the patio, then later prepared the berries to be turned into wine. I had quite the time mashing them up with my feet. When the boys and I decided to embark on the endeavor in the early afternoon, I had no idea what a long process it would actually end up being. Hopefully in a few weeks I will report that it was worth all the effort.

B2B in Malishka!

The next day, the gang left to teach in Vayk early while I stayed behind. I wanted to clean the house again, bring laundry over to my family's house and shower there as well. Once back in Malishka, the team headed to the river for some swimming and I stayed behind to begin preparing dinner. I had been looking forward to making them cookies and eggplant parmesan since the beginning of B2B. The next morning, we had the Malishka edition of Border2Border. Our Peace Corps Country Director came out for the day to watch and visit my village. We had a huge turnout and it was so awesome to see all my little babies again. I had four of my most responsible girls come and be our team teachers, and it was great to see them as well (two of whom are my host twin sisters). Afterwards, Siranush invited us all over to the house for coffee and treats, which in the end turned into a full blown meal.

From Left: Hasmik, Tsoghik, Me, Anna, Christine

It was only then that I took a big sigh of relief. My part was totally done! Now, I could just lean back, kick my feet up and watch. The next day the team in the North arrived in Yeghegnadzor. Again, I let the group go ahead as I wanted some decompression time to myself. I met them all for dinner a few hours later and was elated to see some of my closest friends for the first time in over a month! After dinner, we all grabbed some food and headed back to the house. I had switched up some of my guests, taking all my best friends from the North Team into my home. The end of their route was rough like the beginning of our route had been.

South Team and my family.

The next morning we set out for the finale. The teams taught (sans yours truly) together for the 87 kids that showed up that day. Afterwards, we had a small get together at a nearby restaurant where we watched a slideshow of all the pictures that had been taken. Everybody was pretty tired, so we all headed home to relax shortly thereafter.

I must admit, the end of B2B felt anti-climatic. I was so focused on getting things together in Malishka, and staying in one piece (peacefully) while hosting six people for a week that the 'finale' seemed sort of irrelevant. It felt like the whole shebang wasn't done until my eventual return back to site after going up to Yerevan for Site Announcement. Site Announcement is where the current trainees learn of their permanent site. All current volunteers go for the big announcement and then hang out afterwards.   It was great finding out who will be joining our little Club Yegh family come August. We are getting three new volunteers, a young man and woman, and an older woman. It'll be interesting to see the ways in which the dynamic changes...


Yay! I am done! It is done! A huge thanks from the soft part of my heart needs to go to Siranush and Samvell (my host parents, for all the favors they do with nothing asked in return), Phi ( my unwavering source of love and support),  Brian Bokhart (kisses when I ask), Meg McGinty ( Irish twin sister, agape love), Marisa Mitchell (nobullshittoughlove), David Corsar ( garden talks, dance raging, reading my mind ALWAYS),  and most importantly Andrew Rodga ( the voice I need at 5am).


And now, let normal life resume...

Jigsaw Falling Into Place

After closing the computer on my last post, much of what I was looking forward to awaited me. Siranush had made my favorite meal (which isn't really a meal at all, but a sauteed vegetable that is somewhere between spinach and seaweed called 'bonjar') and sent me home with some goodies. This time it was fresh homemade cheese ( YES!), a jar of sauce I helped jar last summer (YEESSS!), and a bag full on onions (yes?). She also informed me that I should not be purchasing my potatoes from anyone, but that she would supply them for me.

She inquired about where I buy my eggs, lavash and other vegetables. She asked me why I didn't bring my clothes to wash. I told her I would return to wash them either today or tomorrow. She then told me that one of her twin daughters moved into my old room. She told me that for the first time in their lives the twins are sleeping in separate rooms. Her daughter has decorated the room the same way that I had, with pictures and writings on the walls. She then lead me back to the room I lived in for eight months to see with my own eyes.  I can't properly relay the response this evoked. Somewhere between surprise, validation and pride.

All this time, one of the areas I've felt most disappointed in has been my relationship with Siranush's twin daughters. American twin sisters that are 15 years old are going to be difficult to bond with, no less Armenian ones. There are several reasons why I found this relationship challenging. Firstly, I've never had a sister. Secondly, Armenian youth are experiencing this two-sided-coin sort of life: The way their parents understand life and the world; and the world they're being exposed to through internet and television. Finally, they're my students and I never quite knew how to balance those two very different relationships. So when I saw that Anna had literally followed in my foot steps there was such a sense of relief. I wasn't able to see until that moment that I had made an impact on the girls, maybe even more than I realize now. The very cool thing about this impact, is that it was one I wanted to have. I wanted them to become more individual, independent so that there was more room for personal growth and it seems that is exactly what will ensue.

I was on such a high walking home from the 'ole host family home that evening that when one of the school's cleaning ladies came running outside, asking that I come inside, I agreed. Since moving, I have received a lot of invitations to go sit, have coffee and candy. It's a regular and normal thing for Armenians to extend this sort of hospitality. Hosting friends, family, and strangers is a normal and regular part of the culture. The word 'huerasirel' means 'to guest love' literally, but in our terms it would mean to be a very good host. There's also an understanding that you are 'pleasuring' your guests. I recently had a male Armenian friend begin to say, "So, when we are pleasuring you..." My friend Lauren and I, once we stopped snorting in laughter, explained this wasn't exactly an appropriate phrasing for the circumstances. Anyway, I hung out with Annahit and her daughter-in-law for a half hour or so and they sent me away with a bottle of fresh cow's milk. Overall, it was a very good day.

The day before an Armenian Peace Corps Staff member had stopped in Malishka on his way down South to drop off a tank of gas. Once opening the stove to reveal the smaller tank, he explained I would need a new reductor and a new schlong. No joke. This man stood in my kitchen and explained, "You will need, maybe, a one to two meter schlong will be long enough." If there was a single other American around I would have lost it, but I did not feel like explaining myself to this man and so I kept my mouth shut.

Also, Samvell helped me to pick up my bed in the nearby town AND THAT was another ridiculous highlight of last week. This may be the first time that everyone was truly gawking at me, and it wasn't just my imagination or a bad dream. We simply had to laugh it off. Now I sit in my living room that's decorated and arranged precisely how I want it after a wonderful evening and morning with my sitemates laughing, commiserating and most importantly, sharing.

Life is good. Life is real good.


Song Of The Week: Rachel Yamagata 'Elephants'
Quote Of The Week: "Hing rope, arten yekav!"

Life Without Facebook

I must say, that my impulses to melt my brain with Facebook have been strong and consistent. I am in my third full day, and a friend tells me that I can expect the addiction to loosen it's hold on me by the end of my first week. I secretly don't believe him. In the meantime, I have been thoroughly enjoying my time alone in my new place. Today I will go over the host family's to take a shower. I am hoping that they feed me. I am also hoping that they send me away with goodies such as the homemade lavash they get delivered to the house, the fresh homemade cheese that I've grown to love and crave, and maybe apples or something.

Today I  finally started to decorate the house. For some reason, I have been reluctant to do this without my new bed, which I expect to be delivered within the next day or two. Seeing that the bed is not the whole house, I thought it would be okay if I started in the dining area. I decorated the walls with the colorings that my niece did, sent by my mother. I am hoping that when I finally invite the host family and some choice students over they don't assume I am hanging my own pictures... that would be very awkward. When the place is as I want it, I will be sure to post pictures into the blog for your viewing pleasure.

Without Facebook, I find myself writing daily in my journal and devouring any book that I can get my hands on. The weather has been absolutely gorgeous, high 70's for the last week and I've dutifully been getting my tan on. I am still becoming accustomed to the neighborhood sounds, always on edge that my landlord will waltz up the stairs to find me in my underwear smoking a cigarette, reading a book, laying on a camping mat outside my front door. I don't really think this would go over well, so I jump at every sound that comes from the street.

The trees in my yard continue to bloom and it's magnificent taking note of which ones gained color over the last day or so the next morning. I can't wait for the furthering of privacy that will surely happen once all of the tress and plants have leafed and or bloomed. This weekend I am having my sitemates over for a house warming dinner and plan to spend the rest of the time working on my tan, preparing for our regional poetry contest and tiding up the garden.

Yay for Spring, tans, freedom, flipflops, decorating, and being that much closer to my birthday!!

Home Sweet Home

What's that you say, darling? Weren't you just escaping your 'prison' for the last two weeks? Yes, yes I was.

My dear readers, followers, friends, and stalkers I thank you for hanging tight during my times of tribulation. I must admit, I have deleted the post which describes in detail my melt down approximately two weeks ago. I thought it was wise to do so for two reasons. One, my country director sort of asked me to and two, well... it was really just one I guess. At first I edited some parts out, and then I thought "shiiiiiiiit, delete". I could see his point, reiterated by others that it would bring shame to my community and could be misinterpreted. One of the things I reflected on heavily while taking my little mental health vacation was what did I come here to do? Certainly, it was not to bring negative attention to the people I live and work with.

I thought long and hard about this, spoke for probably a total of 20 hours with different friends about the topic. Why am I here? What was I seeking? It's so easy to get lost in the romance of living abroad, meeting new friends, etc. I lost my way, I lost sight of my intentions and it's been a great relief to be back in my original mindset. I have always viewed service, or self imposed hardships as an opportunity for self cleansing. Through altruism, we can see the bigger picture and better understand our own purpose in life. I have been wrestling with the idea that one of my larger expectations from before coming has been a huge disappointment. I had it made up, that where ever I ended up serving, I would become enlightened or have some huge epiphany that while different and unorthodox, this new community's way of operating in this world had merit. This doesn't mean I hate Armenian culture. There are many things that I enjoy. I feel guilty even admitting this is the way I feel.

But yesterday, as I walked up the steps toward the train station which leads me to my village's bus I realized I was going home. In that moment I knew, the dread that had resided in the bottom of my belly was gone. Let's rewind a few days backward. I was sitting in Chris's bathtub -in the dark- seeking answers or meditating. Last April, I participated in a women's retreat in Pennsylvania recommended to me by my therapist at the time. For a while, I was really good about utilizing some of the tools we'd been given to cope / heal. It's been a long time since I returned to any of that stuff. I decided in Chris's bathroom to start with the very first guided meditation.

Now, I don't think I can properly describe what it is or what I saw, but what I realized and concluded was that my sense of well being or 'happiness' was shattered months ago. It was in the start of my actual service (after training) that the idea I'd been clinging to as my thread of hope and love became obsolete. He was the bandage I'd been using to protect a very old wound, and it got ripped off. I was unhappy. I have been unhappy, deeply sad and lonely for the last six months. Can you imagine? REALIZING that you are unhappy? It sounds so odd, but it's the truth. With that, it became clear that my reaction to uncomfortable situations in the host family, with the director and my counterpart and other PCVs is deeply tied to this other thing that I've been ignoring. It was then I understood that a house with painted walls and wood floors and a nice bathroom is not going to make me happy. If anything, these things that I have with the host family have kept me lulled into happiness. I like the blue walls, I love their shower, I like being taken care of even more. But ultimately, a couple layers below the surface this discontent remains. And so maybe praying that whatever gods may be give me a nice house was short sighted. In a way I think I need to take the unfinished house. It is shelter. I can cook there and entertain there and sleep there. There are walls, a roof, a bed and a kitchen. So, I will continue to rely on my host family for showers. SO WHAT. It could be worse, this could be my actual life.  As my brother Andrew pointed out, there are poor families in America who spend their whole lives relying on others for something so much as a shower.

If there's something I'm extremely good at, it's pretending that everything is okay when it is not. My moment of reckoning came two weeks ago on the phone with an older volunteer. She powerfully blew away the smoke and smashed the mirrors, revealing my unhappiness. Only, I couldn't tell where it was coming from. It took two weeks away, cooking nice meals for loved ones and new friends, a cry outside the bar with a new friend, an international conversation with an old friend, 3 hour long baths, and a ridiculous amount of coffee and writing to get back to good.

I am on my two feet again, eyes and heart wide open.


Song Of The Week: Ben Howard - Keep Your Head Up
Quote Of The Week: "Wait, isn't that the place with the serial killings?"
                                   "What can I say? It's a convenient place to bury people."
                                    "Oh my god, Carolyn."
                                   "Whatever, it's a great beach is all I'm saying."

"Let It Always Be..."

Is typically how an Armenian toast will begin. On February 13th, Armenians celebrate an equivalent of Valentine's Day, except their holiday is steeped in ancient tradition. Families will light a small fire, circle around it several times while holding hands and then each person jumps over/ through the fire 3, 5, or 8 times. This is a very big day for those newly engaged, or newly married. If this is your case, then your family will throw a big 'ole party and the small fire will be more like a bonfire. I'm not exactly sure how people jump over that fire... I celebrated with my host family and Siranush explained to me that jumping over the fire would cleanse the soul of sins, opening your heart to God's light (or something like that). Then I found this explanation for an Armenian news outlet, "The celebration of the Trndez is pagan in origin and is originally connected with sun/fire worship in ancient pre-Christian Armenia, symbolizing the coming of spring and fertility. On this day, sweethearts leap over bonfires with their hands clasped to symbolize eternal love." (Panarmenia.net)

Siranush had cooked up a tasty meal and Samvell was eager to drink his homemade wine with me once again. The last time we shared drinks together was before I left to go home. When he poured my first glass, the strong brandy-like smell hit my nostrils and the way that things were before I left returned to me. The sense that this is my family that cares for me, that I was truly happy and comfortable living here, and how I felt close with Samvell. I'm realizing that maybe my being away for so long, and returning was not only an adjustment for me - but for the family too. I can't presume to know the thoughts that went through their heads, but whatever tension that's existed the last few weeks between Samvell and I was totally washed away in that evening. 

I hate to say it, and I'm sure that there are people who might disagree, but sometimes sitting down for a few drinks and getting buzzed will form a bond between two people. In this case, when we sit down to share his wine, Samvell forgets that I am this confusing anomaly of an independent, unmarried, young woman. I am Carolyn, who likes to talk about politics and the differences between Armenian and American culture. And he is Samvell, who loves these topics too and likes dancing to Michael Jackson. It was a long evening with toasts to the dead cat, my family back home, my new house, and to my always being a part of the family, that I will always have a place in their home.

In other news: I have found a house to live in! Next week my Regional Manager will come to approve the house and make sure that it meets Peace Corps standards. Once I have the place the my liking, expect pictures! We had a conference last week, it was great to see all the other volunteers that I don't normally get a chance to see. I brought one of the English teachers with me and it was great to work with her. My friend Phi is back home in California visiting family and I can't wait for her return! Though we will go weeks without seeing one another normally, the idea that I can't call her if I feel like it makes me miss her!!

Quote of the Week: "Look, I can do something like that, too!" (hacks a loogey)
Album of the Week: Cake 'Fashion Nugget'

An Act of Kindness

That's what Peace Corps is hypothetically all about, right? Being good to those less fortunate than you, and all that other Lifetime feel good stuff. I realize that I rarely divulge information about anything outside of what's going on in my head, the friends I visit and other positive things. If you have the honor of speaking with me offline or are a PCV also, you know well that there is much more going on behind the scenes. That sometimes I leave school after only three classes, because I feel my head is going to explode with frustration with my counterpart. And somedays, I want to scream on the top of my lungs at the children.

If I'm wholly honest, all of January was a tough month for me. There were a few highlights, yes - like the bathtubs and traveling to see my friends. On a whole though- it was the most difficult month that I have had in service so far. I know where I'm hitting glass ceilings and it's utterly infuriating. I want to reach these kids, for them to like me, respect me and realize that I'm not a joke or a party planner or a babysitter. I am their teacher and I feel this is a fact often forgot.

The twin sisters that I live with, I am not going to call them my sisters (as many other PCVs do with their host family) because that would give you the wrong idea about our closeness. These girls have made it a point to distance themselves from me socially. I suspect their friends don't think I'm 'cool', and for crying out loud they are fifteen years old - the most wretched age of all, so there is quite a bit of distance between us. They are in the 10th grade and their classmates are at a precipice in their educational careers. There are few that will go on to University, as scholarships and such are not readily available here, and there are maybe two or three kids that can afford the tuition. And so there are few who care to try hard in class. They know the game: come to school on time, sit, make minimal disruptions, go home. Two years left and then mundane adult life will begin.

You may remember that there are no systems in place to punish students for bad behavior. Unfortunately, we were given no training in the ways of classroom management. In fact, we were assured that this responsibility was solely that of our Armenian counterparts. In my case, this is practically a joke. In many cases, the students are more likely to listen to me than to her. It's incredibly exhausting, frustrating, and makes me think 'I don't want children'. Last week, I hit my breaking point with the 10th grade. I had created a lesson where they had 'Agree' and 'Disagree' signs that I wanted them to hold up in response to questions like "My life will be better if I can speak English''. The plan was to hold a discussion where I would hopefully convince some students to care more about English class.

Well, they were so disruptive that we didn't even get through the questions. Some students refused to participate at all. They know well, there is nothing I can do about this. Maybe a low score for the day, but no detention - their parents won't find out, and in the grand scheme of things it really makes no difference at all. I got their attention by raising my voice saying something like, "THAT'S ENOUGH". It's very possible that I was purple in the face, as well. I then began to give a speech that went something like this:

"What did I do? Did I do something for you to have no respect for me, none, not even an ounce? Do you realize that the only reason I am here, in this country, is for you? My whole life is in America - my family, my friends (at this point I was on the verge of tears), and you hurt me. Everyday that you laugh at me, disrespect me, you hurt me. So everyday that I don't show up to class, is a day that I don't want to hurt. Do you understand?"

Apparently, I got my message across this time because their homeroom teacher ( a close mentor of Siranush) came over at the end of day. She looked entertained as she said, "So you got angry today? What happened?". I explained to her what I had said. She simply listens and told me that maybe today they understood. Ironically, my counterpart has decided that it's a good idea for me to take over this class complete for the next month. She has admitted to not knowing how to teach in anyway other than reading straight out of the awful textbooks. Well, these kids are for a real surprise when they learn this news. No more bullshit, no more nonsense.

So, my act of kindness? Well, it wasn't mine, it was Siranush's. Though I haven't been confiding or talking with her nearly as much as I was before leaving, she understands that I am struggling with things here at the moment. This morning she was awake the same time as me - a rarity. I wake up about 2.5 hours before school. I enjoy taking my time getting ready and having the kitchen to myself in the morning. At the moment, the shower is out of comission. I am getting the feeling they simply don't take full showers in the winter. I don't want to go out there either- it's freezing. (Don't worry kids, I shower at friend's). I badly needed to wash my hair before school today and I guess Siranush did too. She realized what I was preparing to do, and confirmed with me, then suggested that she wash my hair for me. I have seen her do this for the girls before, so I figured what the hell.

It struck me as such an act of love. It was really touching to have her wash my hair with such care, the same as she would her girls. It's moments like these that I rejoice in, holding onto these moments in the darker ones.

It's Not You, It's Me...

… the hardest sentence to explain or make sense of to anyone you’re separating from.  I have finally decided to move out of my host family’s. It’s been great, but it is high time that I  found a place of my own.

I’ve been back in Armenia since around 10pm on January 2^nd. I had to, once again, say goodbye to my friends and family. My girlfriends from home sat around my kitchen table one last time and laughed our heads off, putting off that ‘goodbye’ as long as possible. Just thinking about it makes me miss them.  I smoked my last ever cigarette with my long time comrade in this activity on my porch, then watched as they drove away in their separate cars. See, I have this sinking feeling that by the time I return to America, most of them will have moved out of town. Our accessibility to one another will really never be the same. This feeling, that an era is over, has been ever present in my life recently. 

On my way out of town, I stopped at my niece’s home to give her a birthday present, sing Happy Birthday and hit the road. At the airport my mother cried equally as hard as the first time and my father was as stoic as ever. It was definitely interesting to be heading back alone this time around. When I checked in, the lady asked if I was willing to volunteer for a later flight that evening and that I would be compensated for my time. I agreed and walked away with $400 in flight credits. Here I come exotic yoga retreat this summer!

Stepping out of the airport outside the capital city was certainly surreal. There was a part of me afraid I had forgotten all my Armenian, but when I opened my mouth to speak, I was happily surprised that not all had been lost. I met my friend at the Peace Corps office and then headed back out with him. We crashed at another volunteers place that night and then returned back to the city. The next two nights were spent at a hotel with my closest friend here, to celebrate her 24^th birthday. We had a grand old time and the next night attended a dinner hosted by Foreign Service Officers to offer us information on the life of a diplomat.

The next afternoon as I sat in the taxi on my way back to Malishka, it occurred to me that I had literally not been there in a month. A little anxiety started to kick in, and I realized that I didn’t want to return to anyone. While it was nice to have people there, with a fire going and hot food waiting – I also just wanted to crash. I wanted to walk in the door, drop my bags, change into sweatpants and call my mother. Yet, these options were not available to me. They were waiting for me, they were excited to see me and wanted to sit and hear all about my trip. I gave them their presents and we chatted a little bit over dinner. Luckily, by the time I had returned the week-long Nor Tari celebrations were coming to an end. The last thing I wanted was to walk into a house full of guests, or even meet a single new person after living out of a suitcase for a month, and being on the go for the last week.

When I woke the next morning, the gnawing feeling that I wanted a place of my own began to intensify.  Even before coming to Armenia, I had figured that by spring I would find a house for myself. Yet, this was different. Being home for that long of a time, made me keenly aware of how many sacrifices I truly had been making in the ways of personal space and freedom. The freedom to eat –guiltlessly- at anytime that I chose, freedom to come and go as I please with no explanation and the personal space to do yoga in one room, eat in another, sleep in yet another and never interfere with another person's doings.

I want these things. I want these things, bad. There are so many daily stresses, that at the end of each one, I simply want to decompress. No matter how long I am here, that will never be able to fully happen while living with a host family. Now that I have finally expressed this to my family, I feel a little better knowing that things are moving in that direction.

Today I returned to school for the first time. The weather has turned from mild to your typical uncomfortably cold winter in the last week. Siranush informed me on Sunday that we would not teach Monday, but that we would meet and decide if we are going to hold classes or not this week. In the morning, her mentor - a very senior individual in the school- came to walk with us. She told me that it had already been decided school would not be held this week. It felt like business as usual upon entering the front doors of the school and the wonderfully warm welcome I received from the rest of the teachers was heart warming. I got big hugs and kisses, wide grins and the feeling that I had genuinely been missed.

Tthis last week back hasn't been easy. I was excited to be here when I first landed and I don't regret for a second going home (even for that amount of time), but it has been emotionally taxing this last week. In some ways, it feels as though I am back in the game, after a healed injury, with new sneakers to break in. It hurts, and I'm getting blisters where the skin had softened. Yet, this game is not entirely new and hardship is a game I've defeated in the past. I'm keeping my head up, and milking my close relationships for what their worth. Tomorrow, I will travel to see my friend Brian and then Thursday head North for the first time for my New York bestie's 25th birthday. I look forward to getting some good pictures for my next video!! And if you haven't yet seen the video I made, check it out here.

Quote of the week: "I'm not tryna hear any a that sissy shit!"
Song of the Week: Flight Facilities "Clair de lune (ft. christine hoberg)"