Mama, Mama I'm Coming Homeeee

Well, technically I already am. As I write this, Soleil is sitting next to me, complaining, "You talk in a different way." Once I started showing off my Armenian to her, every time I correct her English, she claims to not understand me. The title of this blogpost comes from an Ozzy Osbourne song that I often heard growing up, and was stuck in my head for all twenty hours of my travel time. Once I landed in New York - with no sleep since I was in Armenia - and saw an entire group of women standing around smoking, the song changed to "I'm in a New York State Of Mind" and also "AMERICA  F-YEAH".

Then, I got in the car with my mother and headed over to my great aunt's wake. I was dirty and smelly, in the same clothes for the last couple of days. I wasn't expecting to be going straight there, but we needed to pick my father up. "Everyone's waiting for you," my mother explained. First things first, we stopped off at a pizza joint to grab a slice of some New York pizza. I felt compelled to tell the girl behind the counter that this would be my first slice of heaven in over six months and that she should feel honored.

Now, I want to give ya'll some back story on what awaited me at the funeral parlor. While Patricia Hennessy was a 'distant' relative, I've known her and most of her descendants my whole life. My grandmother, Patricia, and their brother all bought summer homes within the Huletts Landing community on Lake George in upstate New York, sometime in the 1970's. My grandmother and her brother Luke had eight children and Patricia had ten. A good majority of those twenty six cousins got married, had children of their own and are now grandparents. All in all, at the time of her death Patricia alone had around 35 grandchildren and 26 great-grandchildren. Throughout my life, I have spent two to three weeks at a time at Lake George in the summer, sometimes knowing who my third cousins were and sometimes not. Ironically, I did not find out until about five years ago that one of the cousins' whom I most strongly resemble, was in fact a family member. The families that have homes in Huletts are a sort of family in and of themselves, and I have the element of actually being related to a great number of those people.

What I'm trying to get at here, is that when I entered the funeral parlor - it was pretty overwhelming. Some people knew I was returning, others did not, but they all had a ton of questions. For just having traveled 20 hours, with no sleep - I think I handled it pretty well. The first twenty-four hours home in general were overwhelming, but not in the way that you are thinking. I was surprised at how easy it was to slip back into the life I left behind. I had no idea what to expect about returning- what it would feel like, if I would experience culture shock, etc. The next morning, as my brother and I were driving home from the burial he asked me what I saw. I didn't really understand the question, so I explained that it was easier to be home than expected. He pushed further, asking, "No- what are you seeing, right now look around - what do you see?". "Money," I replied. "Money, and people who have places to be, jobs and things to buy."

So, I've got three weeks left in America. I am already missing my Peace Corps family to death. In a way - I feel like I am in this weird time limbo. I was able to come back, and pick up where I left off - even go to the same yoga class. Back home, it feels as though time has stood still here in many ways and gone on in others. While for me, I have seen and experienced so much in the short six months since leaving home, that it's hard to resolve those two ideas. I don't really know where to begin. A few folks have asked me, "How was your trip?" At first, I found this a little insulting. Six months is a little more than a 'trip'. Armenia is my home now, that's where my life takes place currently. And yet, now - it does feel like a trip - in the slang definition. (ie: That show was a real trip, man.)

So. Yeah. Armenia's been a real trip.

... and I can't wait to get back!

Song of the Week: Grateful Dead - Truckin'
Quote of the Week: "If ya press this button hea, it gets one more hotta." TJ


Special thanks to the following for lending a helping hand during a difficult and trying time the week before I left Armenia: Phi Nyguen, Brian Bohkart, Chris Sherwood, Marisa Mitchell, Chris Boyle, Lauren Leary, David Lillie, David Corsar and of course, my super amazing host family.

A Farewell

18 days. There were only 18 days left until my feet were on American soil. I thought she was going to hold on, that I would get to see her one last time. We were getting so close and I felt confident it would work out for us all – my mother, Cetta and me.

But life does not adhere to our desires and needs, it simply comes at us. Sometimes we catch the pitch, even though it’s a curve ball. Other times, it goes way over our heads and we frantically chase it, our backs turned on the game. And then sometimes, it’s a change-up; it looks like it’ll be a fast pitch but once thrown - it slows, taking longer to come into the strike zone than expected. It doesn’t mean you’ll catch it – because if we are the catcher, there is always a batter. Cetta had been standing at the plate, in this particular game of life, for a long time. We all knew she had a full count and were waiting for the outcome of the next pitch. She surprised us all, hit the change-up right out of the ball park. She jogged the bases and went home.  And when the hitter hits a homerun, you can only sit back and watch.

My mother’s friend Cetta had a big loud laugh and a strong hug. She loved loyally and fiercely. She was a damn good Italian cook and could knit the hell out of a blanket. She was my mother's best friend, and sister for the last 20 years. For a long time, sadly, I saw Cetta as another adult who understood nothing about life and was stuck in a cycle I wanted nothing to do with. When Cetta was diagnosed with cancer in the spring of 2011, I was off doing my thing in Boston. I had let go of most of my resentment of her simply through time and distance. Since I was not living at home and we hadn’t had a relationship since I was 12 years old, it was a complete non-reality for me. After some time she went into remission and was no longer going through chemotherapy. When I moved home in October, I was utterly wrapped up in Peace Corps and my ex-boyfriend. It wasn’t until later, with two or three months before my departure that I started making time for Cetta.

The last time I saw her, I had invited her over for brunch. I knew there was a chance we wouldn’t have time like this together again, but in a very disconnected way. I wanted to treat her to a nice breakfast, with my Martha Stewart blueberry scones, home fries, mimosas and all. It was a really nice time, with Cetta sharing stories from her youth and telling me if I find a husband in the Peace Corps I, “betta NOT live wit him before you getchya ring!”.  That day, Cetta let me feel the mass that had started showing a few weeks before.  At the time, she was feeling healthy and joked about the cancer saying, “Ya know, you would think – finally, now that I have cancer I’ll be skinny- but I’m still fat! I mean seriously, what the hell?!”

Over the summer, I came to understand that it was unlikely Cetta and I would see one another again.  It hit me like a ton of bricks and for several days I was processing and coming to terms with this. I started writing her a letter, apologizing for my angsty adolescent ways and pushing her out of my life. I wanted to let her know that I knew she had always loved and cared about me, that the times she told me to be better to my mother, she was right. I faced the impending reality of her death and for the first time, saw her role in my and my mother’s lives clearly. She was a rock for my mother, and I love her for this alone.

Cetta never did respond with a letter in return, but we did get to speak on the phone about a month ago. She was staying at my parent’s home after Hurricane Sandy hit the east coast – as they had electricity and she did not. We got on the phone and I could hardly recognize her voice. It was no longer booming and strong, thick with our Long Island accent. I asked how she was, she responded saying, “I’m better now, I’m not crying anymore because I’m with your mother and she’s taking care of me.” I told her I was glad, and she goes on to say, “Carolyn, I want you to know you never need to apologize for anything – we love each other, I love you and that’s all that matters, okay?”  I wasn’t ready for her to bring up my letter so suddenly and it caught me off guard, so obviously I started crying. Next thing I know, she’s asking me if there are any boys- if I’m having sex. “Oh don’t worry,” she says. “Your mother didn’t hear me ask you that!”

Yesterday, as I sat in the back of the bus listening to my ipod, I thought about Cetta. Who she’d been for me, for my mother. I’m grateful that the last moments we shared were filled with raw honesty and lined with laughter. The last day we spent together, she turned to me and said,

“I am so excited for you to do this. I always wanted to see the world, but I was too afraid to leave home. Go see everything Carolyn, do it for me and then tell me all about it.”

Concetta Morrill (11/13/62- 11/29/12) 

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)

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