So I recently had an article written about me (I know, I know--I'm a big deal). Two other Peace Corps volunteers and I were interviewed because a new Chisinau newspaper was doing a feature on the Peace Corps in Moldova. The article itself is a nice tribute to the Peace Corps, and the other two interviewees and I were able to talk a lot about our experiences in Moldova over the past two years. When the article came out, it was, naturally, published in Romanian. I wanted my friends and loved ones back in the States to be able to read it, so I decided to paste the entire article into Google Translate to see what would happen. Now, for those of you not familiar with Google Translate, it's a program that allows you to type a word, sentence, or--it turns out--an entire webpage in a certain language, and it translates it into another of your choice. As far as individual words go, it's fairly accurate. But if you try to translate more than that, it starts to get sketchy (as my lazy students who try using it to translate entire essays have found out the hard way).
So when I pasted in the article, the result was a much more interesting article than the original. For those of you who are interested in reading it, just go to http://translate.google.com and type in the following url in the text box: http://ziar.jurnal.md/?p=3351. I hope you're as amused as I was.
Sunday, May 2, 2010
Thursday, April 29, 2010
Brains Before Beauty
When I arrived at my lyceum two years ago, I kept hearing references to a "Miss English" competition that had been held the previous year. I asked my colleagues about it, and they explained to me that "Miss English," which was styled in the format of a beauty contest, was a chance for English-speaking girls in the upper-level classes to compete in various contests requiring creativity, memory skills, and--most importantly--a good command of the English language.
The second installment of "Miss English," which I wrote about in a blog entry last March, was an extravagant affair. Eight different girls competed, each of them representing a different country (presenting information about the culture, showing national dances and costumes, and even preparing a national dish for the jury to sample). Each contestant also had to answer a series of trivia questions and perform a scene from a movie of her choice. All of this, of course, was done in English.
When those of us in the English department started planning for this year's "Miss English," we decided to do it a little bit differently. We narrowed the field of contestants to five girls, none of whom had competed in "Miss English" before. And in place of countries, we gave each girl an American/British holiday (namely, Valentine's Day, Easter, Halloween, Thanksgiving, and Christmas). In addition, each girl was given a script of a fairy tale (written by yours truly) to act out, but with a modern-day twist. We chose Little Red Riding Hood, the Princess and the Pea, the Snow Queen, Cinderella, and Snow White.
So as the second semester got underway, two of my partner teachers and I began to prepare in earnest for "Miss English." I was flattered to be so involved in the planning process this time around, especially since I got to show off my creative side by crafting the modern-day renditions of the fairy tales. But as "Miss English" approached, my stress level sky rocketed. I was running around like a chicken with my head cut off, helping not only with the general planning but also helping Larisa, one of my students and a "Miss English" contestant, prepare.
Each of us English teachers was responsible for overseeing our respective students to help them with pronunciation and translation, and to keep tabs of their overall progress. Larisa had always been one of my stronger students, but this year she started to shine. When I asked her if she wanted to participate in "Miss English," I had no way of anticipating the result. She threw herself into it, telling me that she didn't really think she had any chance of winning, but she wanted to have fun and to make her friends and classmates proud. What most impressed me was her self-motivation. Not once did I have to prod her to practice more or to stay on top of things. She organized her own rehearsals, tracked down a slew of classmates and other random students to participate in her presentation, and spent countless hours assembling costumes and drawing and painting posters and pictures to use as visual aids (including a Halloween mural literally the size of an entire wall).
Even though I was excited to see Larisa's presentation take shape, I was becoming more and more disgruntled with the planning. It seemed to me (and it might just be because I am a slightly anal American) that too many things were being left to the last minute and that there was no possible way that everything would come together in time. In addition to that, "Miss English" was postponed on three separate occasions due to scheduling conflicts and sickness. By the time last Monday arrived, I was past the point of caring about how well it would turn out. I just wanted the stupid thing to be over with.
Somehow, miraculously, the program turned out beautifully. It was two hours long, which compared to last year's 3+ hour performance, was a welcome change. Other than a few minor technical glitches, things went smoothly. Our festivities hall was full, and even though a good portion of the audience didn't really speak English, there were enough decorations, music, and humorous elements (such as opening our show by having four of my 6-foot-tall 9th form boys dressed in drag come onto the stage, pretending to be "Miss English" contestants) to keep them entertained.
I watched proudly (and slightly nervously) as Larisa performed each of the elements of her program. As she introduced herself and gave her presentation about Halloween, Larisa talked to the audience as if they were a few friends sitting in her living room. Her English was clear, and she spoke so effortlessly that I almost forgot that she was speaking memorized lines. After a rousing performance of Cinderella (where she displayed some serious acting chops), it was clear that she was the crowd favorite. Still, I wasn't quite sure who our jury (comprised of two former "Miss English" contestants, two teachers, and my school director) would pick. When they said her name, the hall went absolutely wild. Larisa's face was priceless. She was utterly and completely shocked. When she came forward to give a brief acceptance speech, it was clear that she still couldn't believe that she had won. She spoke slowly into the microphone, trying to find the right words in English. And when she thanked me for all I'd done, I smiled so hard my face hurt. Who needs the Oscars when you've got "Miss English"?
The second installment of "Miss English," which I wrote about in a blog entry last March, was an extravagant affair. Eight different girls competed, each of them representing a different country (presenting information about the culture, showing national dances and costumes, and even preparing a national dish for the jury to sample). Each contestant also had to answer a series of trivia questions and perform a scene from a movie of her choice. All of this, of course, was done in English.
When those of us in the English department started planning for this year's "Miss English," we decided to do it a little bit differently. We narrowed the field of contestants to five girls, none of whom had competed in "Miss English" before. And in place of countries, we gave each girl an American/British holiday (namely, Valentine's Day, Easter, Halloween, Thanksgiving, and Christmas). In addition, each girl was given a script of a fairy tale (written by yours truly) to act out, but with a modern-day twist. We chose Little Red Riding Hood, the Princess and the Pea, the Snow Queen, Cinderella, and Snow White.
So as the second semester got underway, two of my partner teachers and I began to prepare in earnest for "Miss English." I was flattered to be so involved in the planning process this time around, especially since I got to show off my creative side by crafting the modern-day renditions of the fairy tales. But as "Miss English" approached, my stress level sky rocketed. I was running around like a chicken with my head cut off, helping not only with the general planning but also helping Larisa, one of my students and a "Miss English" contestant, prepare.
Each of us English teachers was responsible for overseeing our respective students to help them with pronunciation and translation, and to keep tabs of their overall progress. Larisa had always been one of my stronger students, but this year she started to shine. When I asked her if she wanted to participate in "Miss English," I had no way of anticipating the result. She threw herself into it, telling me that she didn't really think she had any chance of winning, but she wanted to have fun and to make her friends and classmates proud. What most impressed me was her self-motivation. Not once did I have to prod her to practice more or to stay on top of things. She organized her own rehearsals, tracked down a slew of classmates and other random students to participate in her presentation, and spent countless hours assembling costumes and drawing and painting posters and pictures to use as visual aids (including a Halloween mural literally the size of an entire wall).
Even though I was excited to see Larisa's presentation take shape, I was becoming more and more disgruntled with the planning. It seemed to me (and it might just be because I am a slightly anal American) that too many things were being left to the last minute and that there was no possible way that everything would come together in time. In addition to that, "Miss English" was postponed on three separate occasions due to scheduling conflicts and sickness. By the time last Monday arrived, I was past the point of caring about how well it would turn out. I just wanted the stupid thing to be over with.
Somehow, miraculously, the program turned out beautifully. It was two hours long, which compared to last year's 3+ hour performance, was a welcome change. Other than a few minor technical glitches, things went smoothly. Our festivities hall was full, and even though a good portion of the audience didn't really speak English, there were enough decorations, music, and humorous elements (such as opening our show by having four of my 6-foot-tall 9th form boys dressed in drag come onto the stage, pretending to be "Miss English" contestants) to keep them entertained.
I watched proudly (and slightly nervously) as Larisa performed each of the elements of her program. As she introduced herself and gave her presentation about Halloween, Larisa talked to the audience as if they were a few friends sitting in her living room. Her English was clear, and she spoke so effortlessly that I almost forgot that she was speaking memorized lines. After a rousing performance of Cinderella (where she displayed some serious acting chops), it was clear that she was the crowd favorite. Still, I wasn't quite sure who our jury (comprised of two former "Miss English" contestants, two teachers, and my school director) would pick. When they said her name, the hall went absolutely wild. Larisa's face was priceless. She was utterly and completely shocked. When she came forward to give a brief acceptance speech, it was clear that she still couldn't believe that she had won. She spoke slowly into the microphone, trying to find the right words in English. And when she thanked me for all I'd done, I smiled so hard my face hurt. Who needs the Oscars when you've got "Miss English"?
Tuesday, April 20, 2010
Paşte
I decided to dedicate my latest blog entry to Easter. Even though this holiday has come and gone, Paşte (as Moldovans call it) is by far the biggest holiday of the year here. And, just like Christmas in America, its celebration extends over a period of time much larger than a single day. So, a bit belated, here is my take on it all:
Pre-Paşte
Preparations for Easter start several weeks ahead of time. Just as many American Christians observe Lent, most Moldovans also "ţine post" (keep a fast) in the weeks leading up to Easter. Those who are serious about their fasting refrain from all animal products during this entire time. The handful of Peace Corps volunteers who manage to stay vegetarians during their stay in Moldova--a feat in and of itself--love this time of year because all kinds of soy products start appearing in markets and grocery stores. Moldovans also work hard to make everything "frumos" (beautiful)--putting fresh coats of paint on fences, benches, and trees, clearing fallen branches and leaves, and scouring clean every square inch of their homes (thus my host mother's recent cleaning rampage). The last couple days before Easter are the busiest for Moldovan women, who are baking and cooking as if their lives depended on it.
Paşte
The truly devoted are at church all night long on the eve of Easter, but most people get up around 3 in the morning to take baskets of pască (a sweet bread made only at Easter), colored eggs, and various other foods to be blessed by the priest. Sunday morning I woke up at 2:30 (never again will I complain about having to wake up early for an American Easter sunrise service!) and accompanied my host mother and sister to church. By the time we arrived, the yard was already crowded. We joined the silent line of people and stood huddled over our Easter basket, trying to stay warm. Almost an hour later, the priest finally emerged from the church. As he made his way down the line, he doused everyone with holy water. After that, we made our way back home.
I napped for a couple of hours, but I was woken again at 7:00 for our Easter feast. Moldovans, celebrating the end of their fast, go a little crazy on the meat. As I stared at the table before me, I saw mounds of ham, beef, chicken, fish, salami, and racituri (rooster jelly). Almost as an afterthought, there were a couple dishes of pancakes and potato salad placed along the edges of the table. Present at my Easter feast were only the immediate members of my host family, but many Moldovan families travel to visit relatives on this day. Even those who are working abroad will come home at Easter time to be with their families.
After I dutifully stuffed myself with meat, I went to the Baptist church in my town (which I frequent most Sundays) to see how the non-Orthodox celebrate Easter. Their service was actually quite similar to an American Easter service, and I found myself thinking of the Easter traditions I had grown up with.
Post-Paşte
Perhaps my favorite part of Moldovan Easter is that the celebration doesn't stop on Easter day. Starting with Easter morning, Moldovans replace their usual greeting of "Buna ziua" (hello) with the phrase "Hristos a înviat!" (Christ has risen!). For the next 40 days, they answer the phone, wave to their neighbors, and greet colleagues and friends with this phrase. As a response, the other person must say, "Adevărat a înviat!" (He has risen indeed!). Then, on Ascension Day, they greet each other with the phrase "Hristos s-a înălţat!" This marks the end of the Easter Season.
Coming from a culture so saturated in commercialism that even religious holidays have become excuses to buy needless "stuff," I must say that I wholeheartedly love the Moldovan approach to Easter. And no, I didn't miss the Easter Bunny one bit.
Pre-Paşte
Preparations for Easter start several weeks ahead of time. Just as many American Christians observe Lent, most Moldovans also "ţine post" (keep a fast) in the weeks leading up to Easter. Those who are serious about their fasting refrain from all animal products during this entire time. The handful of Peace Corps volunteers who manage to stay vegetarians during their stay in Moldova--a feat in and of itself--love this time of year because all kinds of soy products start appearing in markets and grocery stores. Moldovans also work hard to make everything "frumos" (beautiful)--putting fresh coats of paint on fences, benches, and trees, clearing fallen branches and leaves, and scouring clean every square inch of their homes (thus my host mother's recent cleaning rampage). The last couple days before Easter are the busiest for Moldovan women, who are baking and cooking as if their lives depended on it.
Paşte
The truly devoted are at church all night long on the eve of Easter, but most people get up around 3 in the morning to take baskets of pască (a sweet bread made only at Easter), colored eggs, and various other foods to be blessed by the priest. Sunday morning I woke up at 2:30 (never again will I complain about having to wake up early for an American Easter sunrise service!) and accompanied my host mother and sister to church. By the time we arrived, the yard was already crowded. We joined the silent line of people and stood huddled over our Easter basket, trying to stay warm. Almost an hour later, the priest finally emerged from the church. As he made his way down the line, he doused everyone with holy water. After that, we made our way back home.
I napped for a couple of hours, but I was woken again at 7:00 for our Easter feast. Moldovans, celebrating the end of their fast, go a little crazy on the meat. As I stared at the table before me, I saw mounds of ham, beef, chicken, fish, salami, and racituri (rooster jelly). Almost as an afterthought, there were a couple dishes of pancakes and potato salad placed along the edges of the table. Present at my Easter feast were only the immediate members of my host family, but many Moldovan families travel to visit relatives on this day. Even those who are working abroad will come home at Easter time to be with their families.
After I dutifully stuffed myself with meat, I went to the Baptist church in my town (which I frequent most Sundays) to see how the non-Orthodox celebrate Easter. Their service was actually quite similar to an American Easter service, and I found myself thinking of the Easter traditions I had grown up with.
Post-Paşte
Perhaps my favorite part of Moldovan Easter is that the celebration doesn't stop on Easter day. Starting with Easter morning, Moldovans replace their usual greeting of "Buna ziua" (hello) with the phrase "Hristos a înviat!" (Christ has risen!). For the next 40 days, they answer the phone, wave to their neighbors, and greet colleagues and friends with this phrase. As a response, the other person must say, "Adevărat a înviat!" (He has risen indeed!). Then, on Ascension Day, they greet each other with the phrase "Hristos s-a înălţat!" This marks the end of the Easter Season.
Coming from a culture so saturated in commercialism that even religious holidays have become excuses to buy needless "stuff," I must say that I wholeheartedly love the Moldovan approach to Easter. And no, I didn't miss the Easter Bunny one bit.
Thursday, March 25, 2010
Good/Bad Riddance
A couple of weekends ago, my host mother approached me with a look of motherly concern. I've learned that in such situations, I'm usually about to be the recipient of a well-intentioned lecture. Sure enough, she proceeded to tell me that when she was in my room the other day watering the plants, she noticed I wasn't being vigilant enough about keeping it clean. She then outlined for me step-by-step what I needed to do in order to meet her expectation of a clean room. Now, I make no claim of having a spotless room. But in my defense, I make my bed every day (which I've done faithfully for the past 2 years--by far my longest consecutive streak in that area), I keep my books and papers fairly organized, and I vacuum on a regular basis. So even though I decided to keep her happy by scouring the corners and crevices of my room (when it comes to my host mother, resistance is futile), my internal self was not so obliging. In my mind I rebelliously waged verbal battle with her, arguing that even if I were living in squalor, it was my right to since it was my room. Furthermore, when I returned home this summer, I planned to start leaving my room in whatever state I wanted to because I am, in fact, an adult. So there.
Fast forward to this week. It was early evening, and since I had gotten most of my lesson planning done for the next day, I decided to take a break by playing with my host nieces, Viviana and Sorina, aged 4 and 3 respectively. Their current favorite pastime with Tanti Katia is to learn English. So upon request, we settled down to learn colors. When our electricity went out a little while later--one of the joys of living in a developing country--we sat in darkness, singing songs in English (another thing they get a kick out of) and waiting for the power to come back on. A little later my host dad wandered in to keep us company, and feeling inspired by the sight of me with the girls, gave me a 10-minute monologue about how it was his sincere wish for me to find a good husband and have well-behaved children. He said that he and my host mother thought of me as their child, and one day, just like them, I would have children of my own to look after. As I sat there smiling at his earnestness and at the "Moldovan-ness" of the whole evening, I realized with a pang of sadness that I wouldn't have too many more days like that one.
I find myself increasingly thinking about the fact that my time in Moldova is almost up. Some days, when I'm sick of being treated like a 13-year-old, that's a comforting fact. Other days, when I'm listening to my host niece Sorina belt out "Heppy Bursday tooo youuuu" at the top of her lungs, I don't want to leave. The question is--am I still going to be so torn 4 months from now? I can't help but think my life would be a lot easier if I could just make up my mind one way or the other. Sigh.
Fast forward to this week. It was early evening, and since I had gotten most of my lesson planning done for the next day, I decided to take a break by playing with my host nieces, Viviana and Sorina, aged 4 and 3 respectively. Their current favorite pastime with Tanti Katia is to learn English. So upon request, we settled down to learn colors. When our electricity went out a little while later--one of the joys of living in a developing country--we sat in darkness, singing songs in English (another thing they get a kick out of) and waiting for the power to come back on. A little later my host dad wandered in to keep us company, and feeling inspired by the sight of me with the girls, gave me a 10-minute monologue about how it was his sincere wish for me to find a good husband and have well-behaved children. He said that he and my host mother thought of me as their child, and one day, just like them, I would have children of my own to look after. As I sat there smiling at his earnestness and at the "Moldovan-ness" of the whole evening, I realized with a pang of sadness that I wouldn't have too many more days like that one.
I find myself increasingly thinking about the fact that my time in Moldova is almost up. Some days, when I'm sick of being treated like a 13-year-old, that's a comforting fact. Other days, when I'm listening to my host niece Sorina belt out "Heppy Bursday tooo youuuu" at the top of her lungs, I don't want to leave. The question is--am I still going to be so torn 4 months from now? I can't help but think my life would be a lot easier if I could just make up my mind one way or the other. Sigh.
Friday, March 5, 2010
Hai la Hora
The inspiration for this post comes from my friend Alicia, a fellow PC volunteer who recently showed me the music video for the song "Hora Din Moldova." I have heard this song dozens of times over the past year, thanks to its success in the 2009 Eurovision song competition, but I had never before seen the video. What is Eurovision, my clueless American readers want to know? It's basically Europe's version of American Idol. I can't even begin to describe how hugely popular it is on this side of the Atlantic. Last year Moldova made it to the final round of competition and ended up taking 14th place, out of 42 participating countries. That was a huge feat for our little country.
Upon seeing this video, I immediately fell in love with it. In only three minutes, it gives the viewer a colorful taste of Moldovan life, focusing specifically on Moldova's national dance--the Hora. As you can see in the video, the Hora is a group dance that kind of looks like a circular grapevine. The footwork can get a lot fancier, though, depending on the music and the skill of the dancers. If the video makes it seem like Moldovans will burst into dancing anywhere and at any time, it's because they will. All they need is a little bit of music and an energetic person to yell out the first "Hai la hora!" ("Let's do the Hora!"). I've done the Hora at welcome ceremonies, birthday parties, Hrams (village/city days), baptisms, picnics, and even at a disco crowded with teenagers. One thing I can say for certain about Moldovans: they know how to dance.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mTeZlfs2NVY
Upon seeing this video, I immediately fell in love with it. In only three minutes, it gives the viewer a colorful taste of Moldovan life, focusing specifically on Moldova's national dance--the Hora. As you can see in the video, the Hora is a group dance that kind of looks like a circular grapevine. The footwork can get a lot fancier, though, depending on the music and the skill of the dancers. If the video makes it seem like Moldovans will burst into dancing anywhere and at any time, it's because they will. All they need is a little bit of music and an energetic person to yell out the first "Hai la hora!" ("Let's do the Hora!"). I've done the Hora at welcome ceremonies, birthday parties, Hrams (village/city days), baptisms, picnics, and even at a disco crowded with teenagers. One thing I can say for certain about Moldovans: they know how to dance.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mTeZlfs2NVY
Saturday, February 27, 2010
Thinking Like a Moldovan
There are many things I love about Moldovan culture. One of my favorites is their propensity to share food. When Moldovans have anything edible or drinkable, even gum, they will never fail to offer a portion to those around them--no matter how much (or little) they have. It would be unthinkable for them to do otherwise.
The other day I had a free period, so I was chatting with Ana, one of my 11th grade students who was on bell duty (in my school there is no automatic bell system--students take turns camping out by the bell for a day with their cell phone and ringing the bell at the appropriate times, or not so appropriate, depending on the accuracy of their cell phone clocks). I then decided that I was hungry and wanted to walk to a nearby store to buy myself a snack. When I got to the store, instead of buying a Twix, which was my original choice, I opted instead for Peanut M&Ms. It occurred to me that Ana would probably like a snack too, and it would be easier to share M&Ms then a Twix. So I went back, and we resumed our conversation over a bag of M&Ms.
The purpose of this anecdote is not to paint myself as this perfect example of selflessness. The reason I'm writing about it is because, after that experience, I had a realization about myself. The pre-Moldova Katie would have bought the Twix without a second thought, and when walking past Ana, kept it hidden safely in my pocket until I had reached the teacher's room, where I could eat it in privacy. It wouldn't even have occurred to me to feel guilty about this small act of selfishness because, according to my American mentality, what's mine is mine. I earned it, and it's my right to use it (or eat it) as I see fit. Now, after living in Moldova for over a year-and-a-half, I'm embarrassed by such a mindset. I'm grateful to the countless Moldovans who have helped me see that generosity isn't any less meaningful, just because it's done on a smaller scale. Current Katie has no desire to return to Pre-Moldova Katie. I don't want to be the person who looks for excuses not to share. I want to be the person who always chooses M&Ms over Twix.
The other day I had a free period, so I was chatting with Ana, one of my 11th grade students who was on bell duty (in my school there is no automatic bell system--students take turns camping out by the bell for a day with their cell phone and ringing the bell at the appropriate times, or not so appropriate, depending on the accuracy of their cell phone clocks). I then decided that I was hungry and wanted to walk to a nearby store to buy myself a snack. When I got to the store, instead of buying a Twix, which was my original choice, I opted instead for Peanut M&Ms. It occurred to me that Ana would probably like a snack too, and it would be easier to share M&Ms then a Twix. So I went back, and we resumed our conversation over a bag of M&Ms.
The purpose of this anecdote is not to paint myself as this perfect example of selflessness. The reason I'm writing about it is because, after that experience, I had a realization about myself. The pre-Moldova Katie would have bought the Twix without a second thought, and when walking past Ana, kept it hidden safely in my pocket until I had reached the teacher's room, where I could eat it in privacy. It wouldn't even have occurred to me to feel guilty about this small act of selfishness because, according to my American mentality, what's mine is mine. I earned it, and it's my right to use it (or eat it) as I see fit. Now, after living in Moldova for over a year-and-a-half, I'm embarrassed by such a mindset. I'm grateful to the countless Moldovans who have helped me see that generosity isn't any less meaningful, just because it's done on a smaller scale. Current Katie has no desire to return to Pre-Moldova Katie. I don't want to be the person who looks for excuses not to share. I want to be the person who always chooses M&Ms over Twix.
Friday, February 5, 2010
Ups and Downs
It's been almost 2 months since I last wrote in my blog. I usually manage to write an entry every 2-3 weeks, so I apologize for getting so far behind. I've had good reasons for not writing, though, so I'll share them...and try to tell (as succinctly as possible) what's been going on the past couple of months.
No Place Like Home
At the end of December/beginning of January I surprised my family by coming home for a visit. Other than my parents, no one knew I was coming. I was able to surprise all of my siblings, several friends in New York, and my extended family members in Michigan. In order to get home by Christmas, I had to survive a 10-hour bus ride to Bucharest, an overnight stay in the Bucharest airport, a somewhat panicky layover in Rome after I was informed that due to an overbooked flight I was on standby, a 9-hour flight to New York City, and another stressful layover in JFK while I waited in vain for my baggage to arrive, almost missing my final flight to Rochester (I seriously felt like I was trapped in a bad Christmas movie). But I arrived at my house at 11pm Christmas Eve, and the look of utter amazement on my siblings' faces as I walked through the door was worth all of the stress and frustration of getting there.
I had wondered beforehand what it would be like to be back in the US after a year-and-a-half away. I had become so accustomed to my new life in Moldova that I had a hard time imagining what it would be like to re-encounter my "old" life. It ended up being a lot less stranger than I anticipated. With the exception of jet lag, it only took me a couple days to feel at home again. I was able to see most of the friends and family that I wanted to, and even saying goodbye to them was relatively easy because I knew that I'd be coming back in the summer. When I returned to the Rochester airport 2 weeks later, I was ready to head into my home stretch of Peace Corps service and meet my final semester of teaching head-on.
Loss
In some ways, I hesitate to write the second part of this entry. Due to the public nature of my blog, I usually shy away from getting too personal with my writing. But I also want to be honest about my time here, and everything that happens to me (or to those around me in my community) is a valid part of my experience in Moldova.
A couple weeks ago, something profoundly tragic occurred in my school: a student killed herself. Although she wasn't in my section of English, she used to come to my afterschool English club. I also taught several of her classmates. When I heard the news, I was in complete shock. She was the last person anyone would have suspected of suicide. In fact, I would have described her as a girl who loved life. She was vibrant, outgoing, excelled in all her classes, and had an amazing sense of humor. I took it for granted that she was as happy as she seemed to be.
The week that followed her death was a trying one for our entire school. Teachers and students alike struggled to come to terms with what had happened. I was often at a loss for what to say and how to act. Trying to give comfort to grieving people is a daunting task in and of itself, and it's made even harder by having to do it within the context of a foreign language and culture. I felt especially burdened for my 11th form students that had been her classmates. Perhaps more than anyone else, they were the ones who had experienced the deepest loss. And all I could offer them was my willingness to sit with them and listen (but, as people wiser than me have pointed out, sometimes that's the best thing you can do).
Throughout the past week, I learned a lot about how Moldovans react to death. Not only did I learn about their customs and perceptions, but I also witnessed how those at my school coped with such a tragedy. This was never a cultural learning experience I wanted to have firsthand, but I did. And I can say without a doubt that this has been one of the most profound moments that I've had in Moldova. I have been so grateful to be a part of a school community that has grieved so openly and honestly, all the while supporting its members who were hurting the most.
I never could have anticipated what forms they would take, but I knew that my two years here would have their share of dark moments. Now that they've come, my prayer is that I will be able to share the peace and hope that I've been given with those around me. It doesn't seem like much, but it's all that I can do.
No Place Like Home
At the end of December/beginning of January I surprised my family by coming home for a visit. Other than my parents, no one knew I was coming. I was able to surprise all of my siblings, several friends in New York, and my extended family members in Michigan. In order to get home by Christmas, I had to survive a 10-hour bus ride to Bucharest, an overnight stay in the Bucharest airport, a somewhat panicky layover in Rome after I was informed that due to an overbooked flight I was on standby, a 9-hour flight to New York City, and another stressful layover in JFK while I waited in vain for my baggage to arrive, almost missing my final flight to Rochester (I seriously felt like I was trapped in a bad Christmas movie). But I arrived at my house at 11pm Christmas Eve, and the look of utter amazement on my siblings' faces as I walked through the door was worth all of the stress and frustration of getting there.
I had wondered beforehand what it would be like to be back in the US after a year-and-a-half away. I had become so accustomed to my new life in Moldova that I had a hard time imagining what it would be like to re-encounter my "old" life. It ended up being a lot less stranger than I anticipated. With the exception of jet lag, it only took me a couple days to feel at home again. I was able to see most of the friends and family that I wanted to, and even saying goodbye to them was relatively easy because I knew that I'd be coming back in the summer. When I returned to the Rochester airport 2 weeks later, I was ready to head into my home stretch of Peace Corps service and meet my final semester of teaching head-on.
Loss
In some ways, I hesitate to write the second part of this entry. Due to the public nature of my blog, I usually shy away from getting too personal with my writing. But I also want to be honest about my time here, and everything that happens to me (or to those around me in my community) is a valid part of my experience in Moldova.
A couple weeks ago, something profoundly tragic occurred in my school: a student killed herself. Although she wasn't in my section of English, she used to come to my afterschool English club. I also taught several of her classmates. When I heard the news, I was in complete shock. She was the last person anyone would have suspected of suicide. In fact, I would have described her as a girl who loved life. She was vibrant, outgoing, excelled in all her classes, and had an amazing sense of humor. I took it for granted that she was as happy as she seemed to be.
The week that followed her death was a trying one for our entire school. Teachers and students alike struggled to come to terms with what had happened. I was often at a loss for what to say and how to act. Trying to give comfort to grieving people is a daunting task in and of itself, and it's made even harder by having to do it within the context of a foreign language and culture. I felt especially burdened for my 11th form students that had been her classmates. Perhaps more than anyone else, they were the ones who had experienced the deepest loss. And all I could offer them was my willingness to sit with them and listen (but, as people wiser than me have pointed out, sometimes that's the best thing you can do).
Throughout the past week, I learned a lot about how Moldovans react to death. Not only did I learn about their customs and perceptions, but I also witnessed how those at my school coped with such a tragedy. This was never a cultural learning experience I wanted to have firsthand, but I did. And I can say without a doubt that this has been one of the most profound moments that I've had in Moldova. I have been so grateful to be a part of a school community that has grieved so openly and honestly, all the while supporting its members who were hurting the most.
I never could have anticipated what forms they would take, but I knew that my two years here would have their share of dark moments. Now that they've come, my prayer is that I will be able to share the peace and hope that I've been given with those around me. It doesn't seem like much, but it's all that I can do.
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