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.

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

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.

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.

Happy Anniversary to Me

I realized yesterday that I have been in Moldova exactly a year and a half. A year and a half might not be much in the grand scheme of things, but to me it's a pretty significant amount of time. And since I always write about things I have done, I thought it might be fun to make a list of all the things I haven't done for the past 18 months.

--driven a car

--written a check

--gone a full day without speaking two languages

--cooked myself a meal

--worried about my finances

--used a dishwasher or dryer

--scrubbed a toilet (or done any household chores beyond cleaning my own room and washing my own dishes)

--drunk tap water

--played euchre (anyone who knows me well realizes I'm choking back tears as I'm writing this)

--bought myself clothes

--showered two days in a row

--paid a bill

--raked or mowed a lawn (for that matter, had a yard made of grass)

--picked up medicine at a pharmacy

--worn shoes inside a house


The funniest part about this list is that I actually had to think for awhile before coming up with it. These activities may have been things I once took for granted, but I certainly don't anymore!

Count Your Many Blessings

In my naive mind, I envisioned my second year here in Moldova as a seamless succession of good days. I had heard other volunteers gush about how much easier their second year was, and amidst my first year-struggles (learning Romanian, discovering the ins and outs of the Moldovan educational system, figuring out how to consciously teach a language I took for granted, etc.), I imagined that once I reached the midway point of my service, the rest would be smooth sailing.

In many ways, that has proved to be true. Several of the struggles I had last year are gone. But what I didn't anticipate was that this year would come with its own set of challenges: new classes of wildly misbehaving children, new partner teachers who have proven difficult to work with at times, and now a government-imposed H1N1 "quarantine" that has left me sharing crowded classroom space with fellow English teachers who have to try to teach their own group of students alongside mine (as if teaching a foreign language wasn't hard enough to begin with).

And I've come to the realization that year 2 isn't going to be all sunshine and rainbows. Before, when I was waiting for things to calm down, I was impatient for my charmed life to begin and a little disgruntled about all my so-called interruptions. But now I've come to terms with the way things are, and--as a result--I'm a lot happier. I may have a lot of bumps in the road, but I also have a lot here to be thankful for:

--my 11th graders, who beg me all the time to stay in Moldova another year, so they can have me as their teacher until they graduate

--my two host nieces, who grin a mile wide whenever they see me and fight over who gets to sit next to Tanti Katea at the dinner table

--my church, which has happily adopted me into their congregation as their American-in-resident

--my trusty old computer, which functions just well enough to give me the Internet I use to keep in touch with family and friends back home

--my main teaching partner, Irina, who is my closest Moldovan friend and an amazing teacher

--my fellow Peace Corps volunteers, who truly understand the highs and lows that are Peace Corps service

--my daily walk to and from school, which lets me stretch my legs, clear my mind, and feel a little more alive in the process

--my Friday English club students, who speak better English than I do and never fail to make my day better after just 5 minutes with them

--my adopted country Moldova, which has some of the most hospitable and generous people in the world


Happy Thanksgiving, everyone!

Gripa Porcina

As the swine flu has made its way around the world, I've been resting easy over here in Moldova. One of the advantages of living in a small, fairly isolated country is that things like global epidemics tend to get to you later rather than sooner. So, as I've heard stories from back home in the U.S. of people hosting swine flu parties and researchers scrambling to produce a vaccine, I've thought, "Man, I'm glad I'm in Moldova."

But last week when I was in the capital, Chisinau, for a Peace Corps conference and I started to see people walking around in public with surgical masks, I figured something must have changed. Sure enough, our numbers have started to spike. I wouldn't exactly call it an epidemic, but the panic part is real enough. As a preventative measure the Ministry of Education has prolonged our fall vacation by another week. Pharmacies can't keep up with the demand for masks, and preschools are requesting that parents send garlic with their children to school to be placed around the classrooms for protection (I'll admit, this seems like a strange precaution to my Western way of thinking, but maybe they know something I don't. And at any rate, at least it'll keep the vampires away).

The funny thing is that I'm not worried about all of this--even though I take public transportation on a regular basis, work in a school (filled with children who think washing their hands is non-essential), and fall into one of the vulnerable age categories. I think Moldova has rubbed off on me. Rather than thinking I need to do everything in my power to prevent the swine flu (as if I really can choose whether or not to become infected by a highly contagious virus), I've come to the realization that either I'll get it, or I won't. For those of you germophobes out there, don't freak out. I'm still going to use hand sanitizer and keep my distance from the man hacking up a lung next to me on the bus. I don't have a death wish. I just think you gotta keep it all in perspective. If you don't, then the pigs win.