a song of my own

I seem to have lost the ability to write anything remotely interesting. Maybe it'll come back once grad school is over. Instead, I recently found that I can come up with really simple songs. Back when I was 9, I started taking piano lessons and have played pretty much ever since, but never for the life of me could come up with a new song. Grad school and Peace Corps may have done something to my brain because all of a sudden, I've got songs. Since I can't write anymore, I'll share one of them here. I hope it's not too painful to your ears. Please enjoy a lovely shot of my blinds, as well.

Dear Peace Corps,

I know we didn't part on the best of terms, but now that more than a year has passed, I can confidently say that I regret nothing. As I walked home from class today, it hit me more clearly than it ever has before. I am here, in grad school, studying something that I've discovered completely fascinates me from nearly every angle, teaching students who never cease to impress me, doing what I find more fulfilling and satisfying than anything ever before, and you're to blame for all of that, Peace Corps. You. You forced me to do the last thing I ever wanted to do. You dropped eager, motivated students right in front of my face, in a roundabout manner, and said "See? You silly goose, teaching's not that bad." And it's not. It's not that bad at all.

Back in high school and college, I remember feeling acutely jealous of anyone who knew exactly what they wanted to do with their lives. Choosing a field of study was difficult enough for me that I switched majors five times and couldn't settle on just one. And while studying and pursuing my degrees, it never felt quite right. I didn't want to read more than I had to. I couldn't fathom a topic in GIS to research. I couldn't imagine doing field work forever, yet I stuck with it. And I'm glad I did. Having a science background hasn't been a setback in studying linguistics and TESOL. In fact, I think it has helped me out a few times on the analytic and factual side of things. But it's so good to be studying English. And teaching English. And being involved in something that seems to be a part of me. Something that is coursing through my veins and beating through my heart and pounding through my brain, in a way that geography and map-making never did.

What if we had never met? I wonder that from time to time. Who on earth would I be? I define myself by my beliefs and the things I do that are inline with those beliefs, much of which has evolved into a me that I love due to my experiences with you. Perhaps for the first time in my life, I feel like I can say that I love who I am. I love me. And who I've become. Sure, I've got my quirks, but there's not much I'd change. Maybe it's just maturity and becoming comfortable in my own skin, but I'd like to think it's also finally discovering a path and a purpose that is crystal clear, bright, and promising in comparison to all those other paths I've been muddling through.

You're going to be a part of my life forever. Miha, Lajos, Kati, Gabi, Beti, Anca, Roli, Lia, Cezi, Anisoara, and Laci will never leave me, no matter how little communication we have. You and they are in every lesson I teach and in every lesson I learn, and always will be. And it's just a little cheesy how beautiful it all looks right now.

I guess I should say thank you. So, thank you, Peace Corps, for bringing about the me that I've spent the past 30 years trying to find. Thank you.

Dream with me.

Dream with me. Dreams make the hard parts of life more livable. They let me see past the tedious challenges and minutia of now and into the vast expanses of possibilities lying ahead.

I think I'm back. I'm dreaming again. Of Chile. Of Mongolia. Of Estonia, Morocco, Sweden, Montenegro, Argentina, South Africa. Every night, I look up a possibility on my phone and dream about being there. What do the mountains smell like? How do the stars look? How does the air feel? How often do the people smile?

Now that I only have one and a half semesters of grad school left, I'm letting the dreams flood in and sooth the difficulties of the past year. Grad school has been no cake walk by any means and I've worked harder at school than I ever have before. But it's worth it just to have these plausible, beautiful dreams again.

I'm hoping to revise this place as I figure out my next steps. I've missed it.

To Happiness

I left for China one year ago today and I returned home exactly one week ago. I spent just shy of a year there and left just over a year early. As my last, perhaps overly dramatic, post might have indicated, I ET'd. Despite having completed a full 2-year service in Romania, it's still considered an Early Termination when a transfer or extendee leaves early. Oh well. This will most likely be my last post here at thepickupsticks, but will certainly not be the end of my blogging life. I'll start a new blog in the near future to help me get through grad school and the post-PC life I lead and if you're at all interested in reading it, just send me an email (found in my profile) and I'll pass along the address. Don't be shy.

When people ask me about my site and why I left, I've found that it is very difficult to explain exactly what went on there. So many tiny details and a few big issues led to my decision. A volunteer currently serving in Romania is thinking about transferring to China and asked me for my thoughts about it, and here's what I wrote to him.

"...So let me explain a little bit about why I left. One of the hardest things for me to adjust to was the difference in the way the program was managed. I'm not sure how Sheila manages volunteers as a CD because I left about three months after she arrived, but the CD prior to her was Ken Goodson and he was an amazing CD and friend to me and just about all of the volunteers. Under him, the program focused mainly (at least in my opinion) on keeping the volunteers happy because they knew that happy volunteers meant productive, dedicated volunteers.

In China, it feels much more like the program's goal is to keep the schools and the government pleased and satisfied and will sacrifice the volunteers' experience and happiness in order to do so. In some ways, the program has its hands tied there because of the delicate nature of the relationship between the US and China. We basically have to do whatever China asks us to, where in most other PC countries, the US makes the decisions. Because of this, concerns and questions brought up (to the staff by volunteers) are generally shot down and there is little room for discussion. Only when I told them that I was planning to ET did I feel supported, which is not how it should work. Of course, this is all just from my experience. There are plenty of volunteers there who are quite happy, but the volunteers who are unhappy have no one on staff to talk to or receive support from other than the PCMO, who even then has to go through a rather generic protocol in an attempt to address issues.

Issues with the staff may not have come up for me if it weren't for my site - the real source of my unhappiness and ET. There's a major change happening in the college system in China. Most of the colleges and universities want to expand, but can't afford to do so at their current campus, so they're moving the entire university to brand new facilities. In many aspects, this is a good thing - more room for students, new equipment, better facilities, but it sucks for volunteers because the locations of these new campuses are often very remote and far from the original campus and city center, leading to a lack of community, an amplified sense of isolation and making all three goals of the PC unnecessarily difficult to fulfill.

Another surprise to me was getting placed at a three year, third tier vocational school where the majority of students are training to become automobile mechanics and have very low-level English and very little interest in improving it. (China's program is generally advertised as a future-English-teacher training program.) Turns out, luckily, that I love teaching and enjoyed that challenge, but having students who aren't academically driven or motivated to learn English, and therefore not interested in spending any time outside of the classroom with me, made that brooding sense of isolation and pointlessness even more intense. Combining that with the location of the school led to a depressed volunteer. I'm sure, though, that there are volunteers out there who could handle that situation admirably.

In short, my whole situation just didn't work for me. I'm pretty sure that if I had been placed at just about any of the other sites, I would have been ok. But who knows, it's pointless to ponder that. I loved teaching, but I needed more, as I think all volunteers do. We want a community to wander around in, where we can find people with whom to interact and make close friendships. We want students with whom we can bond and make connections, and none of that happened in the first year, so I left, especially after having such a great experience in Romania..."

So that's the heart of my ET, plus a multitude of other more minor issues. I am not attempting to dissuade anyone from joining the Peace Corps or going to China or transferring there, just wanted to be honest with my experiences. The Peace Corps can be an amazing experience; it was for me my first time around, I now realize. But 1/3rd of volunteers do ET and I now understand more completely why.

And, after a week of being home, there isn't a bone in my body that regrets leaving. I've seen more blue sky and sun in the past week than I did over the entire past year. I've spent time with friends and family and, though I feel a bit out of sorts a good deal of the time, the overbearing emotion is happiness, which feels wonderful after so many months of down. I don't regret transferring, it showed me that I do love teaching, but I don't regret leaving, either. Not a bit.

Here's to happiness. May we all be strong enough to find our own.

Dear Diary

I saw a foreigner for the first time today. My friend Lee said he saw one two weeks ago buying peanut butter, coffee and toilet paper at Wal Mart. Perhaps we saw the same foreigner. She was sitting on the bus headed towards the city center. The bus was packed, but she had a seat and was staring aimlessly out, ears plugged up with headphones and I imagine she was listening to Country Roads or My Heart Will Go On. Those are good songs. Or maybe she was listening to Chinese music. I wonder if she likes Chinese music. I could tell even from a distance that her eyes were not brown. I have only ever seen brown eyes. There are a few movies with actors who have blue or green eyes, but the color doesn’t show up very well in movies. I’ve always been curious what eyes of a different color would look like. Her eyes were definitely not brown. I think they were blue. It made me very nervous to see someone with blue eyes and blonde hair, someone who so clearly is foreign. I felt like I should say something to her, welcome her to our beautiful country, but I could not gather the courage. My neighbor nudged me with his elbow and said “look, a foreigner” and a few others in the crowd murmured their surprise. Foreigners do not come here to our Kong Gang, and they do not ride our buses. Her eyes looked sad, but that is not likely. Maybe it is normal for foreigners to look sad. And tired. I bet people are very friendly to her and always welcome her. We are a friendly people, so it is not likely that she is sad. Foreigners just look sad. And tired. But I bet she is happy. Just before her bus pulled away from the curb, her eyes flashed suddenly to mine. Oh, the thrill and fear of those bright blue foreign eyes piercing right into my own! I have never before felt such unease. When our eyes met, she cocked her eyebrow in a way I am unfamiliar with. I wonder what it meant, that eyebrow raise. But before I could analyze her expression more, the bus, with its sole foreign passenger, was gone. If I ever see her again, I will gather my courage and invite her to hot pot. I wonder if she likes hot pot. It will be difficult for her, though, having to use chopsticks and all. I hope I see her again and I hope I can be brave enough to speak to her.

Waiting for Mr. Right

I’m waiting for Mr. Right to give me an answer. It’s difficult because he often takes more than 30 seconds to gather his thoughts, but it’s always worth the pause. The other students know what he is capable of and have therefore stopped talking, not wanting to miss a word. Every time I call on Mr. Right, which I try to keep balanced with the other students, the entire class effortlessly falls still and silent, all eyes on the performer as he clears his throat and thinks. Finally, after a few false starts, the words come out. Everyone in the class, myself included, laughs. He, satisfied with his work, leans back in his chair and coyly smiles, knowing he got the answer wrong. Mr. Right’s wrong answers are always better than the right ones. Sometimes it’s hard to stop laughing and continue with class. What else could you expect from a student who gave himself the English name Mr. Right.

Forgive Me

Forgive me, but it gets old. I love Peace Corps, I do. I really love what it stands for – helping underserved communities, spreading cultural understanding, learning about the world, making friends, on and on, but sometimes, it just gets old. Sometimes it treats you like a five year-old kid who can’t make decisions, who has no experience, who can’t be trusted, whose opinions are silly little nothings. Sometimes, it feels like your freedom to do what you want to do, to be who you want to be, has been stolen away, tucked into a filing cabinet, where it will be kept under lock and key for the next 27+ months. It takes away living options. It takes away apartment hunting. It takes away decision-making and negotiating and discussion topics and pride and friends, and then it tells you to take this one situation, this one situation in this one city at this one school, of all the possibilities and places and people, take this one situation, no matter how poor of a match, and live with it. Deal with it. Take it like a man. Take one for the team. And if you don’t like it and don’t make it beautiful and shiny and meaningful, your problem. Your loss. Maybe you really are not cut out for this wildebeest of an adventure called Peace Corps. Maybe you don’t deserve to be here. Maybe you should just shut up or get out because there are thousands of hands typing away at their aspiration statements at this very moment, dreaming of mud huts and straw hats and all that nonsense I once dreamt about. We’ll gladly fly you home and replace you with one of them, regardless of their dreams, regardless of your thoughts. Just say the word, just show one little sign of weakness, and gears shall start turning. And, if you have any questions, comments or concerns, keep them to yourself. They don’t matter, anyways.
Forgive me, please, it’s just gotten old. I love Peace Corps, I do. I’m learning and gaining experience and living a life that I’d never have back home, but, you know, it just gets old sometimes. Forgive me. I’ve always believed in honesty and the occasional rant and perhaps I’m experiencing the 3rd year blues.