Friends Till the End

Do you ever feel like you've missed some important life step? A step that everyone else around you has taken or is in the process of taking, but somehow you skipped it and are now left outside the loop, jogging on a different track. Wondering where everyone went. It happens when the inside jokes formerly close friends post on facebook make zero sense to you and feel more like messages of "you don't know me anymore" than silly gags. Or when the entire sphere of people you know seems to be pairing off into happy little couples, dining and dancing and marrying and multiplying, with or without you, in the face of your bewilderment. How does it happen? How could you miss so much of the lives you once felt close to? I guess it's an easy question to answer. You leave for two years. It's more than that, though. I don't feel like I've known someone, really known someone and been a more or less daily part of their life, for more than two years. Ever. Best friends, boyfriends, whoever. My mom, dad and sister being the only exceptions. My friends back home who I consider close are the ones I correspond with through some sort of medium maybe once a month, tops. I know the very simple, surface basics of what's going on in their lives. My close friends here will all be scattering to different parts of the world in four months, myself included. And even now I rarely get to see them. I'm horrible at staying in touch. How do people do it? How do people keep their close friends close? Is it something none of us can do? Is it something only the loners slash wanderers struggle with? Am I missing something important?

Gosh.

Religion for many Romanians is a pretty big deal and it's often one of the first things a total stranger will ask you about, especially if they're a little older. "Hello, I'm so and so. It's nice to meet you. What's your religion?". As someone who doesn't identify with anything, this kind of conversation always makes me squirm and has elicited the most bizarre responses that I can not explain. I've been Methodist (which I was actually, once upon a time, confirmed as), Protestant, Catholic and Buddhist. Once, I even said I was Mormon. I wasn't trying to lie and I wasn't trying to have fun. But I didn't want them to dislike me for not having a religion, so I said the first thing that came to mind. The one time I said that I didn't belong to any religion, I received worried looks and heard an exasperated "how can you not have a God?!", followed by the cold shoulder. I don't want to paint Romanians as judgmental or super hyper religious, but it's very strange to them if you don't belong to ANY religious sect at all. You can say pretty much any religion, and they're satisfied and will continue with the conversation as normal. In fact, many do not actively participate in or attend their church because in the past, particularly under Ceausescu's reign, churches were used as spy mechanisms for the communist party and the people quickly lost their desire to attend mass after their conversations with priests were used against them. The lack of trust remains, but they still believe. They still cross themselves three times whenever coming anywhere near an Orthodox church. They still whisper a prayer while settling into the driver's seat, even though the seat belt remains untouched. They still exclaim "Jesus has risen, yes he has risen!" on Easter morning, while the candles lit just a few hours before by the same holy flame slowly burn out. This is where I find myself liking religion, in whatever form you please. It may have no logical sense, but I feel comforted when the bunica sitting across from me on the train crosses herself and whispers her prayers for our safe travel. It reminds me to take a moment and just hope that it all goes well. Not to necessarily pray to some sort of God, but to think about where I am, what I am doing and how undoubtedly fragile life is, especially when speeding masses of metal are involved. What's wrong with that? What's wrong with stopping once in a while during the day to think about a sick friend or a family member who's overseas? God doesn't have to be a part of any of it, or can be all of it. Does praying necessarily have to be religious? Can't I use the calls to prayer that I witnessed in Istanbul as a time to think about my family, acknowledge the fact that they're thousands of miles away and hope that they are all doing ok? I'm not charging one super being with the power to protect my loved ones, but really what's the difference between saying "please protect them" and "I hope they are ok"? Perhaps this is what Romanians are getting at when they can not believe that a person has no religion. Maybe it's not just about God to them, but about hoping, too. Hoping and praying and crossing all mushed up into one.

Ack, I need to go to bed.

The Wind Down

Despite the fact that I still have more than four months to go, I can already feel myself detaching. I don't know if I'm ready to detach, but it's happening. In the evenings, I spend my time researching grad school programs for next year instead of baking cookies for my tutor and friends. I don't feel the need to go for two hour walks to explore my city anymore. I feel little guilt when I spend a full day indoors doing my own thing. While I look forward to next year and pursuing a new path, a peculiar sadness is taking root. Something I don't think I've felt before. Perhaps it could be defined as the recognition of a dissatisfaction that has spanned nearly two years of trying. Last night I went through some of my old computer files and came across a word document saved as "ProjectIdeas". It was last modified on June 30th of 2008, back when I was a different volunteer. Upon opening it, I found a list of all the little project ideas my brain came up - building a trail and sign system through Reci, forming a sister park relationship through the National Park System in the US, creating and conducting outdoor educational classes, developing a theater and music in the park program, establishing a pedestrian and bike path between Sfantu Gheorghe and Reci, on and on the list goes. There are about twenty ideas. The final being to build a welcome sign and some picnic tables and trash cans at Reci, which was the only project I was able to pursue with the EPA and which, as previously mentioned, failed. Peace Corps always stresses how much they want their volunteers to feel successful. How can you state with certainty whether or not two years of your life have been successful? I may not have accomplished a single item on that old list of mine, but there are certain things I've done and am proud of that aren't on the list. Perhaps it's too early to reflect on the past two years, but I'm struggling with this peculiar sadness taking root and pushing back the urge to start feeling dissatisfied. I've had choices to make every single day and each one has led me to where I now sit. That's all there is to it. It is what it is. I've tried. I may not have put every last little bit of energy into everything, but I have tried. And now I'm starting to move on. When the time comes, I know that I will dearly miss this place and the friends I've made here, and I'm comforted by this fact. It means that I have done something right.