The Power of the Pup

The most common way for women to greet one another here is to kiss each other on both cheeks. Typically, you kiss the left cheek first, then the right, which I figured out after many an awkward moment. Occasionally, this will happen a couple of times. Left cheek, right cheek, then back to left and one more on the right. Just for good measure. Men also do this from time to time, to women who are not their wives nor their girlfriends and even to other men. For how homophobic the majority of Romania seems to be, it's a pleasant shock to see two young men pecking cheeks and firmly embracing. Pecks between men seem to be reserved for the closest friends, and only for special occasions. In Romanian, to kiss one's cheek is to "pup", which is pronounced, amusingly, "poop". "Te pup" means "I kiss you" and "ne pupam" means "we kiss each other". Te pup is most commonly said amongst close girlfriends when they are departing and I always feel a rush of glee when somebody says it to me. It's not a phrase typically used between basic acquaintances. You have to earn your pups, so whenever I hear a "te pup!" aimed my way, I know I've done something right. The best, though, is when you greet someone and get the actual pups. On your cheeks. Yes, it was very awkward at first, but now it's often the highlight of my day. And yesterday just happened to be the Happy New Year pup-fest at work. The best pup-fest of them all. I hadn't been to work in nearly a month due to vacations and my aversion to the place since my counterpart quit, but now that I'm back and needing things to do, I decided to go in. Every single lady and a few of the guys I ran into gave me a heart felt pup on each cheek and welcomed me back with open arms.

Some days are just really nice.

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.

The Real World

Of course, when I type "the real world" into the Google search engine, I am offered nothing but links to information on the MTV hit reality show of the same name. A small part of me had hoped for a link that led to something intriguing. Something more deserving of the title "the real world". Over the course of my soon to be 29 years, the term "the real world" has usually had a negative connotation attached to it. Something along the lines of a damp and dreary cubicle with a bleary monitor displaying never ending numbers that are attended to by tired, dark-ringed eyes and hands burdened by carpal tunnel syndrome. A little bit of hell in exchange for being able to pay the bills. It's something that I've wanted to avoid at all costs, even after MTV glorified it, but it seems to be an inevitability according to the masses. Volunteers frequently toss the phrase around when referring to going back home and finding work. "It's time to go back and join the real world..." I wonder when the term was first used to mean "a boring job" instead of "the Earth unadulterated". If you look simply at the words and not at the current use, the phrase The Real World would, to me, evoke images of far off places. Of the African Savannah and the distant, icy reaches of Antarctica. Of the depths within the Marianas Trench and the sharks of the Great Barrier Reef. Of the red and gold striped Grand Canyon walls and the windy steppes of Mongolia. Not of computers. Not of the nine to five routine we all frequently fall victim to. I feel like being here is the most real thing I've ever done and I hope that in forty years from now, when I look back, I'll feel like I've managed to experience at least a little bit of the real world. The real real world.

The Daily Battle

If you could eliminate the biggest source of stress from your life, how would your life be different?

A while ago, I heard about a couple of volunteers who received a score of Superior on their language tests at Mid Service Training. Superior is the highest ranking you can get, indicating a nearly undetectable accent, impeccable grammar, huge vocabulary and the ability to understand everything said in a natural, free flowing and rapid conversation. All of this at MST, the half way mark of service. As I keep my goal set high on a score of Advanced Low for my Close of Service test three months from now, I can't help but wonder what it must be like for those volunteers. How different my daily life would be if I didn't have to plan phone call conversations in my head before dialing, if I didn't have to use Google Translate on a daily basis, if I could understand every single conversation going on around me, if I could converse naturally with my coworkers, if I could confidently go into every store knowing the terms for exactly what I wanted, if I didn't have to rely on an English explanation for all the "advanced" stuff. What would the difficult part of my day be, then, if I could do all of these things? If I could eliminate the stress of sucking at both Romanian and Hungarian from my life, what other worries and inadequacies would occupy my mind? I can't even imagine anymore what it would be like to live in a foreign country and speak the local language fluently. I used to think it'd be simple. "How can you live in a country for two years and not learn the local language? That's ridiculous." My, how wrong I was. Why can't my daily battle be negotiating fair vegetable prices at the piatza instead of trying to remember the word for pumpkin? After a year and a half, I feel suddenly anxious to have this nagging worry out of my life. I wish I could eliminate it by being at the Superior level, but it seems that I am mentally incapable of accomplishing that. For shame.

I'm gonna go eat a slice of carrot cake now. Phooey.

Graffiti I Like

As I made my way from the hostel where volunteers usually stay when in Bucharest to the metro station, some graffiti caught my eye that I hadn't noticed before. It was very simple, just three words: Noi Vrem RESPECT. Noi Vrem was in black and RESPECT was in red. We Want RESPECT. On either side of this piece of graffiti were political signs promoting certain presidential candidates. The political signs said things like "You and us together" or "Come on, Romania!" or some other meaningless pleasantry. The red was dripping down the wall beneath the RESPECT, as if the person spraying had gritted their teeth and pushed down on the nozzle as hard as possible, using up the entire can to get a solid RESPECT on the wall. Perhaps it took all their might to keep from turning the spray towards the silly sayings and the dowdy faces peering at them from the nearby political posters. Good words combined with the right actions speak louder than anything.