The Other Shoe

Shortly after arriving in Romania (which occurred exactly two years ago today), I met a few volunteers who were at the end of their terms. They had just attended their Close of Service conference and were winding down their projects and disentangling themselves from life here. They seemed so knowledgeable back then, so wise. And calm. I couldn't wait to be in those comfy, well worn shoes. I didn't want to steal their plane tickets and go home, I didn't want to magically speed things up, I just hoped that I could make it to that point some day and emanate the same sereneness. Then, two months later, after a blink of the eye, those volunteers were gone. Poof. The end. I'm getting on a train tomorrow afternoon that will take me to the city of Sibiu, where my own Close of Service conference will be held. Then, two months later, I'll be boarding a plane Reno-bound...poof. The end. In many ways, I can't believe I made it. Two years ago, I think I would have pegged myself as the first to go home, but I like the fact that I am capable of surprising myself.

Stages

Tonight, after an enthusiastic session with the drama club and an interesting showing of Hamlet, I walked home with three of the club members and one of the teachers. The five of us chatted about science fiction novels, Harry Potter movies, Star Wars, Shakespeare and baked goods. We discussed the next play for the club and how difficult it is to work with the younger students. We laughed about how my voice gets high-pitched and quiet when I want the students to focus and stop being silly. Finally, as we went our separate ways, we joked about next year and how I won't be here. In the silent space between them and my front door, I pictured this place without me and felt the sliver of soon-to-be sorrow deepen. Another one of life's stages that will be sorely missed.

Erin Papi

I believe I have created a monster. A cookie monster, much like myself (I am indeed eating a cookie AT THIS VERY MOMENT). I like to make cookies and give them to people, so I've been doing that sporadically for my tutor over the past two years. Her son Luca will turn two in April and has taken on the energy and chaos of a tornado. Their apartment has one of those kitchen connecting living room connecting hallway connecting kitchen circles that any child or energetic dog would love to make themselves dizzy with and many times my tutoring session contains at least 5 minutes of watching Miha chase Luca around and around, until he's caught or takes a faulty step and plows full speed into the washer door, making it slam shut. As he's gotten older, he's been allowed to sample my cookie offerings and has developed a strong affinity for the snickerdoodle. So much so that the other day, as he ran his laps and Miha chased him, I pulled out the signature flimsy plastic baggie filled with goodies and he stopped dead in his tracks. "Erin papi?" he asked as he took a tentative step towards me, eyes wide. Papi means snack and the way he says "Erin" pretty much melts my heart. I confirm his hopes, "Da, Erin papi." I hand the bag to Miha and feel a bit dejected as his attention immediately snaps to her. By the time Miha gets the bag open and hands him a (possibly not so) well deserved snickerdoodle, he has said "Erin papi" about twenty times and has stretched to his absolute tallest tippy toes reaching for the bag. She thanks me for the cookies and asks me to please write the recipe down so she can make them. Apparently he asks for "Erin papi" every thirty minutes or so every day. I can't help but feel a small dash of pride at creating another cookie monster. I do not, however, endorse children eating cookies every day. Unless it's an Erin papi.

Lists

It seems to be customary for many volunteers to create some lists right about now, with a little over two months to go. One list to bring back the good memories, one list to bring back the not so good and one list to remind me of why I missed home so much. So, here goes, in no particular order.

List Number One: What I'll miss
1. My tutor Mihaela and her two-year-old son Luca (he was born just before I arrived) greeting me at the door every time I show up for tutoring and bidding me farewell each time I depart.

2. The little crafting adventures Anca, her three-year-old daughter Dodo (short for Theodora) and I embark on whenever we get together - whether it's painting eggs, baking cookies, planting tomatoes, creating Christmas ornaments, making paper stars or pressing juice, it never ceases to be awesome.

3. Hearing the drama club chatting excitedly from our classroom before I enter and getting a small sample of their uninhibited enthusiasm.

4. Letting the English Hour at the EPA slip into a brief gossip in Romanian session.

5. Responding to all of the goodbyes and thank yous after a successful American Corners class.

6. Visiting my favorite little craft shop and chatting with the kindest shop keeper in the world.

7. Going to the post office and picking up packages from the lady who knows me by name now...though I don't know hers.

8. Fresh fruits and veggies from the piata in summer.

9. Trains.

10. The view from my apartment.

11. The sounds of church bells and horse shoe clomps.

12. Wonderful volunteer friends, who I will hopefully see in the states some day.

13. Being able to walk everywhere.

14. Drinking tea and reading in my favorite coffee shop, Tein.

15. Wandering around our nature reserve, Reci.

16. Ease of TRAVEL.

17. Te pups.

18. Romanian and Hungarian.

I'm realizing this list could go on quite a while, so I'll end it here.


List Number Two: Things I Will Not Miss
1. Stray dogs and the poop that goes with them.

2. Knowing that my landlords (who I do actually really like, just not this part) could drop by unexpectedly at any moment to fill up my fridge and freezer with more of their own stuff.

3. The language barrier.

4. The pressure to always be out integrating and being a good, productive, useful volunteer.

5. The crazy corruption and bizarre bureaucracy that exist here.

6. Icy sidewalks that never get salted or shoveled.

7. Smelly, drunk, rude men. Especially on the trains.

8. Touchy train conductors.

9. The bubble-gum way things are often fixed.

10. The mischievous malicious mosquitoes.

11. Discrimination towards minorities, especially the Rroma.

12. Homophobia.

13. Late trains.

14. Grody bathrooms without toilet paper and/or hand soap.

15. The mold growing on some of my walls.

16. Crazy arse drivers.


List Number Three: What I'm Looking Forward To
1. Actually hanging out in person with my family and friends. Hugs.

2. Going for long walks with mom and Ozzie.

3. Meeting all the new babies and puppies and kitties and goats that people have acquired.

4. Kickboxing till I can't move.

5. Bibo and the American coffee culture.

6. Access to English books that I want to read.

7. Swimming in Lake Tahoe till I turn blue!

8. A wide variety of restaurants with a wide variety of food options.

9. Oh man, relearning moonlight sonata and all my other songs.

10. Shopping in stores with sizes and styles that I like.

11. Painting pottery at clay canvas.

12. Going to shows, concerts, plays and movies in a language that I can understand.

13. Weddings.

14. The clear, blue desert sky and the dusty brown hills. Nevada.

15. English.

16. Chocolate chips and all the other baking supplies I've been having shipped over.

17. Cheap contact solution.

18. MINI EGGS!!!

There. My customary lists are complete. There's quite a bit more that I could add to each, but this covers the basics, I think. Time for bed!

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.