the first day of the rest of my life...

I like school!?!

noreply@blogger.com (li lr a a b s) — Tue, 26 Sep 2006 12:13:00 +0000

You should see the smile on my face as I leave school every day.

The first week, I had two 10-year-old escorts home--the most adorable of my 70 some students. The second, my entourage had grown to four cute girls. Today, I walked out with no less than NINE little girls walking me home. I am in love. I almost want a midget of my own. Almost.

Fourth graders are amazing!

ignorance is not bliss

noreply@blogger.com (li lr a a b s) — Thu, 22 Jun 2006 06:07:00 +0000

Yesterday three Russian boys, all with some sort of facial disfigurement, walked by my Kyrgyz friend Elya and I as we walked in the opposite direction. The sidewalk was just wide enough for them to walk past us with no trouble, but that would be considered normal behavior, something not common here. Elya’s on my right, the Russians are on the left, and as we walk past one another, we don’t even brush shoulders there’s so much room on the sidewalk.

As our paths cross, the Russian closest to me grabs my butt, and all three turn and make faces and noices at us as I flick them off. And I keep walking—that’s life here in Osh, Kyrgyzstan for you.

I don’t even think twice about these incidents anymore, let alone report them. They’re so common, I would be calling my Safety and Security Officer every other day. He could go door-to-door and find the dozens of boys and men who’ve touched me inappropriately in this town. [edited]

What’s the problem? they would ask. They’re just being boys. Ignore it.

Ignore it. That seems to be the motto in this town. If boys harass you, ignore it. If they grab your arm on the way to school every day, ignore it. If they throw snowballs at you, ignore it. When they bother you, it means they like you. You can’t imagine how many times I’ve heard that one. They like me, and that’s why they pull my hair? They like me, and that’s why, on days when I don’t wear my watch, at least 10 men will ask me the time?

[edited] It’s disturbing that I’ve given into it as well, despite my do-gooder, problem-solver approach to PC. I ignored the Russian boys just like I ignore all the Kyrgyz and Uzbek boys.

What more can I do, as one person among thousands? I can change my behavior, but the local women will continue to allow themselves to be harassed, and will keep letting “boys be boys,” negating any of my efforts.

call me a hermit

noreply@blogger.com (li lr a a b s) — Tue, 20 Jun 2006 18:03:00 +0000

I am trying to make the most of my time here, but when I truly think about it, I never planned on enjoying it. It's funny, I've always wanted to do it, but I never looked forward to how much "fun" it would be. Maybe that's why I'm not really allowing it to be as "fun" as it could be, i.e., I don't go hang with volunteers every weekend. I live in the city--there are around 10 volunteers here, and no one can understand why I choose to not hang around Americans all the time. Hmm...I envisioned it as a time of introspection and soul-searching...is it that? It is, I think...I do realize new things about myself and my desires on a regular basis. And from past experience, I know that I can't look as deeply into myself as I want if I'm around people, particularly Americans who are reminders of the "real" life I left behind, which is why this experience for so long has seemed like the perfect chance to get away and finally get to know the one person who I've never been able to figure out--me. While I am making the most of this time, I'm also very much looking forward to emerging from this self-sentenced "moral isolation" so that I can put to use what I've learned, both about myself and the big, scary world.

unlike the human brain, blogs deprived of nourishment can survive many months.

noreply@blogger.com (li lr a a b s) — Thu, 15 Jun 2006 11:04:00 +0000

It's 3 am where I live and I just spent the last two hours googling people from my past. Even though you'd rather not admit it, you know you've done it before. It's a dangerous, dangerous tool, this Google thing.... I'm not sure why I did just spend an entire dollar of my monthly US $90 researching these people. Some, I knew personally; others, I've spoken no more than one word to in my entire life, and yet something drove me to go stalker on them.

It's a little odd, I know. But then, I'll be the first to admit that I'm little odd--I'm in Peace Corps for crying out loud. What I don't understand is why am I up late googling people two days before a less than half-finished grant proposal is due? What makes me take the nail and scratch it across the proverbial chalkboard, because, essentially, that is what late-night googling is? You google these people, often those you envied, you see what they've accomplished since you last heard of them, and end up feeling exactly as you would expect to at a 5 or 10 year school reunion where only one person succeeded and it wasn't you.

But it was different this time. (Yes, I have done this on more than one occasion... and so have you.) I came across their achievements, and I felt good. I was pleased to know that people had succeeded in some way, and hadn't, well, wasted their lives. I wasn't envious or disappointed that they had done great things or become great people (difficult to admit for most, but I'm telling you because I'm past it now and can understand the utter waste of life such negativity is). I was just a little sad. A little sad because, in all my time around them, more often than not, I wasted it judging them instead of allowing myself to look past our differences and to get to know them. A little sad because I thought that back then I was the person (who doesn't irrationally dislike/judge people or wish bad things upon them) that I'd striven to be.

I came across the blog of one of the above-mentioned stalkees. Let's call him Ivan because I had my first Russian lesson today and Ivan was part of it. I have never had a full conversation with Ivan. But I've known him, or known of him, since middle school. Yes... it's been a while. Ivan and I went to the same high school and college as well, where we may have exchanged a total of ten words. Ever. In high school, a lot of people I knew were, to put it mildly, obsessed with him, which unfortunately and automatically put him on my people-to-avoid and be-unreasonably-unkind-to list. I haven't really thought about Ivan since I last read of him in our school paper. But when my insomniac's google-search led to the blog he wrote as a high schooler, I was touched. He became a real person to me, one that I could have related to and appreciated back in the day, and I was saddened by my single lost opportunity to have gotten to know him. Sad that I was so completely different in reality from what I had striven to be at that point in life. Sad, but not regretful, because among the many insights into life this tremendous distance from life as I knew it has given me is that everything happens for a reason.

Everything happens for a reason, and that is why I am still up at 6 am writing this and wasting more precious pennies online. That is why I spent the night feeling contented that people I hardly know are happy/successful/whatever.

Everything happens for a reason, and that is why, despite my acceptance of this philosophy, my stalker side came out tonight to allow me to truly internalize it.

Everything happens for a reason, and that is why I deliberately ignored a person who potentially could have been a great friend. If I hadn't ignored him and been unkind during our one encounter, I wouldn't have googled him tonight. I wouldn't have found the blog, that got the gears in my rusty philosophical mind shifting again. I wouldn't have truly had the epiphany (which I thought I had already experienced before) that everything happens for a reason and that the person I've wanted to be all my life is, among other things, happy when complete strangers do well for themselves.

It's almost 7 am. Everything has a reason, even my nonsensical writing on a blog that I thought was defunct.

Pictures and Skype

noreply@blogger.com (li lr a a b s) — Tue, 30 May 2006 11:56:00 +0000

I spent a lot of money and an entire day uploading pictures for you, so go take a look! Some aren't recent, but that's what happens when you put it off for so long. More are on the way. Enjoy. Email if you want an update.

I finally bought a microphone as well, so Skype me! It's free (almost)!

alive, but the end.

noreply@blogger.com (li lr a a b s) — Wed, 15 Mar 2006 05:58:00 +0000

I think the blog is dying like I am.... The first amendment doesn't apply to PCVs apparently, so I'm not sure how much longer this is going to exist. It's nice to have a place to write if I should ever feel the need, but I'd rather not be on a flight back to the States next week. So if you want me to add you to my mass update list, shoot me an email.

And I'm going to Turkey and India on Friday. ;)

noreply@blogger.com (li lr a a b s) — Thu, 19 Jan 2006 07:56:00 +0000

Last week I asked PC for permission to come to Bishkek this Wednesday. Tuesday morning, less than 24 hours before I was planning to leave Osh, I got an email saying that my trip was approved. Talk about cutting it close. I managed to purchase a plane ticket, get to the airport at 8 am, and get to the bazaar in Bishkek without getting ripped off. That's an achievement, I think.

When I met up with my friend Nurgul at Fatboy's (an ex-pat restaurant) for coffee, I felt great. I hadn't realized how much I needed a break from Osh. While in town, I wanted to inquire about getting visas for my upcoming trip to India and Pakistan, so Nurgul and I went to the Indian embassy right after Fatboy's.

I read in my Lonely Planet Central Asia guide that the Indian embassy here accepts visa applications between 2-4 pm so we arrived right at 2 to find out that applications must be submitted between 9 and 11 am. So I got the form, and then tried to explain to the Russian receptionist that I'm Pakistani-born, that India is going to take my passport and use it as a paperweight or something for three months before actually giving me my visa, or at least that's what they do in the States, so I had to submit it then. She didn't want to deal with me, so she let me speak to the consular officer who then drilled me about my family history, and gave me a lecture about being an ignorant ABCD (American Born Confused Desi, even though I'm PAKISTANI born!) when I couldn't remember exactly which little Indian village my father was from. But all my problems were solved when I got my dad on the phone and had him speak to the officer. That's so typically Indian... Even on the visa application, they ask for your father's name or your male spouse's name. Grr. As soon as my dad spoke to the consular officer, I was granted an interview with the ambassador himself, who, upon hearing that my parents were doctors in Pakistan, gave me a visa right then and there. Indians...

Because of the craziness at the Indian embassy, Nurgul and I were late for our 4 o'clock meeting with the Pakistani ambassador, but because he's a close, personal friend of hers, he didn't even mind. I had my second cup of real coffee for the day (woohoo!) with him, and we talked about random stuff for two hours, and it turns out that I have a distant relative from Pakistan living in Bishkek! It's such a small world! AGH! And about my visa... next time I'm in Bishkek, we'll sit down for another cup of coffee as it's prepared. Score.

Today, I had a meeting scheduled with someone at the resource center in the American Embassy, and because I was a little late for it, I wasn't allowed past the gate. They wouldn't even let me reschedule the appointment because appointments have to be made by phone. Of course the only embassy that gave me trouble was my own. Of course.

chaos. that's all it is.

noreply@blogger.com (li lr a a b s) — Thu, 12 Jan 2006 08:50:00 +0000

Talk about insanity... Today was the first day of school after winter break. At 8:25 a.m. I walk into my classroom today to find it full of students that aren't my own being taught by someone other than me! So I go to the teacher's lounge to figure out what's going on and correct the zavuch's (vice-principal) incorrect schedule which indicates that I have class now. Tamarahon, the zavuch, looks at me like I'm slow as she informs the that I do, in fact, have a class and it's going to be taught in room 18 (my room), of course. Before I finish explaining that there is another teacher using the room, she practically runs out of the lounge to kick out the other teacher, a poor girl from the Education Faculty (program) at Osh State University that was just doing the school a favor by teaching for free. Only after the zavuch kicks out the student-teacher and moves her students to a different class does my old but not-so-wise counterpart (who's been standing in the lounge following the drama the entire time) reveal to me that the schedule's changed two more times since the "final" one was posted last week, and that the students (who are clearly not the reason why these women come to school every day) aren't aware that the schedule changed, so it's unlikely that they will be coming to class.

(Note about schedules in this country: they rarely last for more than a couple weeks. The powers that be change the schedules at random intervals for reasons I have yet to understand. I only taught for three weeks before winter break, so I only experienced the erratic schedule-changing a couple times. But having seen and heard the teachers at my school gossiping in the lounge more often than than I've seen them teaching, I'm beginning to realize that the "random" schedule-changing is not so random after all. Every time a teacher decides she doesn't want a class at a certain time for whatever reason, the powers that be change the damned schedule.)

So as I sit and write this in the teacher's lounge, I wonder how I might help them with their commitment issues. I can't possibly motivate them to actually take on responsibility--it's not in their culture to do so, and they're definitely not getting paid enough to take some on. Even the director, who I've actually come to like, feels no obligation to this institution; he's currently MIA... on the first day of school.

What a lovely start to my first semester of teaching in K-Stan, don't you think?

the clouds are clearing

noreply@blogger.com (li lr a a b s) — Mon, 09 Jan 2006 08:45:00 +0000

Maybe the sky in Kyrgyzstan is finally clearing. On Friday I discovered the hottest, most powerful shower in this country. I can’t remember the last time I was in a shower so long that my fingers turned prune-y. Then I went to the aftovoxal (bus station) to go visit Rachel in Jalal-abad, and I got a 20 som discount off the 150 som fare because a taxi driver recognized me. Late Friday night in Jalal-abad, Rachel and I took a cab back to her house and our driver didn’t charge us for the ride. That’s pretty much unheard of in this country where the taxi fare is ridiculously high after dark. Saturday afternoon, our lunch at the only Turkish restaurant in Jalal-abad was paid for by a friendly Turkish guy who came over and practiced his English with us. Saturday night I had Betty Crocker brownies thanks to Betsy, and on Sunday I had an amazing, hot banya at Rachel’s house (2 baths in 3 days! whoa!). And I got two packages full of food. And today I had a really good burrito with real enchilada sauce. Karma kicks my butt so often, but it’s really great when it gets off my back and good stuff comes around. Maybe all I needed was some good karma (and a shower) to clear up my mind and allow me to focus on what’s important…changing the world. ;)

old post-Dec. 28

noreply@blogger.com (li lr a a b s) — Fri, 06 Jan 2006 08:41:00 +0000

Winter break doesn’t officially start till tomorrow, but my school hasn’t had any real classes since last week. Today was the older students’ (grades 9-11) holiday celebration. It reminded me of the Indian dance shows I went to at khane (my mosque) when I was younger. It was just a bunch of kids doing Uzbek dances with cheesy dialogue in between. One couple tried to imitate an American rap video, which was funny for about a minute, but got old really quick. They also played a game in which four couples competed against each other. They laid out one sheet of newspaper on the floor, and a couple had to dance on it for a minute. Then the paper was folded in half, and they had to dance for another minute. It was folded in half again, and again. You get the idea. By the end of it, these kids were all over each other. It was shocking, actually. In Uzbek culture merely walking alone with a boy older than yourself who’s not your brother is shameful. I certainly didn’t expect that, but now that I think about it, it’s not really surprising, considering how sexually repressed this culture is. The (embarrassing) highlight of the celebration was my slow dance…with a student. They get a kick out of slow dancing here; they call it a “waltz”. I was just sitting on the side, playing with my camera as I waited for the next dance group to perform, when I heard the words “Americalik mehman” (American guest) and “raks” (dance) in the same sentence. Nervous dread came over me as I realized what was going on, and before I could protest, Bahtiyor, one of the best English speakers in the 11th form, grabbed my hands and pulled me out on the floor. It was just me and him, alone on the dance floor in front of all these students, principals, and teachers. Yuck. It honestly wasn’t that bad, but if you know me, you know I’m not the kind of person who wants so much attention focused on her. I really like the Uzbek/Kyrgyz dance culture—they dance every chance they get—but it’s definitely going to take a while getting used to being the American mehman (read: American plaything) at every cultural event I go to.

$80 a month is not a lot of money

noreply@blogger.com (li lr a a b s) — Tue, 03 Jan 2006 07:49:00 +0000

*I know all I keep writing about is bad... I can't help it. There's so much I want to write, but every time I actually sit down to write, only the bad comes out. ha ha. Sorry, less depressing stuff to come, promise.*

It’s been snowing in Osh for the last two days. We must have gotten a good 7-10 inches. I’ve never seen so much snow accumulate. Correction, I’ve never seen so much real snow accumulate. ;) It’s beautiful but eerie, which is why I haven’t ventured outside of my family compound since New Year’s Eve. Today I’d planned to go out into the city and make full use of my first pair of snow boots. As I got ready to go out, I realized that my wallet was missing. My pretty red wallet, with more than 3000 som (~ US $75), a credit card, and my driver’s license, was gone. I had it when I went to the bazaar Saturday, and when I later went to an internet cafe. I almost remember seeing it in my bag when I got home. Almost. I can’t be sure. But if it was there when I returned…what does that mean? I am now short some material possessions that can be easily replaced, but I’m left with a newly planted seed of doubt about my security in this family.

On Friday, I exchanged some money so that I could purchase more units for my cell phone. At the moment, I have .19 useless units. .8 units will allow me to send one text message in Kyrgyzstan; 6.0 will allow one to the States. I didn’t buy one on Friday because I couldn’t find one anywhere around town. Today, I must have been to 10 dukons (convenience shops) but no one has any, and won’t have any for a few days? weeks? I don’t know, I didn’t understand their Russian explanation because PC didn’t teach me Russian.

Losing money is always painful. Losing $75 when you only earn about $80 per month...well, what do you think? Imagine losing a month’s salary… I’ve never felt so poor and helpless to get myself out of the “poverty” I live in because PC policy prevents me from taking a job that would result in monetary benefit. This “poverty”, however, is pretty good living by Kyrgyz, even Central Asian standards. The average teacher’s salary in Kyrgyzstan is 1000 som (US $25) per month. 70-80% of the people in this country live below poverty level. Here I am, homesick, longing for hot running water that never runs out and Starbucks coffee, and these people barely have enough to eat. I’m upset about losing money, but for a host country national, such a loss would be devastating, not just mildly upsetting.

The sharp contrast between life for most of the world’s population and life as Americans know it is glaring and ugly. We Americans are terribly spoiled. The realization that we live our posh lives as the majority of the world suffers is beginning to disgust me. I seek comfort in knowing that I have the ability to return at any time to my leisurely life back home, but that, too, disturbs me. If seeing is believing, then I can no longer deceive myself and pretend like these seemingly hopeless conditions don’t exist. Anyone with a conscience is changed after seeing such destitution. The blame is not my own, yet I can not help but guilt myself for the life I have lived.

still riding the blues wave

noreply@blogger.com (li lr a a b s) — Sun, 25 Dec 2005 08:46:00 +0000

Kyrgyzstan makes me feel manic depressive. The highs are so high and the lows so low. And the speed at which I cycle through those feelings is just insanity... I hear that many of the K13s are going through this scary phase.

During PST, when I felt down, I would read my Lonely Planet Central Asia guide and imagine all the places I'd travel to during my two years here. Just thinking about the future, the paths that I would eventually travel, really brightened my days. So last week, I just came to the internet cafe a lot and researched grad schools. I found some great programs that would allow me to get good jobs helping people for the rest of my life, and I felt great. I walked through the bazaar on Wednesday after my internet fix to buy things for dinner, and I was still feeling the high. And then, of course, some Kyrgyz vendors tried to rip me off because I'm a foreigner. This has happened many times-they seem not to understand good business practices or kindness, so I normally let it go. But because I was already on a fragile high, I just blew, and got so angry. Didn't I have the right to be? I'm here, volunteering two years of my life, earning $80 a month, for the benefit of their people, and here they are trying to cheat me. And back down I came... It's so vicious, this cycle.

I know that's not the right way to approach PC though--as a sacrifice for which the Kyrgyz should be indebted to me. I can gain so much from this experience, so it's a mutually beneficial relationship. But I've got no investment here yet to make me appreciate it more than I already have... a few kids at my school are okay, but most I hate to say, annoy me with their daily "what is your name"'s (Do they really forget the name of the only Pakistani American volunteer they've ever had at their school?), and classes aren't fulfilling in the least--I know I'm really imparting any knowledge to them, having come in to teach three weeks before their winter break. I know volunteers and a few host country nationals, but I don't have a life here yet and I just never imagined the difficulty with which a life is...made.

Perhaps it will get better. No, I know it will get better. It's not even that bad. I just... keep losing sight of why I came here in the first place. I don't know how to keep a firm grasp on it yet. If I don't remember why I'm here then all I'm doing is struggling to survive, and I don't want to spend the two years struggling. What a sad way to waste two years of my life...struggling to survive, to figure out why I'm here...there are better ways to pass time. I'm not quitting, not now, not ever. But I want not to keep forgetting why I'm here.

2nd week blues

noreply@blogger.com (li lr a a b s) — Sun, 18 Dec 2005 09:50:00 +0000

I taught my first classes this week. I felt really ill for the first time this week. I had my first doubts about being here in Kyrgyzstan this week. Hmm... I'm just glad I survived and didn't break down. Yep... you heard right (read right?) I'm actually having the very doubts that I (naively) believed I could never have because this, joining PC, running away from everything I'd ever known, was a dream of mine. But I had them alright, and I think it was a combination of this week being the most physically and mentally draining week I've had since I got here, and my initial denial that sometimes life in K-stan just...sucks.

My rose-colored looking glass finally broke, and what I see now is definitely not pretty. My back hurts. My back hurts because my "bed" is just a metal frame with a single layer of 1-inch coil stretching from the head to the foot of the bed. My hands are uglier and drier because of the craziness that is laundry-washing here. I'm tired of having to heat up two buckets of water to give myself a bucket bath in a room so cold I can see my breath if I want to bathe more than once a week. I'm lonely, despite how great the people here are. And I don't even want to imagine all the harm I'm doing to my teeth in this country where almost every person you meet has a mouth full of bling....

I have a couple good students who definitely make my job worthwhile. But so many of these kids can't read even the English alphabet, despite their years of schooling in English. I'm just tired. I here that's normal at this point, especially for TEFL volunteers like myself. But I'm not going to delude myself, or you, any longer. I've hit the low point, and I'm not sure if I'm changing direction just yet.

playing catch-up

noreply@blogger.com (li lr a a b s) — Sat, 17 Dec 2005 09:30:00 +0000

This is going to be a confusing post, sorry. I promised a while back that I'd keep writing on my computer and post everything later (later being now). Well... that didn't work out too well (are you surprised?) but I did manage to write a couple times. I started posting them separately, but as I read them, I was mildly amused by the progression (or lack, thereof, depending on how you look at it) of my thoughts about Kyrgyzstan and the PCV life.

Sept. 29

I miss some things about home. The ease with which we could eat. The convenience of everything. The food. Don’t get me wrong, I’m having an amazing gastronomic adventure. ;) But sometimes, you just want a taste of what you know, you know? Like mac and cheese…the boxed kraft variety. Or quinoa from R. Thomas…(oh R. Thomas, how I miss thee..) Or a grilled cheese sandwich made with processed cheese product. haha. I miss the cleanliness too.

I like the relaxed life here. It’s really nice not to have to worry about money or grades. I’m in language classes almost 20 hours each week and I have homework, but the fact that I NEED the language motivates me so much more than grades ever did. I’m learning quickly… I know now why they call the Peace Corps language instruction the best in the world. I learn more in one day of language instruction here than I would have in 2/3 weeks of classes at Emory… at least in the French department there. haha what does that say about my 40K/year education?

Nov. 22

Even if you threw me into a pit toilet right now, you couldn’t take away the feeling of satisfaction that overcame me today. I’m so content with where I am, both physically and mentally. I don’t have running water or heat in my house. My toilet is a deep, scary hole in the ground. And when I want to wash my clothes, it’s laborious and takes forever. But I don’t care. It’s like the two spheres of things that I imagine will happen and things that actually do happen in life have finally merged into one: my life exactly as it is right now. I’m no longer feeling like what life gives me is a half-assed version of what I expected.

Today was the last day of technical training, and next week, specifically December 2, I’m finally going to be sworn in as a Peace Corps Volunteer. Pre-Service Training will finally be over, thank God, and I’m going to move to my permanent site in Osh City. Well, it’s technically not in the city, but I’ll be literally five minutes from the city. I’m pretty excited about the city: it was a major trading post on the Silk Road thousands of years ago and still has one of the largest bazaars in Central Asia. I’m also going to be learning Uzbek because my school is primarily Uzbek.

But more exciting than knowing that I’m finally going to fulfill this dream that I’ve had for so long, is knowing that I’m sharing this experience with some of the most amazing people I’ve ever met. Everyone has flaws, don’t get me wrong, but there is something so unique, so special about someone willing to volunteer two years to better the situation of people not as fortunate. I came into this experience believing that this would be a time of solitude, which would naturally lead to self-discovery. But I realize now that the other people here, both American and Kyrgyz, are the true vehicles to becoming more aware of who I am and what I’m capable of. Without the people, the right mix of them, I don’t think I could find what it is that I’m looking for…. Sure, the people around you are always important. I just think that in a situation as uncommon as the one PCVs face, the people around you, who’re experiencing all the same things, are even more important. And the people around me, I think, are great. Even if I don’t know them all…having the guts to join PC means a lot.

Dec. 12

I had no finals on my birthday this year. :) The sweet, selfish nature of a day that celebrates nothing but you had eluded me for so long that I had forgotten it. But I felt it again two days ago, thanks to the great people in my life. It started with a trip to the Kyrgyz/Uzbek version of a Turkish bath. My friend Rachel and I lounged, steamed, and showered in a private bath for a total of $1 each. The bath we went to even had a private pool, but it was a little sketch, so we didn't go swimming. The rest of the day was well spent walking around town, doing absolutely nothing. At night, we joined a party of K12's and had a good celebrating my birthday and a K11's close-of-service. It was just... great. I've said it before and I say it again, the people that join PC are some of the best around. :) That's not to say that you guys back home aren't amazing, because without your messages of support and many birthday wishes, it definitely wouldn't have been as beautiful a day. :)

Dec. 14

Two days ago, I hoped that tomorrow would be like today. Today I pray that tomorrow will be unlike today. Life is all that I expected of it. But, oddly enough, it is when things are perfect that I miss the old life, the people I left behind the most. I ache for people that I haven't seen in months--I almost want to cry, I miss them so much. Almost. It's their quirks, their individual strengths (and flaws) that I miss. Maybe...maybe when you miss these little things, it means you truly loved people for who they were, and not just because of the convenience of having them around.

made it out alive!

noreply@blogger.com (li lr a a b s) — Fri, 09 Dec 2005 09:21:00 +0000

I somehow survived the hell that was Pre-Service Training, and I'm finally a PCV. Last Thursday the K13s were sworn in and then we schmoozed with the US Ambassador at her house. She's awesome: she wants to join PC after her stint as an ambassador, AND she gave us American food (a hot commodity in these parts)! On Friday, I flew down to my permanent site of Osh City. Yeah, I flew, so what? ;) The 50-minute flight costs about 2000 som (~$50), while the 12+ hour drive costs 1500+ som. When I came down to Osh for my site visit, I almost got in a head on collision because the crazy Kyrgyz taxi drivers speed down the curvy mountain passes, and our taxi was actually hit by some Uzbek kid's car while we were stopped for gas. As my driver promptly beat up the kid outside my window, I decided the scenic route was overrated. So hopefully I'm never driving that crazy distance again.

Osh is an amazing city. It's the second largest in the country, but in some aspects, it's a better place to be than Bishkek, the capital, because it's much less Westernized. You can still see the thousands of years of history in the city, and that's just so different from Atlanta.

My house here is great too. You walk in and there's this huge courtyard with a garden that has tomatoes, grape vines, and apple trees. And the house is a giant U-shape that circles the garden. Every room has a door leading out to the courtyard. I live with a huge Uzbek family. There's the grandmother, her two sons, their wives, and their kids. So there are always lots of people around. They remind me so much of my family back home from when I was young, which is great because my family at home now isn't as cool as was when I was a kid. (forgive me, family ;)).

I fit in really well, I think. My language teacher told me that I look like one of her Uzbek relatives! My Uzbek language isn't that great though. I was learning Kyrgyz during training and then they put me with an Uzbek family, and the school where I'm going to teach is Uzbek too, so I have to learn it. I'm slowly teaching myself right now…on day 6 right now. Everyone here speaks Russian in addition to some other language, so Russian is the language to know…but I figure with my Uzbek, Kyrgyz, French, Urdu, and Hindi, I'll make a better secret agent one day, so it's okay if I don't learn Russian. ;)

noreply@blogger.com (li lr a a b s) — Mon, 03 Oct 2005 05:56:00 +0000

I'm skipping a safety and security session to write this. PC keeps a really tight leash on trainees and it's incredibly frustrating. We have to get permission to go anywhere outside of our tiny villages of a few hundred people. So everytime a group of us finally gets to the internet cafe, we only get a few minutes because there's always someone else waiting. So until I'm at my permanent site in December (or some amazing person sends me a flashdrive ;) ), I'm not going to be posting a lot...unless I keep skipping sessions. ;)

We have language lessons 4 days a week in our villages. The other two days, we meet up with all the other volunteers (62--4 people already gave up and went back to the States!) for either technical training or medical/safety/cultural training. After 5 language lessons, I can read Kyrgyz! Every time I meet new people here, I'm surprised at their "eh, whatever" attitude about English. Everywhere else I've been, people want to learn English and make an effort to communicate in their broken English. Not here--not yet anyway. Either you speak Russian, Kyrgyz, or smile and nod, like I've been doing at home with my host family. So, yay for language training.

Squat toilets are still no fun. I've been trying to avoid running to the outhouse in the middle of the night for fear of falling in the hole or something. That would be the end of my life for many, many reasons. Being COVERED in shit is just one. Everything in Kyrgyzstan has an upside though... I stopped to look at the sky on my way back to the house and wow. The sky here is clearer and has more stars than I've ever seen. It's gorgeous.

Doing laundry by hand is no fun either. I haven't yet seen the good side to that though. Of course, I'll never again toss a clean shirt into the laundry basket just because it's wrinkled.

On Saturday, we had a culture day at Burana Tower, the site of one of the hubs on the Silk Road in the 9th and 10th centuries... it was pretty cool. We also slaughtered a goat, and I got a great two minute video of it that I'll post one day...when internet access isn't such a rare commodity.

Tomorrow I'm going to visit another volunteer on the north coast of Lake IssyKul. It's a huge tourist attraction... I'm excited, especially since I think I'll be placed in the south after Pre-Service Training. (Fruits and vegetables are more readily available there in the winter and my being a vegetarian means I'll probably end up there.)

Days go by quickly, but time passes slowly here. It feels like I've been here forever and I have so much more to write, but as usual, my internet time is up. Send me a flashdrive someone!

internet cafes

noreply@blogger.com (li lr a a b s) — Sun, 25 Sep 2005 04:11:00 +0000

they suck! i can't access my gmail anywhere, and my entire address book is on gmail. grr. so for the people that feel neglected, or that i've forgotten you, i'm sorry! i'll keep trying!

on a different note, this place is gorgeous. the beauty is surreal--the mountains in the distance look like a painted background. and life is so peaceful. even the midnight runs to the outhouse ;).

i miss toilets.

staging

noreply@blogger.com (li lr a a b s) — Fri, 16 Sep 2005 03:16:00 +0000

As my plane to Philadelphia was landing on Wednesday, I felt the smallest knot in stomach that felt like dread. But maybe it was just turbulence. ;) I've been in Philadelphia for two days for Staging, where I met all the other 66 (!) people going to volunteer in Kyrgyzstan with me, and I've been sure since the moment I got here that this was the right decision. I felt an instantaneous connection to the the other volunteers here. They're not tree-huggers, or weird and socially-inept. They're just people who care and want to make a difference in the world. I'm ready for this part of my life. Something tells me that it's going to be totally different from what I expected, but an amazing, transformative experience nonetheless.

We're actually leaving the country tomorrow. After a 3 hour drive to NYC, we've got a few hours in the airport till we leave for Bishkek, the capital of Kyrgyzstan. 9 hours on the plane, and then we'll have a 6 hour layover in Istanbul. Then we're back on the plane for several more hours, and we arrive in Kyrgyz at 1 am on 9/18. How many hours of travel is that?? In training, we were told that we're going to be greeted by the military band in Bishkek at that hour! That's going to be....interesting. It's all going to be interesting....

T - 3 hours

noreply@blogger.com (li lr a a b s) — Wed, 14 Sep 2005 09:29:00 +0000

I couldn't sleep last night. In three hours, I will leave all that I know for two years. But I am calm and unbothered by anxiety. I haven't had time to write--it's been such a busy and fulfilling month. But I start again today, on what is truly the first day of my new life. And before I leave, I want to thank all those people I am privileged to call my friends. You guys made this limbo before departure wonderfully rich, and I won't forget that. Or you... ;)

And I'm off...

where's the reason?

noreply@blogger.com (li lr a a b s) — Thu, 04 Aug 2005 05:20:00 +0000

I believe that everything, whether good or bad, happens for a reason. I'm fighting with myself to accept that today. I am strong today because of the events of yesterday. But is there a limit? Must we be eternally tried, only to become tougher and tougher? Is it not possible to become too hard, too tough, too stoic? Where's the reason in that? Being out of touch with people because you just can't feel emotion anymore is not a desirable goal. Most days, I am undaunted because I've been tried so much. Once in a while, though, I stumble.... Today is one of those days. I blindly put faith in people. Everyone is good until they prove otherwise. Of course, some will prove themselves unworthy. What I fail to understand is how most people eventually show me that my efforts in cultivating any sort of relationship with them were wasted. How can nearly everyone be...bad? Am I just so out of touch with people that so many relationships I've had end on such bad terms? I want to think that everyone has friendships that just don't work out, but if everyone does, then why don't they become as disappointed and/or cynical as I do sometimes? Do I just not see it?? If it happens to others nearly as frequently as it does to me, at least one person I know must be going crazy at all times! But I still don't see it. Maybe I'm just really weird, really different. My faith in this world has been slowly seeping away since day one, but days like today, I lose so much more.

it's all a game

noreply@blogger.com (li lr a a b s) — Sun, 31 Jul 2005 23:00:00 +0000

People never cease to surprise me. Especially boys. Yes, boys, because honestly, I think I know few men. Immaturity and malintent show me that most are not yet men, but, of course, you think you are. You feign innocent friendships, only because of what you hope the false friendships may develop into. It's a game to you; if you play it right, you might get rewarded. If you mess up, well it's alright because you've only allowed me into the gray area between friends and acquaintances. Well, let me to clear something up for you, boys. I can see through it now, and the depths I see do nothing but disgust me. My friendship, you may realize one day, is much more valuable than the other possibilities. Unfortunately for you, however, your time is up, and you've revealed your true intent. You no longer deserve my time, and I'm through residing in the gray area between being a friend and an acquaintance. I'm pulling myself out of your game.

if i were a number i'd be a...

noreply@blogger.com (li lr a a b s) — Sat, 16 Jul 2005 06:13:00 +0000

You Are the Reformer

1

You're a responsible person - with a clear sense of right and wrong.

High standards are important to you, and you do everything to meet them.

You are your own worst critic, feeling ashamed if you're not perfect.

You have the highest integrity, and people expect you to be fair.

What number are you?

noreply@blogger.com (li lr a a b s) — Thu, 07 Jul 2005 19:39:00 +0000

I was driving to school this morning when I heard on the radio about the metro bombings in London. So only about 40 people were killed, but I couldn't hold back the surprising rush of hot tears that came to my eyes. I'm both saddened and angry every time I hear about these occurrances and can't fathom why anyone could do such a thing in the name of a religion that preaches pacifism! They make known their religious beliefs by the public desecration of those same beliefs. Does that make any sense?? I'm so lost! And I am aware that most people consider terrorists to be abnormal and few in number, but how can people like that even exist? They hurt innocent people, and I believe in karma, so what goes around comes around, but what can you do to deserve being BLOWN INTO A THOUSAND LITTLE PIECES!?!!??

These events disturb my perception of the way things work...and scare me, what if there isn't anything/anyone/whatever out there, somewhere, watching over us? What if there is no balance in the universe, and what you do today doesn't matter tomorrow...and there's no such thing as karma?? It can't be that...unfair. But it just was...for those people on the Metro today.... :(

tailgated by a cop!

noreply@blogger.com (li lr a a b s) — Sun, 03 Jul 2005 05:32:00 +0000

There's so much to say, but I only have time for two things:

1. The HOTTEST server in the world is back at R. Thomas and he makes my life worth living. :) JK, but the eye candy definitely makes the ordinarily amazing food become out-of-this world amazing.

2. Wary of cops, I drove back slowly tonight. And a cop did show up along the way. I was going 5 under the limit, and he tailed me for like 10 miles. HAHA. I have no doubt that he kept thinking, "Damnit, who follows the speed limit!!??"

And all I thought was, "HAHA, take that bitch. This is for your buddies who annoyed me before."

It's sad how easily amused I am, but hey...it's the only form of (legal) revenge I can get. :)

the golden rule

noreply@blogger.com (li lr a a b s) — Thu, 30 Jun 2005 05:23:00 +0000

I don't think it's dangerous to be sincere. It might hurt, and might get you into some un-fun situations--I know I've messed up my share of relationships because of my bluntness. But I truly believe that everything works out for the better when we're all honest with one another. Or at least, it's supposed to work out for the better.

I try to be honest in all my relationships. If I like you, you'll know it. If something sours our relationship, well, you'll know that too. And if it's actually something that we can't get over and things are going bad, then it might be time for the relationship to change...or end...as all relationships do at some point.

But if the relationship is actually still healthy--just temporarily bruised for whatever reason, a misunderstanding perhaps, my acknowledgement of the "bruise" often permanently scars the relationship, sending it downhill, where it eventually plateaus into the monotony of a shallow aquaintanceship that isn't fulfilling for anyone involved. WHY? Maybe I grew up with the wrong idea of what friendships were, and I could accept that, but I would be dumbfounded for the rest of my life because I would always think that I was living by the golden rule. THE golden rule. The one that we all learned in kindergarten as a foundation for our personal ethics that taught us to treat others as we wanted to be treated.

I think that may be my problem. I AM living by that outdated rule. Who does that in this day and age where all people care about is money...and themselves? I think I should change, and adapt to the sad reality in which I live, but something inside me just won't let me. I think I might end up as the only person on earth who truly did learn all that she needed to know in kindergarten. :::sigh::::::

Did that make any sense?