The other day I was kind of gripping about the holiday season and complaining to my mom about how I didn’t like it (mostly because of the way it is so materialistic in America). So I was trying to think about what I missed when I was in Kazakhstan and the things that do make me happy on the holidays. When I started to think about it I realized that while some of my favorite things are traditional, many others are not your typical holiday activities or traditions. So here they are, in no particular order:
Family: My family’s Christmas tradition is to spend Christmas Eve at my mother’s parents (now just my grandma since my grandfather passed away) and then Christmas morning at my father’s parents. My mom’s family is pretty large. My grandparents had six children, three boys and three girls, almost all of which had their own children (and some of their children now have children). Besides this large amount of children (and grandchildren), my great-grandmother was also continuing to have children when my grandmother was. Therefore some of my great aunts are actually younger than my mother. This means that my mother’s side of the family is huge. We always gather at my grandmother’s house and it usually ends up being about fifty people (some people aren’t able to make it). The reason this is so important to me is because I don’t get to see a lot of these relatives on a regular basis. A lot of my mom’s family lives on the east side of the state and we rarely get over to the area. In many cases this is the only time of the year that I actually see some of my cousins, aunts, and uncles.
Croissants on Christmas Morning: My dad is a pretty good cook. Unfortunately he doesn’t cook that often and during my childhood my mom took over most of the cooking responsibilities. But one time that he always cooks is on Christmas morning. After we are done opening gifts, my dad always makes omelets with cheese, mushrooms, and eggs and puts them in croissants. It is by far one of my favorite holidays meals. It’s not traditional or anything, but it’s something we always do.
The Toy Santa Claus: My grandpa used to dress up as Santa Claus every Christmas and visit the neighborhood kids. He never accepted payment, but families often gave him Santa themed gifts. He has a huge amount of Santa paraphernalia and one that he has had for years is this automated Santa that swings a bell up and down. Apparently as a child I was deathly afraid of this Santa and whenever he would get it out I would run away. I always love when he gets it out now and lets it run across the floor making it’s annoying bell sound. It makes me happy.
Great-Grandma’s Gifts: I don’t remember my great-grandmother at all. She died when I was very young and I have few memories of her. Apparently one of the things she liked to give to us kids was McDonalds gift certificates. I am not a big fan of McDonalds (don’t get me wrong I love their food, but I know my body doesn’t love it) but I always love seeing these tucked into branches of our tree on Christmas morning.
Black Olives in my Stocking: My mother grew up in a poor family. My grandfather had trouble finding work and they had to support six kids (typical catholic family). My grandmother ended up working a lot, but they still had trouble getting by. I have always heard stories about how my mother got hand me downs and how they made their own clothes. I was told about how the boys would drink all the milk and they wouldn’t have anymore, and how my mom’s family got welfare cheese and flour. One story that I especially remember is about Christmas. When my mother was young one of the presents she always got was oranges and fruit in her stocking. As a child I always thought that was strange. Why is fruit special? It wasn’t until I was older that I realized that back then fruit was expensive and my mom’s family couldn’t afford it on a regular basis. It was a special treat for my mother. My parents never gave us fruit, but they do have the habit of giving my siblings’ and I cans of black olives. I guess I think of it along the same line as fruit, it’s a regular thing, but special. It always reminds me of the oranges.
Board Games: One of the traditions that we have on Christmas Eve is that a bunch of the cousins get together and play board games. I don’t remember exactly when this started, probably in our early teens. We started out with playing monopoly, and now we usually play various different games. Every year when I get excited for the holidays it’s not about the gifts and presents and things like that, it’s about playing board games with my cousins. It’s kind of dorky and weird, but I really enjoy it.
Wednesday, December 8, 2010
Wednesday, November 17, 2010
Learning to live my life to make me happy
One of the problems I have always dealt with in my life is that I am a ‘people pleaser.’ I tend to go to enormous lengths to make others happy. Often times these lengths don’t necessarily hurt me, but they definitely don’t come easy. This in itself isn’t the bad part. The negative part of this equation is that usually the people who I go to great lengths to help do not in anyway support or help me when I am in need. I basically form relationships with people who, for lack of a better phrase, screw me over.
Recently there was a This American Life show about ‘frenemies.’ What I started to realize is in the past I have had quite a few of these. This American Life defined ‘frenemies’ as someone who is a friend but causes significant problems and negative feelings. Studies have shown (by Psychologist Julianne Holt-Lunstad) that ½ our relationships are with people we consider friends but have really negative feelings about. The show explored the idea of why anyone would stay friends with someone who causes them anxiety, pain, or distress. So I have started to ask myself, why do I do this?
I don’t have an answer for this. I think partly I find happiness in making other people happy (not healthy!). Also, I know that I personally like to be surrounded by people at times. What I don’t understand is why a reasonable person like me would knowingly have these types of relationships with people. Do I feel that I don’t deserve to have happiness? Do I think that these are the only types of people that would want to be in relationships with me? I’m starting to think my brain is not that of a reasonable person.
My ways of combating these frenemy relationships are not much better. I am never verbal about my feelings. I never sit down with people and say, hey! I need some support from you. Instead I smile and bear it. I expect people to change and become more supportive. But they don’t. Part of this is my own problem. I tend to not verbalize how I feel because I don’t like conflict. I am super passive-aggressive and will go to enormous lengths to hide how I feel. I don’t want to jeopardize relationships so I keep everything inside. And then I just feel worse. I even hide my own mental health to a dangerous degree because I worry about what people will think.
So what is the solution? Should I tell people how I feel and risk ruining relationships? Do I express my sadness and loneliness and risk becoming a ‘Debbie Downer’? What I do know that I can do is to stop going out of my way to do things for others. Instead I need to concentrate on doing things for myself. I need to put my own happiness before that of others. I need to spend my time doing things that make me happy and with people who genuinely want to spend time with me. In the last few months I have been working toward this. Sometimes I feel like it goes against my basic instincts, but I know it’s right in the end.
So here’s to the next year and learning to live my life to make me happy.
Recently there was a This American Life show about ‘frenemies.’ What I started to realize is in the past I have had quite a few of these. This American Life defined ‘frenemies’ as someone who is a friend but causes significant problems and negative feelings. Studies have shown (by Psychologist Julianne Holt-Lunstad) that ½ our relationships are with people we consider friends but have really negative feelings about. The show explored the idea of why anyone would stay friends with someone who causes them anxiety, pain, or distress. So I have started to ask myself, why do I do this?
I don’t have an answer for this. I think partly I find happiness in making other people happy (not healthy!). Also, I know that I personally like to be surrounded by people at times. What I don’t understand is why a reasonable person like me would knowingly have these types of relationships with people. Do I feel that I don’t deserve to have happiness? Do I think that these are the only types of people that would want to be in relationships with me? I’m starting to think my brain is not that of a reasonable person.
My ways of combating these frenemy relationships are not much better. I am never verbal about my feelings. I never sit down with people and say, hey! I need some support from you. Instead I smile and bear it. I expect people to change and become more supportive. But they don’t. Part of this is my own problem. I tend to not verbalize how I feel because I don’t like conflict. I am super passive-aggressive and will go to enormous lengths to hide how I feel. I don’t want to jeopardize relationships so I keep everything inside. And then I just feel worse. I even hide my own mental health to a dangerous degree because I worry about what people will think.
So what is the solution? Should I tell people how I feel and risk ruining relationships? Do I express my sadness and loneliness and risk becoming a ‘Debbie Downer’? What I do know that I can do is to stop going out of my way to do things for others. Instead I need to concentrate on doing things for myself. I need to put my own happiness before that of others. I need to spend my time doing things that make me happy and with people who genuinely want to spend time with me. In the last few months I have been working toward this. Sometimes I feel like it goes against my basic instincts, but I know it’s right in the end.
So here’s to the next year and learning to live my life to make me happy.
Tuesday, October 26, 2010
Gender Norms: I Can Do What A Man Can?
One of the aspects of life in Kazakhstan I always struggled with was the rigid gender norms that govern the society. Women and men had very defined roles in daily life and were often penalized if they deviated from these roles.
I always assumed that my students in Kazakhstan thought I wasn’t a very good девушка (lady) when I first arrived. I moved classroom furniture around on my own, I refused offers from men to carry my heavy bags, and I opened doors for men. I travelled by myself and didn’t feel I needed an escort. I tried to shake hands with men and wore glasses and didn’t always layer my face with make up. I only occasionally wore high heels and almost never wore revealing clothing. I didn’t have a boyfriend or husband and didn’t seem to care that I lacked children. More importantly I seemed to think my job was more important than starting a family.
By the time I left Kazakhstan, the gender norms had slowly and silently indoctrinated me. I never expected men to cook, clean, or help with dinner. I started doing all the things for my male friends that a Kazakshtani woman would do. I allowed men to open doors for me and carry my things. I even got mad if a man didn’t offer to help with my heavy bag. I bought a pair of six-inch stiletto heeled boots for the winter and asked my parents to send me contacts so I could wear my glasses less. I started wearing mascara even in the winter when it meant my eyelashes would inevitably freeze every time I walked outside. I bought perfume. None of these things were me. I have always been a pretty easygoing person. I have never worn a lot of make up and never cared about looking feminine. Don’t get me wrong I try to dress professionally and care about my overall appearance, but I don’t want to look like a perfect female.
When I started working at the University of Michigan School of Education I very easily slipped into the role of the silent woman on the staff. I was a little surprised when people introduced me to others at work. I have become accustom to never being acknowledged by males and never being prompted to shake hands with anyone (in Kazakhstan women do not shake hands, with friends we kiss on the cheeks). I have found myself relinquishing my driving privileges when other men are in the car. I even find myself thinking that woman at my work should dress more feminine. I was surprised when I first started working at the number of the women on staff who wear glasses. And why didn’t anyone wear high heels here? What happened to me?
Slowly I have begun to slide back into my previous gender norms. But I have to say I miss Kazakhstan’s gender norms. There is something to say for the women of Kazakhstan. Despite living in a male controlled society, they are proud and strong. Kazakhstani women support their families and work hard every day of their lives, often without the help of a male partner. And while they work hard at home taking care of their families they also manage to always look immaculate and beautiful. They stand by silently while men often take the credit for their accomplishments, and continue to work hard knowing that they will most likely not be rewarded. All of the women that I knew in Kazakhstan were amazing women. And although they have had to put up with an oppressive male governed society, they have managed to create good lives for their children and families. Sometimes I wish that I could be as strong as them.
I always assumed that my students in Kazakhstan thought I wasn’t a very good девушка (lady) when I first arrived. I moved classroom furniture around on my own, I refused offers from men to carry my heavy bags, and I opened doors for men. I travelled by myself and didn’t feel I needed an escort. I tried to shake hands with men and wore glasses and didn’t always layer my face with make up. I only occasionally wore high heels and almost never wore revealing clothing. I didn’t have a boyfriend or husband and didn’t seem to care that I lacked children. More importantly I seemed to think my job was more important than starting a family.
By the time I left Kazakhstan, the gender norms had slowly and silently indoctrinated me. I never expected men to cook, clean, or help with dinner. I started doing all the things for my male friends that a Kazakshtani woman would do. I allowed men to open doors for me and carry my things. I even got mad if a man didn’t offer to help with my heavy bag. I bought a pair of six-inch stiletto heeled boots for the winter and asked my parents to send me contacts so I could wear my glasses less. I started wearing mascara even in the winter when it meant my eyelashes would inevitably freeze every time I walked outside. I bought perfume. None of these things were me. I have always been a pretty easygoing person. I have never worn a lot of make up and never cared about looking feminine. Don’t get me wrong I try to dress professionally and care about my overall appearance, but I don’t want to look like a perfect female.
When I started working at the University of Michigan School of Education I very easily slipped into the role of the silent woman on the staff. I was a little surprised when people introduced me to others at work. I have become accustom to never being acknowledged by males and never being prompted to shake hands with anyone (in Kazakhstan women do not shake hands, with friends we kiss on the cheeks). I have found myself relinquishing my driving privileges when other men are in the car. I even find myself thinking that woman at my work should dress more feminine. I was surprised when I first started working at the number of the women on staff who wear glasses. And why didn’t anyone wear high heels here? What happened to me?
Slowly I have begun to slide back into my previous gender norms. But I have to say I miss Kazakhstan’s gender norms. There is something to say for the women of Kazakhstan. Despite living in a male controlled society, they are proud and strong. Kazakhstani women support their families and work hard every day of their lives, often without the help of a male partner. And while they work hard at home taking care of their families they also manage to always look immaculate and beautiful. They stand by silently while men often take the credit for their accomplishments, and continue to work hard knowing that they will most likely not be rewarded. All of the women that I knew in Kazakhstan were amazing women. And although they have had to put up with an oppressive male governed society, they have managed to create good lives for their children and families. Sometimes I wish that I could be as strong as them.
Monday, October 25, 2010
Back in the D: Two Different Neighborhoods and Hope
Since I have come back from the Peace Corps I have not actually gone into the city of Detroit.
If you live in Southeast Michigan you hear about Detroit all the time. The city is all over the local and national news mostly for negative things. Detroit has one of the highest rates of poverty, unemployment, and crime in the nation. The city has been featured in various movies and television programs, most which portray Detroit in a negative way.
I am not from Detroit in any shape or form. I was born in the suburbs and grew up in the suburbs. My parents, through intelligent planning and investing, moved my family up from low-income suburbs to an upper class, exclusive suburb. I consistently went to good schools and had many opportunities to succeed.
My mother worked in the city much of my childhood and I often went with her to work. I have a few memories of Detroit back then. I remember a lot of abandoned lots, seeing a prostitute in front of her building one day, and her regularly giving money to a homeless man which started an argument between her and my father. I don’t remember many good things about the city from that time. We mostly stayed in the building where she worked and the only times I remember seeing the area around involved going to nearby Wayne State libraries.
When I went to college at the University of Michigan, I met my ex-boyfriend and spent a lot of time in the area where he grew up. Soon after I joined a teaching group focusing on urban and high-needs teaching and ended up doing all of my field experience in that same neighborhood. This area of Southwest Detroit, known as Mexicantown, is primarily made up of Latino immigrants. The area is unique in that it is one of the only areas of Detroit that has experienced a rise in population in the last twenty years. It is also one of the only areas that does economically all right and constantly has new housing and businesses opening.
Mexicantown completely changed my previous beliefs about the city of Detroit. The community showed me that Detroit has a lot of promise and that wonderful people are working constantly to bring Detroit back to its previous glory. Last Friday I had the chance to go back into the city, but to a completely different neighborhood than I am used to.
I visited Cody High School in the northwestern corner of the city (it’s really next to Redford). The teacher that I student taught with in Detroit at Western International High School has been transferred to Cody’s Detroit Institute of Technology (See this article in the Detroit News for more information on the districts shake up: http://detnews.com/article/20100902/SCHOOLS/9020407/DPS-teachers-union-sues-over-new-hires). This teacher is also working with the project I manage as an “attending teacher.”
Cody is drastically different from Western. The student body at Cody is 99% Black, compared to Western’s 55% Hispanic, 35% Black, and 8% White. The poverty in the school also seems to be worse than Western. The rate of free or reduced school lunches is 84% versus Western’s 76%. While Southwest Detroit is also poor and has it’s share of problems, you didn’t see the same cycle of poverty there. It seems like to me that in Southwest Detroit there is more of a feeling of social mobility. Many of the people I know in the area have moved out and have been able to stay above the poverty line. In the area where Cody is located, there seems to be less of a sense of the ability to move up in the world.
The two neighborhoods are also architecturally different. Cody’s student body is traditional from the nearby neighborhoods of Brightmoor, Rosedale, and Old Redford, but became a magnet school with open enrollment recently. Auto industry workers traditionally inhabited this area and most of the houses seem to be built in the 1900s-1940s. These are the one-story cookie cutter houses built to house workers and their families. Southwest Detroit includes the West Vernor-Junction Historic District, which dates back a little further to the late nineteenth century. The houses in Southwest Detroit are typically two story larger homes that have often been cut into separate units. Residents in Southwest Detroit seem to focus more on the outside of their homes and you often see remodeling and brick work done on the front facades of buildings.
My experience at Cody was great. Although the school was having some problems with the metal detectors, I got to see the students on the first day of wearing their ROTC uniforms. I watched some of our “Teaching Interns” work with the students in groups on a secondary source on Chinese immigrants in the nineteenth century, while one of the boys told another boy that he looked like a giant pickle (I had to restrain myself from laughing at this one). The administration and many of the teachers are working very hard to get the small school going. Everything that I have seen so far shows that this school has hope.
When I was going back to my car to drive to Ann Arbor for my 1 PM weekly project meeting, I realized, there was an SUV parked behind me. I was confused for a second, because I knew I had parked legally in the parking lot in a spot. Apparently this person had decided to box both my car and another car in to our spots so that they could get a space.
I went to the school’s office and told the secretary, who made an announcement over the P.A. for the person to move. I walked outside and waited another 30 minutes as no one showed up. Then I walked in again, another announcement (we had to make four announcements over a period of 90 minutes). In the end the security had to threaten to the tow the SUV out before the person came out and moved it. I missed seeing the person move the car, but after looking at the contents of the car I am pretty sure it was a staff member (probably a teacher). I subsequently arrived late for my meeting.
Needless to say, I was pissed. The most frustrating part I guess was that someone, a teacher most likely, was so idiotic to park behind someone and inconvenience them. And what was I thinking the whole time? Only in Detroit. This type of situation would most likely only happen to me on my visit to an urban school.
As much as I want to believe that Detroit can change and that neighborhoods like Southwest and Cody’s neighborhoods can improve, it’s hard to believe it when you cannot even get people to park in legal spots at a high school.
If you live in Southeast Michigan you hear about Detroit all the time. The city is all over the local and national news mostly for negative things. Detroit has one of the highest rates of poverty, unemployment, and crime in the nation. The city has been featured in various movies and television programs, most which portray Detroit in a negative way.
I am not from Detroit in any shape or form. I was born in the suburbs and grew up in the suburbs. My parents, through intelligent planning and investing, moved my family up from low-income suburbs to an upper class, exclusive suburb. I consistently went to good schools and had many opportunities to succeed.
My mother worked in the city much of my childhood and I often went with her to work. I have a few memories of Detroit back then. I remember a lot of abandoned lots, seeing a prostitute in front of her building one day, and her regularly giving money to a homeless man which started an argument between her and my father. I don’t remember many good things about the city from that time. We mostly stayed in the building where she worked and the only times I remember seeing the area around involved going to nearby Wayne State libraries.
When I went to college at the University of Michigan, I met my ex-boyfriend and spent a lot of time in the area where he grew up. Soon after I joined a teaching group focusing on urban and high-needs teaching and ended up doing all of my field experience in that same neighborhood. This area of Southwest Detroit, known as Mexicantown, is primarily made up of Latino immigrants. The area is unique in that it is one of the only areas of Detroit that has experienced a rise in population in the last twenty years. It is also one of the only areas that does economically all right and constantly has new housing and businesses opening.
Mexicantown completely changed my previous beliefs about the city of Detroit. The community showed me that Detroit has a lot of promise and that wonderful people are working constantly to bring Detroit back to its previous glory. Last Friday I had the chance to go back into the city, but to a completely different neighborhood than I am used to.
I visited Cody High School in the northwestern corner of the city (it’s really next to Redford). The teacher that I student taught with in Detroit at Western International High School has been transferred to Cody’s Detroit Institute of Technology (See this article in the Detroit News for more information on the districts shake up: http://detnews.com/article/20100902/SCHOOLS/9020407/DPS-teachers-union-sues-over-new-hires). This teacher is also working with the project I manage as an “attending teacher.”
Cody is drastically different from Western. The student body at Cody is 99% Black, compared to Western’s 55% Hispanic, 35% Black, and 8% White. The poverty in the school also seems to be worse than Western. The rate of free or reduced school lunches is 84% versus Western’s 76%. While Southwest Detroit is also poor and has it’s share of problems, you didn’t see the same cycle of poverty there. It seems like to me that in Southwest Detroit there is more of a feeling of social mobility. Many of the people I know in the area have moved out and have been able to stay above the poverty line. In the area where Cody is located, there seems to be less of a sense of the ability to move up in the world.
The two neighborhoods are also architecturally different. Cody’s student body is traditional from the nearby neighborhoods of Brightmoor, Rosedale, and Old Redford, but became a magnet school with open enrollment recently. Auto industry workers traditionally inhabited this area and most of the houses seem to be built in the 1900s-1940s. These are the one-story cookie cutter houses built to house workers and their families. Southwest Detroit includes the West Vernor-Junction Historic District, which dates back a little further to the late nineteenth century. The houses in Southwest Detroit are typically two story larger homes that have often been cut into separate units. Residents in Southwest Detroit seem to focus more on the outside of their homes and you often see remodeling and brick work done on the front facades of buildings.
My experience at Cody was great. Although the school was having some problems with the metal detectors, I got to see the students on the first day of wearing their ROTC uniforms. I watched some of our “Teaching Interns” work with the students in groups on a secondary source on Chinese immigrants in the nineteenth century, while one of the boys told another boy that he looked like a giant pickle (I had to restrain myself from laughing at this one). The administration and many of the teachers are working very hard to get the small school going. Everything that I have seen so far shows that this school has hope.
When I was going back to my car to drive to Ann Arbor for my 1 PM weekly project meeting, I realized, there was an SUV parked behind me. I was confused for a second, because I knew I had parked legally in the parking lot in a spot. Apparently this person had decided to box both my car and another car in to our spots so that they could get a space.
I went to the school’s office and told the secretary, who made an announcement over the P.A. for the person to move. I walked outside and waited another 30 minutes as no one showed up. Then I walked in again, another announcement (we had to make four announcements over a period of 90 minutes). In the end the security had to threaten to the tow the SUV out before the person came out and moved it. I missed seeing the person move the car, but after looking at the contents of the car I am pretty sure it was a staff member (probably a teacher). I subsequently arrived late for my meeting.
Needless to say, I was pissed. The most frustrating part I guess was that someone, a teacher most likely, was so idiotic to park behind someone and inconvenience them. And what was I thinking the whole time? Only in Detroit. This type of situation would most likely only happen to me on my visit to an urban school.
As much as I want to believe that Detroit can change and that neighborhoods like Southwest and Cody’s neighborhoods can improve, it’s hard to believe it when you cannot even get people to park in legal spots at a high school.
Monday, October 11, 2010
Stranger in a Familiar Land
In the months before I left Kazakhstan to return to America, I had a few recurring stress dreams about coming home. I would wake up, covered in sweat on my pull out sofa/bed, reassured by the sounds outside my window that I was still in Kazakhstan. In the dreams I was back in America and had realized I had made the wrong decision to come home. I would wake up happy to know that the time had yet to come for these feelings.
These dreams let me know even before I left Kazakhstan that I was going to have some problems adjusting. But to my surprise these feelings and problems are not at all what I expected. It’s not the physical things, like the foods I get to eat, or the luxuries now available. The things that are really shocking are the emotional aspects of my life that I cannot even fully explain. The feeling of being lost in a place that I call home, being unable to connect with friends, and the feeling of guilt due to my new ‘wasteful’ lifestyle.
There is no denying that after living abroad for two years in a foreign country that something about you changes. I don’t feel like the same person that stepped onto a plane with eighty pounds of luggage and aspirations to make a difference. Inevitably I have grown up emotional in the last two years and learned new things about myself along the way. The problem is that the people at home didn’t undergo this change. My friends and family have experienced their fair share of changes in the last two years, but not quite in the same way. I am not trying to belittle their lifestyle or choices, it’s just not the same as mine.
There are many aspects of my Peace Corps experience that I cannot talk about with others. It’s not because they don’t care (which many people don’t), it’s just that they don’t get it. And how could they? How can you explain to someone how it feels to attend your first local party and speak in exclusively Russian? Or what the sensation of negative forty degrees Celsius feels like on your exposed cheeks? Or more importantly the feeling of ambivalence about whether or not you would rather be in America or back in Kazakhstan. Most of my friends and family will never understand the concept of having to leave behind, most likely for the rest of your life, deep friendships that you have cultivated over two years. They will never feel embarrassed for doing something culturally inappropriate in their own culture. So how exactly do I connect with them?
I cannot help but feel less useful and purposeful in my life here. What I was doing for the last two years was important and noble. What I do now seems more like a pathetic joke.
It has been more than three months since I have arrived back on American soil and I am still trying to figure out if this is where I belong. I enjoy what I am doing here and enjoy being able to see family and friends, but I still feel lost. I don’t really know if this feeling will ever go away, but I hope that maybe it won’t. Because as much as I hate feeling like an outcast here, it’s nice to have a little perspective.
These dreams let me know even before I left Kazakhstan that I was going to have some problems adjusting. But to my surprise these feelings and problems are not at all what I expected. It’s not the physical things, like the foods I get to eat, or the luxuries now available. The things that are really shocking are the emotional aspects of my life that I cannot even fully explain. The feeling of being lost in a place that I call home, being unable to connect with friends, and the feeling of guilt due to my new ‘wasteful’ lifestyle.
There is no denying that after living abroad for two years in a foreign country that something about you changes. I don’t feel like the same person that stepped onto a plane with eighty pounds of luggage and aspirations to make a difference. Inevitably I have grown up emotional in the last two years and learned new things about myself along the way. The problem is that the people at home didn’t undergo this change. My friends and family have experienced their fair share of changes in the last two years, but not quite in the same way. I am not trying to belittle their lifestyle or choices, it’s just not the same as mine.
There are many aspects of my Peace Corps experience that I cannot talk about with others. It’s not because they don’t care (which many people don’t), it’s just that they don’t get it. And how could they? How can you explain to someone how it feels to attend your first local party and speak in exclusively Russian? Or what the sensation of negative forty degrees Celsius feels like on your exposed cheeks? Or more importantly the feeling of ambivalence about whether or not you would rather be in America or back in Kazakhstan. Most of my friends and family will never understand the concept of having to leave behind, most likely for the rest of your life, deep friendships that you have cultivated over two years. They will never feel embarrassed for doing something culturally inappropriate in their own culture. So how exactly do I connect with them?
I cannot help but feel less useful and purposeful in my life here. What I was doing for the last two years was important and noble. What I do now seems more like a pathetic joke.
It has been more than three months since I have arrived back on American soil and I am still trying to figure out if this is where I belong. I enjoy what I am doing here and enjoy being able to see family and friends, but I still feel lost. I don’t really know if this feeling will ever go away, but I hope that maybe it won’t. Because as much as I hate feeling like an outcast here, it’s nice to have a little perspective.
Wednesday, September 29, 2010
Changes and Culture Shock
As some of you may have noticed, my blog has changed a little bit.
In July, 2010 I moved back to the states after living in Kazakhstan for almost two years. Adjusting hasn't been what I expected. Before I left Kazakhstan, I heard from various returned Peace Corps volunteers (RPCVs) and others that I would experience culture shock when getting back. What I didn't expect was that most of the culture shock would embarass/isolate me so much. I have been lucky since returning to have friends here who I can talk to and who understand somewhat the feelings I am having. But even talking about it doesn't always make me feel better.
Therefore, I have re-started my blog with a new title and a different type of theme. I am hoping to use this blog to talk about my experiences returning from abroad and all the weird things I do/say/see that freak me out. The theme is not just about my life, it's about my life adjusting back into American Culture. I hope my stories and ancedotes are amusing and this blog helps me deal with how I have changed and how to live my new life in America.
In July, 2010 I moved back to the states after living in Kazakhstan for almost two years. Adjusting hasn't been what I expected. Before I left Kazakhstan, I heard from various returned Peace Corps volunteers (RPCVs) and others that I would experience culture shock when getting back. What I didn't expect was that most of the culture shock would embarass/isolate me so much. I have been lucky since returning to have friends here who I can talk to and who understand somewhat the feelings I am having. But even talking about it doesn't always make me feel better.
Therefore, I have re-started my blog with a new title and a different type of theme. I am hoping to use this blog to talk about my experiences returning from abroad and all the weird things I do/say/see that freak me out. The theme is not just about my life, it's about my life adjusting back into American Culture. I hope my stories and ancedotes are amusing and this blog helps me deal with how I have changed and how to live my new life in America.
Thursday, December 17, 2009
A Guide to Winter in Siberia
This year will be the second year that I have experienced the blindly frigid season that is winter in northern Kazakhstan. And I have to say I am not too excited about being here for another one. The city where I live is on the southern edge of Siberia (that lovely stretch of horrible land in Russia known for its frigid temperatures and lack of life). Luckily, my first year here I was only subjected to a low of -35 C/ -31 F and my school was strangely never cancelled. This year the old ladies at the bazaar are gossiping that it is going to be way colder. So hopefully I will get at least one “cold” day off of school. Hopefully by the end of this blog entry you can get a little idea of how much winter sucks here.
LIFESTYLE
People who live in northern Kazakhstan have developed a way of living here that deals with the horrendous winters and the fact we run our furnaces 7 months out of the year. People stay inside a lot in the winter and generally don’t go out unless necessary. This also has a lot to do with the fact that after about 4:00 PM it’s pitch black out and it doesn’t get light until about 10 AM. The lack of sunlight is pretty depressing and it makes going anywhere at night risky. Also people in Kazakhstan have a lot of superstitions about doing things at night (taking out trash, washing the floor, giving people money) so that keeps activity down too. Basically people don’t spend as much time outside, but in a society where most people don’t use a car on a daily basis, they still need to get around. So even when it’s -35 C you will see people on the street going about their daily lives. But people do ride the bus more often and do use their cars more often when they can in the winter.
The hardest part for me of walking around in the frigid cold isn’t the walking, but the stopping and waiting. Last year I had to wait for the bus a lot and when you wait at a bus stop for 25 minutes in -25 C/-13 F, your feet start to freeze. The locals here are constantly tapping their feet around to keep them warm. Last year I had a bunch of instances of preliminary frostbite where my feet started to go numb and then once I got on the bus, they hurt so bad because of the blood coming back. I learned the problem was I was wearing too many pairs of socks. When you do this, your feet sweat, then the sweat freezes and your feet freeze too.
BUILDINGS
The people who live in northern Kazakhstan are accustom to the intense cold, but even they complain sometimes. Part of the reason it’s so bad it because there isn’t adequate heating in most buildings and the windows and doors are drafty in most homes and apartments. Most homes are heated with a furnace that is heated using coal or wood. These have to be refueled every 2-10 hours and generally keep the house warm when they are going strong. Most of the old homes that people live in are small with low ceilings, so they stay pretty warm. But new buildings in the town have high ceilings and don’t do as well. In apartment buildings in cities they have central heating, which means batteries (radiators) are placed in each room and generally keep it somewhat warm. Unfortunately many of the apartment buildings are badly constructed or old, and heat escapes through windows and doors, making them not so warm. My apartment is one of these. Everyday when I come home from work, I usually keep all my warm clothes on and sometimes put on another layer. At night I sleep with two layers of clothes and a huge blanket. Last year with my host family, I was in the bedroom farthest from the furnace and slept with three blankets and my long underwear. Mostly I remember last winter just being cold a lot.
CLOTHING
In the winter people here usually wear fur coats, big puffy marshmallow coats, or dublyonkas (a fur coat with fur on the inside and leather/animal skin on the outside). In case you haven’t already figured it out, we don’t have Green Peace and anti-fur groups in Kazakhstan, I mean c’mon people were just trying to stay warm. They also wear fur hats, leather gloves, and the best boots I have ever seen in my life. On a regular day I see every young girl on the street wearing knee high/calf high leather boots with spiky high heels (it helps you walk on the ice because it works like an ice pick). Women and men also wear scarves under their coats and older women tend to wear these type of blanket looking things made of horse hair or something. They look disgusting but are really warm.
Another thing you will see old people wearing in the city is valenki, which are these really warm boots made out of felt/wool which look like giant casts. In Kazakhstan people are pretty stylish so you see a lot of really classy/flashy fur coats and hats. And of course the stereotypical Russian hat known as the Ushanka with the big ear flaps.
On a regular day here, I wear long underwear, pants, and at least two layers on top. In America I bought long underwear special for extreme cold and they work pretty well under my clothes. I also have a really warm puffy coat, hat, scarf, gloves, and boots. But even when I’m all bundled up, it’s really cold walking down the street. When it gets to -25 C/-13 F, the air literally burns your face and by -35 C/ -31 F it hurts to breathe.
THE MORAL OF THE STORY
This winter has been a little colder than the last. It’s only December and already we have dropped down to -30 C/-22 F. But as much as I hate living here in the winter, I am thankful for the cold. I will now be able to say for the rest of my life that I have survived some of the coldest temperatures in the world. And in January I will be able to say that I dunked in a river during these temperatures (see next blog entry: chrishenya). But even more so living here during this time has really given me respect for the Kazakh and Russian people living here. I can only imagine how much tougher it must have been to exist in this part of the world when there was no electricity, no central heating, no public transport, and no television! I think if I had been a local during the Soviet Union, I would have most likely died of frostbite, or boredom.
P.S. Mom, Dad, Grandma, and Grandpa, do not send me more winter clothes, I’m good.
LIFESTYLE
People who live in northern Kazakhstan have developed a way of living here that deals with the horrendous winters and the fact we run our furnaces 7 months out of the year. People stay inside a lot in the winter and generally don’t go out unless necessary. This also has a lot to do with the fact that after about 4:00 PM it’s pitch black out and it doesn’t get light until about 10 AM. The lack of sunlight is pretty depressing and it makes going anywhere at night risky. Also people in Kazakhstan have a lot of superstitions about doing things at night (taking out trash, washing the floor, giving people money) so that keeps activity down too. Basically people don’t spend as much time outside, but in a society where most people don’t use a car on a daily basis, they still need to get around. So even when it’s -35 C you will see people on the street going about their daily lives. But people do ride the bus more often and do use their cars more often when they can in the winter.
The hardest part for me of walking around in the frigid cold isn’t the walking, but the stopping and waiting. Last year I had to wait for the bus a lot and when you wait at a bus stop for 25 minutes in -25 C/-13 F, your feet start to freeze. The locals here are constantly tapping their feet around to keep them warm. Last year I had a bunch of instances of preliminary frostbite where my feet started to go numb and then once I got on the bus, they hurt so bad because of the blood coming back. I learned the problem was I was wearing too many pairs of socks. When you do this, your feet sweat, then the sweat freezes and your feet freeze too.
BUILDINGS
The people who live in northern Kazakhstan are accustom to the intense cold, but even they complain sometimes. Part of the reason it’s so bad it because there isn’t adequate heating in most buildings and the windows and doors are drafty in most homes and apartments. Most homes are heated with a furnace that is heated using coal or wood. These have to be refueled every 2-10 hours and generally keep the house warm when they are going strong. Most of the old homes that people live in are small with low ceilings, so they stay pretty warm. But new buildings in the town have high ceilings and don’t do as well. In apartment buildings in cities they have central heating, which means batteries (radiators) are placed in each room and generally keep it somewhat warm. Unfortunately many of the apartment buildings are badly constructed or old, and heat escapes through windows and doors, making them not so warm. My apartment is one of these. Everyday when I come home from work, I usually keep all my warm clothes on and sometimes put on another layer. At night I sleep with two layers of clothes and a huge blanket. Last year with my host family, I was in the bedroom farthest from the furnace and slept with three blankets and my long underwear. Mostly I remember last winter just being cold a lot.
CLOTHING
In the winter people here usually wear fur coats, big puffy marshmallow coats, or dublyonkas (a fur coat with fur on the inside and leather/animal skin on the outside). In case you haven’t already figured it out, we don’t have Green Peace and anti-fur groups in Kazakhstan, I mean c’mon people were just trying to stay warm. They also wear fur hats, leather gloves, and the best boots I have ever seen in my life. On a regular day I see every young girl on the street wearing knee high/calf high leather boots with spiky high heels (it helps you walk on the ice because it works like an ice pick). Women and men also wear scarves under their coats and older women tend to wear these type of blanket looking things made of horse hair or something. They look disgusting but are really warm.
Another thing you will see old people wearing in the city is valenki, which are these really warm boots made out of felt/wool which look like giant casts. In Kazakhstan people are pretty stylish so you see a lot of really classy/flashy fur coats and hats. And of course the stereotypical Russian hat known as the Ushanka with the big ear flaps.
On a regular day here, I wear long underwear, pants, and at least two layers on top. In America I bought long underwear special for extreme cold and they work pretty well under my clothes. I also have a really warm puffy coat, hat, scarf, gloves, and boots. But even when I’m all bundled up, it’s really cold walking down the street. When it gets to -25 C/-13 F, the air literally burns your face and by -35 C/ -31 F it hurts to breathe.
THE MORAL OF THE STORY
This winter has been a little colder than the last. It’s only December and already we have dropped down to -30 C/-22 F. But as much as I hate living here in the winter, I am thankful for the cold. I will now be able to say for the rest of my life that I have survived some of the coldest temperatures in the world. And in January I will be able to say that I dunked in a river during these temperatures (see next blog entry: chrishenya). But even more so living here during this time has really given me respect for the Kazakh and Russian people living here. I can only imagine how much tougher it must have been to exist in this part of the world when there was no electricity, no central heating, no public transport, and no television! I think if I had been a local during the Soviet Union, I would have most likely died of frostbite, or boredom.
P.S. Mom, Dad, Grandma, and Grandpa, do not send me more winter clothes, I’m good.
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