-I saw the tallest fountains in the world, at the base of the tallest building in the world.
-I went to the highest lounge in the world, located in the tallest building in the world.
-I rode the fastest rollercoaster in the world.
-I skiied on one of the only indoor ski hills in the world.
-I ate (and drank) more than my body weight in the ten days I was in Dubai.
Being in a place (I almost wrote city, Balaken? City?! Ha!) that does not have any skyscrapers is the least of my adjustment issues currently.
But I must say, I'm surprised at how happy I am to be back.
Dubai was amazing. My Dad was a great tour guide, having lived in Dubai city center only a month, he took great care of us. We did all of the cool touristy stuff (including a simulation sky-diving experience - floating in a wind tunnel, basically), and still got to lounge around the apartment like it belonged to us. Because well, it does. My mom met us a few days in, and that was her big move to Dubai from home. I think she's adjusting well. I think the beach will help...
Dubai is like all the great things about America, on drugs. Only without the drugs. (You can get arrested for having trace amounts of codeine on your system - and that's arrested until you can prove that it was prescribed). And the alcohol is 'controlled' meaning that anywhere but hotels it is illegal, but in the hotels it flows like water.
The city is beautiful, clean. My first impression was the smell of the gulf and thinking, "everything is so shiny." There is no shortage of things to do, but I'm certainly glad we were able to have Dad's paycheck help us get around. I doubt we'd have gotten very far on a Peace Corps salary. But that isn't to say that everything is crazy expensive...most stuff is reasonable by American standards.
Getting on that plane was difficult. But I was comforted when I came back to my apartment and found everything just the way I left it. I went to school, and was even happy to see my difficult fifth formers tattling on each other in the hallway. When I was in Dubai I thought about not coming back. But I'm glad I did. It'll be hard to be here in the Balaken cold thinking, "I could be sitting on the beach right now." But five months isn't really that much time...
Tuesday, January 10, 2012
Thursday, December 22, 2011
Adventures in Coloring with Azerbaijani School Children
My first assignment is, yes, to teach English. But for me, what is far more rewarding, is teaching kids how to be creative, and how to think for themselves. Tomorrow is my second Azerbaijani Christmas Pageant. (No, they don't celebrate Christmas here. But I don't know what else to call it. All of my teachers call it, "Ingilis Gecesi" which means "English Night" but seeing as how it is at 1pm, that seems wrong. So, I have my own little pet name for it). And in honor of the occasion, I'm having the kids do some coloring to decorate the walls.
Now, coloring is not something kids here are necessarily used to. Markers are kind of expensive, and um, terrible, and you don't find published coloring books around. So, in comes Stephanie Teacher with a shoe box full of American markers and chaos ensues. I hand each child a half-size paper with a black and white outline of either a snowman, a tree, a bell, or a child dressed in winter clothes. These are the questions I get/conversations I hear:
Child: "What do I do with this?" Me: "Color it." Child: "Color it?" Me: "Yes, color it."
Child 1: "What color should I color the tree?" Me: "Any color you want!" Child 2: "Trees are green, it must be green." Child 1: "She is right. Very clever. It will be green."
Child (with snowman): "Do I color the arms?"
Child (with bell): "Should I color the bow?"
Child (with tree): "Can I color the star on top red?"
Child (with child-image coloring page): "This is a boy. I must color him blue."
Child (with with child-image): "Do I draw a face?" Me: "I think you should." Child: "Eyes, a nose, do I draw ears?" Me: "If you want." Child: "Hm."
Me: "Don't forget to write your name so you can remember it is yours and take it home!" (several) Children: "Do we write our last names?" Me: "It's up to you." Children: *confusion.
I think you get the idea. My counterpart and I found it terribly funny that not a single child could make their own decision about what color to color their pictures. The word we use to ask permission in Azerbaijani is "olar," and all I heard all day was, "olar muellime?!" Which essentially means, "can I do THIS, teacher?" Over and over and over again. And they were all quite frustrated when all I kept saying was, "nece isteyirsen" or, "as you wish..." They are used to being told what to do, even in art class. But generally, I refuse to do that, and insist they decide for themselves. Decisions are difficult (trust me, I know). And even a decision as simple as picking what color to color a tree can be terrifying - especially if you aren't used to having that kind of power. It's a little tiny crisis moment for them, one that I take an immense amount of joy from.
Now, coloring is not something kids here are necessarily used to. Markers are kind of expensive, and um, terrible, and you don't find published coloring books around. So, in comes Stephanie Teacher with a shoe box full of American markers and chaos ensues. I hand each child a half-size paper with a black and white outline of either a snowman, a tree, a bell, or a child dressed in winter clothes. These are the questions I get/conversations I hear:
Child: "What do I do with this?" Me: "Color it." Child: "Color it?" Me: "Yes, color it."
Child 1: "What color should I color the tree?" Me: "Any color you want!" Child 2: "Trees are green, it must be green." Child 1: "She is right. Very clever. It will be green."
Child (with snowman): "Do I color the arms?"
Child (with bell): "Should I color the bow?"
Child (with tree): "Can I color the star on top red?"
Child (with child-image coloring page): "This is a boy. I must color him blue."
Child (with with child-image): "Do I draw a face?" Me: "I think you should." Child: "Eyes, a nose, do I draw ears?" Me: "If you want." Child: "Hm."
Me: "Don't forget to write your name so you can remember it is yours and take it home!" (several) Children: "Do we write our last names?" Me: "It's up to you." Children: *confusion.
I think you get the idea. My counterpart and I found it terribly funny that not a single child could make their own decision about what color to color their pictures. The word we use to ask permission in Azerbaijani is "olar," and all I heard all day was, "olar muellime?!" Which essentially means, "can I do THIS, teacher?" Over and over and over again. And they were all quite frustrated when all I kept saying was, "nece isteyirsen" or, "as you wish..." They are used to being told what to do, even in art class. But generally, I refuse to do that, and insist they decide for themselves. Decisions are difficult (trust me, I know). And even a decision as simple as picking what color to color a tree can be terrifying - especially if you aren't used to having that kind of power. It's a little tiny crisis moment for them, one that I take an immense amount of joy from.
Wednesday, December 21, 2011
Wait, wasn't I supposed to be home by now...?
Peace Corps sends out in every newsletter a list of 'milestones' and 'cultural adjustments' that happen during the timeline of a volunteers service. Specifically, things that we should expect along the way, and certain emotions or roadblocks that we will have to deal with. Generally they are correct, but I'd like to make a list of my own (and also, this list is coming from the first volunteer in a site, and a volunteer who is staying):
Training, Months t-minus 2 to 0: Everything is bright and shiny and new and quaint. "Why does my host mom keep trying to fix my bra? She's so silly." "They don't drink cold water here, isn't that WEIRD?!" I call this the honeymoon stage with Azerbaijan. It's all crazy and funny. And every encounter is interesting. Also, you are optimistic and bright eyed. And a little arrogant and naive. "I'm going to change the world!" you say. You have no idea...
Arrival at site: Months 1 to 3. This is particularly sadistic of Peace Corps, dropping you off at site in the middle of the holiday season and some of the coldest months of the year. You go from seeing Americans 9 hours a day every day to seeing them basically never (depending on whether or not you have sitemates). You find yourself in a culture that you aren't familiar with and a language you don't understand. You make cultural faux pas. You forget to stand when the director comes in the room. You put your feet up on the chair. Some days you don't want to leave your sleeping bag, but host mom comes in at 8am and makes you get up. You get sick of her trying to fix your bra, and you get really mad when they won't just give you a friggen' glass of cold water. But things are still exciting, because now, site is new. The first time you taste pumpkin qutab (a quesadilla type thing) or xengel (dumplings) you think you've died and gone to heaven. And everything you do is your own.
Months 3 - 6: You've spent the first three months being fed and poked and prodded. Asked why you aren't married. When you'll get married. If you want to marry the neighbor's son. And guess what? You're still getting asked these questions. But you are starting to come up with creative answers. "I'll marry an Azeri when you find me an Azeri man who will do half the cooking and his own laundry." And you get excited when you understand the retort, "is there any man who will do his own laundry?" Maybe you move out of your house...and that takes a lot more work than just calling up a real estate agent. You feel guilty you spent the first three months at site guesting and stress eating, so in a frenzy to lose those extra five pounds, you start going out more and you try desparately to begin projects. Likely, your first few projects will fail. You don't know the right people. You scheduled it when all the children are out picking chestnuts (duh. Why didnt you know that?) You'll realize that there was an important meeting at school - yesterday - and no one told you. You'll be frustrated, and you are starting to take ownership of the town. You are not broken...yet.
Months 6-9: Jaded sets in. You've nearly killed yourself trying to implement all of the things Peace Corps told you you had to do during training. And you realize that no matter how hard you try, your counterpart is never going to get permission from her husband to help you run a club. Your girls will never play soccer on the field because it is too public. You've gone to an early service training and seen volunteers you hadn't seen since PST...and some of them won't stop bragging about how awesome their site is and how amazing they have it. And you worry that some people won't last another week. You take your first trip out of country, it's summer after all...and you see your family or friends. Or just remember what normal feels like. You come back - and it takes you another three weeks to really come back. You realize exactly what you gave up to be here. And it hurts.
Months 9 - 12: Projects finally start to take shape. You've learned to end everything before dark so the kids can get home on time. You've learned to tell them to ask their parents, because they won't do it on their own. You've found a handful of people - adults, kids, teenagers - who think like you. You don't know how they happened in this culture, but something clicked, and they get you. New volunteers arrive, and you see how they flounder with the language and find everything quaint. Compared to them, you've got this whole country figured out. Or so you think.
Months 12-15: Damn, it's cold. It's winter. Again. And all those projects that were doing so well come to a screeching halt because it is too cold to hold club in the run-down building you were using before (because there is no heat there) and no one wants to leave their house anyway. Seasonal Affective Disorder, anyone?
Months 15-18: It's Novruz again...and this time you're ready. You know what to expect, and it was the only thing that got you through those awfully cold nights. The paxlava is delicious. But somehow, over a year in this country has affected your immune system and you are sick - or should I say ill - really ill...and you're living alone. You just want someone to make you some soup. And you are craving ginger ale. It's rough.
Months 18-21: Your parents come, and through their visit, you realize how integrated you are, and how many people here love you and your company and just how much you have touched their lives. You realize that you arent here to change the world, you aren't capable of doing that. But you can change minds. And from there, lives. And you realize that you have already done that. Also, it's summer! Yes! Travel! Your own summer camp, because hey, by now, planning and executing a project is a breeze. COS is around the corner. But wait, I havent DONE anything! Well, ok, I've hosted clubs and camps and painted a mural and met a lot of people and made a lot of friends. Ok, I have done a lot. But I'm not READY to leave. I just got here! I have friends and students and basically a family here...not to mention a comfy house and a job and a paycheck. (A small paycheck, but it is independence). And that means I need to figure out what to do when I get back to America...wait, do I even go back to America? Graduate school? Travel like a bum? Get a job in a terrible economy? Um, stay in Azerbaijan a little longer? Yes.
Months 21-24: COS conference - but I'm not leaving. That's weird. All my friends are leaving. That sucks. Depression. Crap, I need to find some new friends...So you turn back to the friends you've had all along...your Azeri friends. And you realize that as much as you've changed their lives, they've changed yours in ways you'll never be able to express to them. You realize that what you thought you had figured out about the country and the culture...you really don't. You're just trying to get by like everyone else. You're just trying to be happy, and to spread a little bit of happiness along the way.
And now I'm at Month 24...and I'm trying to figure out what's happening. I've reached a strange moment of humility. I've accomplished all of the personal (read: selfish) goals I had set for myself, and now, I really am staying for others (read: my kids). But I've also found myself questioning: what more do I have to give them? I've seen the minds of some of these kids open up, and they are just taking off...they are capable of more than I could ever give them. I like to think that I helped them access that, but who knows? They've had it in them all along. That's what I think Peace Corps really is all about. We aren't changing the world. I have not changed the world. But I have changed minds...and I swear if anyone is going to change the world, it's the group of kids who I was just at club with. It's all in them.
On another note, I received acceptance letters from two of my graduate programs! Now I just need to figure out how to pay for them. Also, Boardwalk Empire is the best show currently on television.
Training, Months t-minus 2 to 0: Everything is bright and shiny and new and quaint. "Why does my host mom keep trying to fix my bra? She's so silly." "They don't drink cold water here, isn't that WEIRD?!" I call this the honeymoon stage with Azerbaijan. It's all crazy and funny. And every encounter is interesting. Also, you are optimistic and bright eyed. And a little arrogant and naive. "I'm going to change the world!" you say. You have no idea...
Arrival at site: Months 1 to 3. This is particularly sadistic of Peace Corps, dropping you off at site in the middle of the holiday season and some of the coldest months of the year. You go from seeing Americans 9 hours a day every day to seeing them basically never (depending on whether or not you have sitemates). You find yourself in a culture that you aren't familiar with and a language you don't understand. You make cultural faux pas. You forget to stand when the director comes in the room. You put your feet up on the chair. Some days you don't want to leave your sleeping bag, but host mom comes in at 8am and makes you get up. You get sick of her trying to fix your bra, and you get really mad when they won't just give you a friggen' glass of cold water. But things are still exciting, because now, site is new. The first time you taste pumpkin qutab (a quesadilla type thing) or xengel (dumplings) you think you've died and gone to heaven. And everything you do is your own.
Months 3 - 6: You've spent the first three months being fed and poked and prodded. Asked why you aren't married. When you'll get married. If you want to marry the neighbor's son. And guess what? You're still getting asked these questions. But you are starting to come up with creative answers. "I'll marry an Azeri when you find me an Azeri man who will do half the cooking and his own laundry." And you get excited when you understand the retort, "is there any man who will do his own laundry?" Maybe you move out of your house...and that takes a lot more work than just calling up a real estate agent. You feel guilty you spent the first three months at site guesting and stress eating, so in a frenzy to lose those extra five pounds, you start going out more and you try desparately to begin projects. Likely, your first few projects will fail. You don't know the right people. You scheduled it when all the children are out picking chestnuts (duh. Why didnt you know that?) You'll realize that there was an important meeting at school - yesterday - and no one told you. You'll be frustrated, and you are starting to take ownership of the town. You are not broken...yet.
Months 6-9: Jaded sets in. You've nearly killed yourself trying to implement all of the things Peace Corps told you you had to do during training. And you realize that no matter how hard you try, your counterpart is never going to get permission from her husband to help you run a club. Your girls will never play soccer on the field because it is too public. You've gone to an early service training and seen volunteers you hadn't seen since PST...and some of them won't stop bragging about how awesome their site is and how amazing they have it. And you worry that some people won't last another week. You take your first trip out of country, it's summer after all...and you see your family or friends. Or just remember what normal feels like. You come back - and it takes you another three weeks to really come back. You realize exactly what you gave up to be here. And it hurts.
Months 9 - 12: Projects finally start to take shape. You've learned to end everything before dark so the kids can get home on time. You've learned to tell them to ask their parents, because they won't do it on their own. You've found a handful of people - adults, kids, teenagers - who think like you. You don't know how they happened in this culture, but something clicked, and they get you. New volunteers arrive, and you see how they flounder with the language and find everything quaint. Compared to them, you've got this whole country figured out. Or so you think.
Months 12-15: Damn, it's cold. It's winter. Again. And all those projects that were doing so well come to a screeching halt because it is too cold to hold club in the run-down building you were using before (because there is no heat there) and no one wants to leave their house anyway. Seasonal Affective Disorder, anyone?
Months 15-18: It's Novruz again...and this time you're ready. You know what to expect, and it was the only thing that got you through those awfully cold nights. The paxlava is delicious. But somehow, over a year in this country has affected your immune system and you are sick - or should I say ill - really ill...and you're living alone. You just want someone to make you some soup. And you are craving ginger ale. It's rough.
Months 18-21: Your parents come, and through their visit, you realize how integrated you are, and how many people here love you and your company and just how much you have touched their lives. You realize that you arent here to change the world, you aren't capable of doing that. But you can change minds. And from there, lives. And you realize that you have already done that. Also, it's summer! Yes! Travel! Your own summer camp, because hey, by now, planning and executing a project is a breeze. COS is around the corner. But wait, I havent DONE anything! Well, ok, I've hosted clubs and camps and painted a mural and met a lot of people and made a lot of friends. Ok, I have done a lot. But I'm not READY to leave. I just got here! I have friends and students and basically a family here...not to mention a comfy house and a job and a paycheck. (A small paycheck, but it is independence). And that means I need to figure out what to do when I get back to America...wait, do I even go back to America? Graduate school? Travel like a bum? Get a job in a terrible economy? Um, stay in Azerbaijan a little longer? Yes.
Months 21-24: COS conference - but I'm not leaving. That's weird. All my friends are leaving. That sucks. Depression. Crap, I need to find some new friends...So you turn back to the friends you've had all along...your Azeri friends. And you realize that as much as you've changed their lives, they've changed yours in ways you'll never be able to express to them. You realize that what you thought you had figured out about the country and the culture...you really don't. You're just trying to get by like everyone else. You're just trying to be happy, and to spread a little bit of happiness along the way.
And now I'm at Month 24...and I'm trying to figure out what's happening. I've reached a strange moment of humility. I've accomplished all of the personal (read: selfish) goals I had set for myself, and now, I really am staying for others (read: my kids). But I've also found myself questioning: what more do I have to give them? I've seen the minds of some of these kids open up, and they are just taking off...they are capable of more than I could ever give them. I like to think that I helped them access that, but who knows? They've had it in them all along. That's what I think Peace Corps really is all about. We aren't changing the world. I have not changed the world. But I have changed minds...and I swear if anyone is going to change the world, it's the group of kids who I was just at club with. It's all in them.
On another note, I received acceptance letters from two of my graduate programs! Now I just need to figure out how to pay for them. Also, Boardwalk Empire is the best show currently on television.
Thursday, November 24, 2011
A Note on Thanksgiving
I'm going to be honest, it's been a tough couple of weeks. Well, probably longer. But there is a lot of change happening, in my life here, my life at home. And it has been hard.
Here is what I am thankful for this year: I'm thankful for the struggle that I'm going through. Because what it means is that I have been so blessed in my life, that I don't want to let it all go. When I left two years ago I didn't know that things were going to start changing faster than I could ever imagine. I didn't know that I'd be giving pieces of my heart to new friends and to new family members, only to watch them leave. Or to leave them behind. I didn't know that when I returned I'd be creating a new life when I came back. I'm thankful that I have had all of these blessings, and all of these opportunities. And I'm thankful for all of the blessings that I hope and pray will be ahead.
Happy Thanksgiving. This is #3 overseas...and hopefully the last.
Here is what I am thankful for this year: I'm thankful for the struggle that I'm going through. Because what it means is that I have been so blessed in my life, that I don't want to let it all go. When I left two years ago I didn't know that things were going to start changing faster than I could ever imagine. I didn't know that I'd be giving pieces of my heart to new friends and to new family members, only to watch them leave. Or to leave them behind. I didn't know that when I returned I'd be creating a new life when I came back. I'm thankful that I have had all of these blessings, and all of these opportunities. And I'm thankful for all of the blessings that I hope and pray will be ahead.
Happy Thanksgiving. This is #3 overseas...and hopefully the last.
Saturday, October 22, 2011
Ch-Ch-Ch-Choices
I've been kind of obsessed with this concept lately, the paradox of choice. This is a TED Talk by Barry Schwartz (I'm also a bit obsessed with TED Talks). He wrote a book. He talks about it.
My first year here in Peace Corps found me relatively content. Plugging away, doing my job. In retrospect, I realize often times where I found myself, was not born out of my choice. I didn't choose to come to Azerbaijan specifically, to come to Balaken specifically. I had one clear counterpart I was supposed to work with, I had only one option for independent housing. I was sent here. So I came. And because I'm the kind of person who tries to find the silver lining in everything, I made myself pretty happy.
Year two rolls around, and with it, a lot of choices. I have more teachers, more students, more classes, more projects, and more friends. Who do I spend my time with? What classes do I teach? Who do I work with? Which club do I teach?
And currently, there are even more choices.
As I look at whether stay in a house I've been in for a year and a half, or live in an apartment closer to work with better utilities.
As I look at whether or not to adopt a pet to help ease the loneliness.
As I look at whether or not I made the right choice to stay another 6 months...as I watch my friends leave.
As I see in the future the impending decision of what graduate school to attend, and once again, where to spend my life for two years.
We're sort of trained to believe 'the more the better,' and with that, the idea that the more choices we have the luckier we are.
Schwartz tells his point of view through an anecdote about buying jeans. All his life he bought the same kind of jeans...crappy, fit kind of odd, but once he broke them in they weren't so bad. He went to the store to buy a new pair, and was overwhelmed with several different styles of jeans. The salesperson asked, "What kind would you like?" He answered, "the same kind I always buy." An hour later, after trying on multiple pairs, he left the store with a bag in hand. The jeans fit better than the normal pair, and were actually of a better quality, but he found he was less satisfied than he usually was when he bought his new jeans.
Why?
He realized that with so many choices, he expected one of the pairs to be perfect. When none of them were perfect, his expectations weren't met and he was disappointed. When he expected the one pair of jeans to be crappy, and he got a crappy pair, his expectations were met. And he was satisfied.
The key to happiness is lower expectations.
This statement gets even more shocking when you think about expectations of people. I tend to have very high expectations of the people I am close with. Careful...
The more choices we have, the more chances there are to make the wrong choices. This causes anxiety. I agree with Schwartz in his theory that the escalation of depression rates might have something to do with the explosion of media and technology, and the subsequent barrage of choices we have raining down on us each day.
I'm currently working my way through The Unbearable Lightness of Being (the book - well audiobook - is definitely better than the movie). Tomas, a notorious womanizer, is dealing with his affection for Tereza. He doesn't know whether to let her live with him, or kick her out. He says he wishes he had two lives, so he could live out each of the possibilities, and then decide which is the best choice. Or, if he knew that he was going to live this life again, he could make a different choice in the next life, and he'd know that eventually he'd make the correct decision. But as we only live one life, we only get one choice, and we'll never really know.
It's easy to walk down a path that's been laid out for you. And if you are a generally positive person, you're going to have a generally positive time of it. But the moment you hit that fork in the road...
I guess you flip the coin, and the best of it. And more importantly, don't look back.
Tuesday, October 4, 2011
Ch-ch-ch-changes
It got cold. Fast. I sat here freezing for about an hour, too stubborn to light my pec this early in October.
And then I lit it anyway.
This winter is gonna be a cold one, I can tell.
On Sunday, we enjoyed what may be one of our final nice days of the year by taking our rag tag softball team to Oguz for a tournament. We scrounged up 9 kids, hopped on a bus, and headed to the field. It turned out to be a great day. We won one of the three games, but the kids hardly noticed the losses, and were just happy to be out! We were joined by teams from Oguz, Kurdamir, Goycay, and Zaqatala. Three of our kids passed out in the back of the marshrutka on the way home they were so exhausted. (Once again, thank you to our donors to the Softball grant because we would not have gone without your help!!!)
Now, I'm still putzing around school without a schedule, hoping that something will materialize soon so I can get my own clubs started. Unfortunately, we have kids from the Russian sector school having classes in the afternoons until their school is repaired, so I'm losing rooms to have conversation clubs. My current project is graduate school applications. I did very well on my GMAT thank you, so I'm still applying to all the same 7 schools...and hating all the self-assessment essays. I'm tired of talking myself up (one reason why I couldn't cut it in the actors crowd), and I've realized how limited my vocabulary has become. Suddenly, I can't think of synonyms for 'skills' or 'experience.' It takes me way too long to get through an essay because I keep having to consult my thesaurus.
This is where being an extendee is a blessing. As all my fellow 7s are panicking, trying to say good-byes, teach, AND write graduate school applications in less than 6 weeks...I get to prioritize. For once, time is on my side. I hope it stays there for a while longer...
We hit our two year anniversary on October 1st. As in, two years in country. It's remarkable...I feel like I just showed up, but like I've been here forever. And yet I know that when I go home (or to Dubai), and start new things, this whole experience will be a distant dream. Like something that happened to a close friend...a lifetime away. That part of it is heartbreaking. I'm not worried about readjusting. I'm worried about forgetting.
Which do you believe? Absence makes the heart grow fonder? Or out of sight, out of mind?
The answer I keep coming too generally just makes me sad...
And then I lit it anyway.
This winter is gonna be a cold one, I can tell.
On Sunday, we enjoyed what may be one of our final nice days of the year by taking our rag tag softball team to Oguz for a tournament. We scrounged up 9 kids, hopped on a bus, and headed to the field. It turned out to be a great day. We won one of the three games, but the kids hardly noticed the losses, and were just happy to be out! We were joined by teams from Oguz, Kurdamir, Goycay, and Zaqatala. Three of our kids passed out in the back of the marshrutka on the way home they were so exhausted. (Once again, thank you to our donors to the Softball grant because we would not have gone without your help!!!)
Now, I'm still putzing around school without a schedule, hoping that something will materialize soon so I can get my own clubs started. Unfortunately, we have kids from the Russian sector school having classes in the afternoons until their school is repaired, so I'm losing rooms to have conversation clubs. My current project is graduate school applications. I did very well on my GMAT thank you, so I'm still applying to all the same 7 schools...and hating all the self-assessment essays. I'm tired of talking myself up (one reason why I couldn't cut it in the actors crowd), and I've realized how limited my vocabulary has become. Suddenly, I can't think of synonyms for 'skills' or 'experience.' It takes me way too long to get through an essay because I keep having to consult my thesaurus.
This is where being an extendee is a blessing. As all my fellow 7s are panicking, trying to say good-byes, teach, AND write graduate school applications in less than 6 weeks...I get to prioritize. For once, time is on my side. I hope it stays there for a while longer...
We hit our two year anniversary on October 1st. As in, two years in country. It's remarkable...I feel like I just showed up, but like I've been here forever. And yet I know that when I go home (or to Dubai), and start new things, this whole experience will be a distant dream. Like something that happened to a close friend...a lifetime away. That part of it is heartbreaking. I'm not worried about readjusting. I'm worried about forgetting.
Which do you believe? Absence makes the heart grow fonder? Or out of sight, out of mind?
The answer I keep coming too generally just makes me sad...
Wednesday, September 28, 2011
Adventures in Cooking: OSU Tribute, Buckeye Cupcakes!!
Well, they started out as the usual birthday cupcakes. And then I got an idea!
First, make some vanilla cupcakes, and if you're feeling festive, add a little food coloring to make them pretty.
Second, with a knife, cut a cone out of the top of the cupcake. Scoop a spoonful of peanut butter into a ziploc baggie, and cut off a corner. Squeeze a dollop of peanut butter into the cupcake.
So it looks all cute. Put the top of the cone back onto the top of the cupcake, so you've hidden the peanut butter.
Add icing (in this case, nutella) and a dollop of peanut butter to finish it off.
Enjoy with friends! (But be sure to hoard a few in your fridge for later...they're great with Georgian coffee!)
First, make some vanilla cupcakes, and if you're feeling festive, add a little food coloring to make them pretty.
Second, with a knife, cut a cone out of the top of the cupcake. Scoop a spoonful of peanut butter into a ziploc baggie, and cut off a corner. Squeeze a dollop of peanut butter into the cupcake.
So it looks all cute. Put the top of the cone back onto the top of the cupcake, so you've hidden the peanut butter.
Add icing (in this case, nutella) and a dollop of peanut butter to finish it off. 
Enjoy with friends! (But be sure to hoard a few in your fridge for later...they're great with Georgian coffee!)
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