27 months is a long time to be out of America. It's a long time to dedicate yourself to one place, to one job, to one group of people. I've never held a job this long in my life, and past high school, never lived in one place this long either. I've either moved from one place to another, or there's always been another home. At NYU, I always had Cleveland. In Cleveland, I was always going off to NYU.
It's been a challenge for me actually, to sit still this long. I like to move, I like to travel, I like to bounce around. But it's forced me to slow down. The pace of life in NYC was killer, and here, I just have to take things day by day. I enjoy sitting in my garden drinking coffee. Or just sitting there, thinking. Things move slower in Azerbaijan too, meetings don't start on time, they start when everyone gets there. Classes get paused for families, plans get rearranged when it rains.
Sometimes, I really like it. It gets frustrating at times from a very Western-OCD worker, but it helps with priorities. And of course, what I like most, is the people. I've made some of the closest relationships I've ever had in this country, with Americans, Azerbaijanis, Georgians, Russians...it's surprising. And somehow not surprising that as my 27 months comes to an end in December - and all of my AZ7 mates talking about what they're going to do and how they are so excited to go home - I find it difficult to think about leaving.
I've never done super well with transitions. (See former blog entries). But this one is going to be especially hard, and I've been fortunate enough to get approval from Peace Corps to stay for another 6 months. That makes my new COS date June 9, 2012. It'll give me time to finish out the school year, and end on a positive note - instead of just not showing up to school one day...
After coming back from America, I had some second thoughts about seeking the extension. I realized a lot of things when I was home - some very difficult things - that made me question the need to stay pass my contract. I have given my time, so maybe it's time for me to focus on taking care of myself (the medical stuff alone I've dealt with might warrant just taking some good 'ol R&R)...but on the other hand, I genuinely do want to stay. I have more work to do - granted, there will always be more work to do - and I have people here I really care about - and yes, they'll always be difficult to leave - but this buys me just a little more time...
It isn't going to be easy. I'm already finding myself in this weird middle place with not too many people to relate to. Fellow 7s are planning on leaving Azerbaijan, life after PC, graduate school, travel plans, talking about seeing their families and eating Chipotle. To the 8s, I'm still a Senior, and I am still a little futher ahead than they are when it comes to my own planning and my own mindset. Fortunately, there are about 4 of us 7s (that I know of so far) who are staying, and that's a comforting thought. It's going to be good. It's going to be hard. Never one to take the easy road, I'm looking forward to the challenge....
Monday, August 22, 2011
Tuesday, August 16, 2011
Lahic
After a clearly depressing two weeks (see many previous posts), it was time for a break. The side effects of the antibiotics had worn down…it seemed…and so I headed to Ismayilli to meet Matt, and from there we went to a little village in Lahic.
Lahic is an old little village, tucked beyond winding roads and rocky mountain passes. I have no doubt that it would be nearly impossible – if not lethal – to try and make this journey in bad weather. We got lucky because it was sunny, and the temperature was just right.
After a cramped ride in a small melon-filled vehicle from a Lahic villager, we arrived in a very medieval looking town. Narrow cobblestone streets, flanked by mid-sized buildings with wooden doors and balconies and dark iron work. Doors open to shops filled with handmade crafts, and even a few guys more than happy to let you try on some “Azeri cultural clothing” and take a picture (for at least a manat, of course…).
We stayed at a guesthouse near the mosque, run by a fantastic gentleman named Ibrahim. He showed us to a quaint room with a lovely balcony, and offered us whatever we needed. We spent the afternoon walking the city, talking on the balcony, and then had dinner. He was kind enough to let us buy our own food and use the kitchen to cook, and the whole time he was standing over me, making sure I prepared everything right. He insisted on checking to see if the potatoes were properly fried, and warned me about the “microbes” on tomatoes if I didn’t wash them. Before heading to bed, he assured us if there was anything else we needed, he’d be more than happy to provide it.
The next morning we made breakfast, and met Ibrahim’s friend Iktiyar, who continued to try and persuade Matt to do shots of vodka with him. (It was 10am). He asked Matt for permission to offer me a shot (they thought we were married, if you’re going to offer anything to a woman, you must ask her husband…so…). Naturally I cut in, and for once, the antibiotics proved to be a good excuse. (Though of course this turned into a discussion about the benefits of natural medicine, and Ibrahim assured me that he could cure me in one week with his herbal tea, where it takes my Western Antibiotics two weeks…).
After breakfast we hiked up the river to a waterfall, which, honestly, was less than impressive. So we hiked to above the waterfall and hung out there for a while. Back to the guesthouse for lunch, and then, as Ibrahim had promised, he arranged for us to go horseback riding.
There was some confusion at first, because Ibrahim assumed we knew how to ride, and was just going to give us a couple of horses. Since this was not the case (I haven’t been on a horse since girl scout camp), Ibrahim’s idea of arranging a guided tour was to convince two local boys, who seemed to have nothing better to do, to humor us by letting us ride their horses around. So our two guides, Seymour (think Adrian Grenier type), and Kid with a Cowboy Hat (he had some ‘tude…loved him) took us to ride their horses Qafqaz (Azeri for Caucasus) and Demir (Azeri for Iron) up into the mountains.
It was so much fun. They didn’t give up the reigns so much at first, just leading us up and letting us look. The view of the mountains was beautiful, and you could see villages that go even past Lahic. We went up to an apple orchard and took a rest there, and then Matt and I switched horses for the ride home.
This is where the crazy began. At this point, Seymour and Kid with a Cowboy Hat seemed to think we were pros, and they just let us go. Which was great, until both of our horses took off at full gallop, and I wasn’t really sure how to stop Qafqaz. Fortunately, I knew to stand up when the horse is running, (though I still think I bruised my tailbone a bit), and he seemed to eventually understand my request to stop. I was a little scared for my life there…just a bit…
After the ride we had dinner, and the next day, when the Peace Corps salary ran out, it was time to go home. Being outside, being active, being relaxed, was really just what I needed. I headed out sad it was over, but re-energized as well…I knew the next few weeks were only going to get hectic once again…
Lahic is an old little village, tucked beyond winding roads and rocky mountain passes. I have no doubt that it would be nearly impossible – if not lethal – to try and make this journey in bad weather. We got lucky because it was sunny, and the temperature was just right.
After a cramped ride in a small melon-filled vehicle from a Lahic villager, we arrived in a very medieval looking town. Narrow cobblestone streets, flanked by mid-sized buildings with wooden doors and balconies and dark iron work. Doors open to shops filled with handmade crafts, and even a few guys more than happy to let you try on some “Azeri cultural clothing” and take a picture (for at least a manat, of course…).
We stayed at a guesthouse near the mosque, run by a fantastic gentleman named Ibrahim. He showed us to a quaint room with a lovely balcony, and offered us whatever we needed. We spent the afternoon walking the city, talking on the balcony, and then had dinner. He was kind enough to let us buy our own food and use the kitchen to cook, and the whole time he was standing over me, making sure I prepared everything right. He insisted on checking to see if the potatoes were properly fried, and warned me about the “microbes” on tomatoes if I didn’t wash them. Before heading to bed, he assured us if there was anything else we needed, he’d be more than happy to provide it.The next morning we made breakfast, and met Ibrahim’s friend Iktiyar, who continued to try and persuade Matt to do shots of vodka with him. (It was 10am). He asked Matt for permission to offer me a shot (they thought we were married, if you’re going to offer anything to a woman, you must ask her husband…so…). Naturally I cut in, and for once, the antibiotics proved to be a good excuse. (Though of course this turned into a discussion about the benefits of natural medicine, and Ibrahim assured me that he could cure me in one week with his herbal tea, where it takes my Western Antibiotics two weeks…).
After breakfast we hiked up the river to a waterfall, which, honestly, was less than impressive. So we hiked to above the waterfall and hung out there for a while. Back to the guesthouse for lunch, and then, as Ibrahim had promised, he arranged for us to go horseback riding.
There was some confusion at first, because Ibrahim assumed we knew how to ride, and was just going to give us a couple of horses. Since this was not the case (I haven’t been on a horse since girl scout camp), Ibrahim’s idea of arranging a guided tour was to convince two local boys, who seemed to have nothing better to do, to humor us by letting us ride their horses around. So our two guides, Seymour (think Adrian Grenier type), and Kid with a Cowboy Hat (he had some ‘tude…loved him) took us to ride their horses Qafqaz (Azeri for Caucasus) and Demir (Azeri for Iron) up into the mountains.
It was so much fun. They didn’t give up the reigns so much at first, just leading us up and letting us look. The view of the mountains was beautiful, and you could see villages that go even past Lahic. We went up to an apple orchard and took a rest there, and then Matt and I switched horses for the ride home.This is where the crazy began. At this point, Seymour and Kid with a Cowboy Hat seemed to think we were pros, and they just let us go. Which was great, until both of our horses took off at full gallop, and I wasn’t really sure how to stop Qafqaz. Fortunately, I knew to stand up when the horse is running, (though I still think I bruised my tailbone a bit), and he seemed to eventually understand my request to stop. I was a little scared for my life there…just a bit…
After the ride we had dinner, and the next day, when the Peace Corps salary ran out, it was time to go home. Being outside, being active, being relaxed, was really just what I needed. I headed out sad it was over, but re-energized as well…I knew the next few weeks were only going to get hectic once again…
International Youth Day
August 12 has been named International Youth Day by the UN, and because yours truly and her siteys are so awesome, we were invited down to Baku to help the UNDPI with their big youth day event.
We hopped on an early morning marsh (Trey had to sit in a stool in the aisle), and got into Baku early afternoon. We headed over to SOS Children’s Village youth house to begin the event.
SOS Children’s Village takes in orphaned children, and while the main village is outside of Baku, a Youth House is in the city for older students. There are also perks for “graduates” of the village, like a resource center in town and continuing guidance. It’s a really great program, and the UNDPI branch of Baku chose them to host the event.
The old PC housing coordinator now works for the UNDPI, and when she heard about our arts camp, called us up and asked us to come down and organize an art project for the students to do, to kick of the event.
We arrived, and immediately got to work. This year’s theme is “Change the World,” and the focus of the last year of programming has been about dialogue and communication. We opened with a discussion about art, what art is, what art styles exist, etc, and also discussed how art can be a form of communication, and can be used as a means to express a difficult or lofty idea.
We gave each kid a square of construction paper, and told them to draw from one of two prompts:
1) What is one small think you can do to change the world?
2) If you could send a message to a world leader, what would you say?
They got to drawing, and it was really inspiring to see the kind of independent ideas they had, and the sheer skill they had in sketching. As they finished, we took each square and compiled them into a quilt of sorts, to hang in the Youth House.
It looked bomb. I drew the middle square based on this year’s logo and theme, and the rest was the kids!
After that, there were speeches and introductions by participating organizations, UNDPI, OSCE, Save the Children, SOS Children’s Village, us (!). Then we went upstairs for a concert prepared by the youth.
There was music and lip-syncing, but what got me most was the dancing. Most Azeri dancing is cultural, and very formulaic. The two pieces we saw were modern, lyrical, and told a story, or dealt with an idea. The first was a young girl in a white dress, and it seemed through the piece she was discovering her identity, and becoming a strong woman. The second presented two girls dressed identically, facing the audience, seemingly mirroring each other. At one point, their lives split, and you can see as one girl chooses a path of study and moral fortitude, while the other gets corrupted by drugs, alcohol and rock and roll (yeah, rock and roll…). At one point in the dance, both girls seemed to be walking and they came to a door. For the one girl, the door opened at a simple turn. For the other, no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t get it open.
I was really proud we got to be part of this event, and proud to meet such intelligent, creative youth. I have no doubt that any one of these kids will be able to open any door placed in front of them.
Saturday, August 6, 2011
Cabin Fever
Literally. The temperature has been consistently above 100 this week, and I've been losing my $#@!.
When I woke up to the rain this morning it was like the fever was breaking. I'm finally relieved and rational enough to blog about it.
From past blogs, you'll note, coming back was not so fun, and I was/am having some adjustment issues. I've been sick on and off probably since March, and so upon my return Dr. Sevinj asked me to come in for some tests.
Dr. Sevinj is a rock star. But having a camera attached to a tube shoved down your throat is never fun.
So when I got the meds she prescribed me, I was relieved. Only to be afflicted by fever and nausea and vomiting on the first day of taking them.
These symptoms suck anyway, but when your body temperature matches the temperature outside, and the only relief you have is a fan and ice cubes...life sucks. The minutes just creep by...leaving me to lie in bed and either a) watch the entire Human Planet series (which is bomb and I'm obsessed with by the way) or b) stress out and worry about your future and your life and your friends (who either seem terriby far away, or are dealing with their own kind of crazy). When I wasn't doing a, I was doing b. And repeat.
I was lucky in that it passed, and now the 6 pill a day regimen I'm on for the next 11 days doesn't seem like a death sentence. (I swear these drugs were still manufactured by the devil - until they actually work. Then I'll get back to you). So I went out yesterday (because my home, once a place of sanctuary, started to seem like a prison. The little trinkets and reminders of home seemed to mock me, saying "You're not here! Nah nah nah nah nah nah!" And the GMAT book just looked so big...), went to Zaqatala to see friends which was exactly what I needed.
I now understand how they say loneliness can legitimately affect your health, and make you lose your mind. Solitary confinement anyone?
Though yesterday had its own kind of crazy, when first off, I apparently realized I'm a VERY interesting person, because I discovered some strange rumors floating around about me. One I won't get into for personal reasons, the other, I discovered from a neighbor girl on the way home.
Girl: "Sen kocurubsen?" (Meaning literally, "Have you moved?" In AZ, when this is asked to a girl, it means, "Have you moved into your husband's home?"
Me: "WHAT?!" (and here I'll switch to English because I don't know how to type Azeri characters).
Girl: "Yes, did you get married? I have heard this."
Me: "Uhh, nooo...not that I know of. Still single!" (I say with a helpless sort of shrug)
I'm assuming (hoping) that this is just a misinterpretation of "Stephanie went to America for a wedding." But you never really know...
Fortunately, the cabin fever/depression went from bouts of sobbing on Weds/Thurs, and hit the point of absurdity with these rumors, so now it all just seems funny.
Also, it's cooler, and somehow that's inspired me to take a rainy day work day and actually figure some stuff out in regards to grad school. Productivity. Always a good distraction.
This is also a good distraction, and will give you sort of an idea about how I've been feeling lately.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=F-bbbQDjkTY
I don't know why there are subtitles...
When I woke up to the rain this morning it was like the fever was breaking. I'm finally relieved and rational enough to blog about it.
From past blogs, you'll note, coming back was not so fun, and I was/am having some adjustment issues. I've been sick on and off probably since March, and so upon my return Dr. Sevinj asked me to come in for some tests.
Dr. Sevinj is a rock star. But having a camera attached to a tube shoved down your throat is never fun.
So when I got the meds she prescribed me, I was relieved. Only to be afflicted by fever and nausea and vomiting on the first day of taking them.
These symptoms suck anyway, but when your body temperature matches the temperature outside, and the only relief you have is a fan and ice cubes...life sucks. The minutes just creep by...leaving me to lie in bed and either a) watch the entire Human Planet series (which is bomb and I'm obsessed with by the way) or b) stress out and worry about your future and your life and your friends (who either seem terriby far away, or are dealing with their own kind of crazy). When I wasn't doing a, I was doing b. And repeat.
I was lucky in that it passed, and now the 6 pill a day regimen I'm on for the next 11 days doesn't seem like a death sentence. (I swear these drugs were still manufactured by the devil - until they actually work. Then I'll get back to you). So I went out yesterday (because my home, once a place of sanctuary, started to seem like a prison. The little trinkets and reminders of home seemed to mock me, saying "You're not here! Nah nah nah nah nah nah!" And the GMAT book just looked so big...), went to Zaqatala to see friends which was exactly what I needed.
I now understand how they say loneliness can legitimately affect your health, and make you lose your mind. Solitary confinement anyone?
Though yesterday had its own kind of crazy, when first off, I apparently realized I'm a VERY interesting person, because I discovered some strange rumors floating around about me. One I won't get into for personal reasons, the other, I discovered from a neighbor girl on the way home.
Girl: "Sen kocurubsen?" (Meaning literally, "Have you moved?" In AZ, when this is asked to a girl, it means, "Have you moved into your husband's home?"
Me: "WHAT?!" (and here I'll switch to English because I don't know how to type Azeri characters).
Girl: "Yes, did you get married? I have heard this."
Me: "Uhh, nooo...not that I know of. Still single!" (I say with a helpless sort of shrug)
I'm assuming (hoping) that this is just a misinterpretation of "Stephanie went to America for a wedding." But you never really know...
Fortunately, the cabin fever/depression went from bouts of sobbing on Weds/Thurs, and hit the point of absurdity with these rumors, so now it all just seems funny.
Also, it's cooler, and somehow that's inspired me to take a rainy day work day and actually figure some stuff out in regards to grad school. Productivity. Always a good distraction.
This is also a good distraction, and will give you sort of an idea about how I've been feeling lately.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=F-bbbQDjkTY
I don't know why there are subtitles...
Monday, August 1, 2011
What's Love Got to Do With It?
One of the first books I read in country was Eat, Pray, Love by Elizabeth Gilbert. Generally I liked it. If you aren't familiar, it is her personal story of coming to terms with a difficult divorce, while travelling and trying to find herself.
What she finds along the way, is a Brazilian man named Felipe. They fall in love. Book ends.
Book doesn't end though, as both of them have survived difficult divorces, they pledge to never marry. Which generally wouldn't be an issue, until the Dept. of Homeland Security devides to never let Felipe into the country again.
So, their only option, if they want to live in America, is - to get married.
Leave it to Elizabeth Gilbert to be faced with a challenge and spend many months and an entire book obsessing about the issue.
Hmm. Sounds like something I would do.
So, cut to me coming home and my mother handing me a copy of the book Committed.(My Mom's been working on it since December, I devoured it in about a week).
Note: My mother tried to convince me to read the book by citing a passage that stated why men and women get married, and the benefits to each of them . Turns out the benefits are largely skewed in favor of the man, in that married men live longer lives, make more money, are less prone to depression and alcoholism, and are less likely to die a violent death. In all instances the OPPOSITE is true for women. Married women do not live longer, they make less money, are more prone to depression and alcoholism, and are more likely to die a violent death (more often than not at the hands of their husbands). Thanks Mom, for pointing this out to me. Are you trying to tell me something?
It's enough to say I enjoyed the book, but not just because I went to a friend's wedding back home, and one of the first things I did after coming back was go to an Azeri toy (wedding).
I was struck most by her discussion of choice. Gilbert introduces the paradox of how in society after society, the moment marriage is allowed to be based on choice, and love and freedom of intention, the divorce rate skyrockets. How is it that arranged marriages end in less divorce?
Turns out, arranged marriages are usually arranged with the support of the entire community. Usually these matches are based on financial stability, the merging of land or funds, or tend to be more pleasing to the community as a whole, and therefore have more investment from others. (This isnt to say these marriages are necessarily happier - it is possible in these cases couples are locked in a state of unhappiness because they aren't allowed to divorce...but we'll shelve that point for a moment).
In the society I've grown up in, I've always been told to wait for the right moment, to wait for love, and to choose when I am ready. This makes the choice to marry ultimately personal, making it that much harder for outsiders to support and have a share in my personal commitment. At the same time, when the power is left to me, it gives me a choice. When there is a choice, when there is more than one possible option, there is ultimately anxiety. Anxiety that I will make the wrong choice, anxiety that the path I choose will turn out to be less satisfying than the other path (or paths) I could have gone down.
Cut to 15 years down the road, when all that white-knight stuff has faded away, and you're left with this man sitting across from you drinking coffee, and you think, "What if..." Dissatisfaction (maybe) begins to grow. Some relationships make it through, and for a million varied reasons, some relationships dont.
Note: I grew up in a loving family, and my parents just celebrated 25 (generally) blissful years of marriage together. I know nothing about divorce, I know nothing about the kind of pain it can cause having to make that decision, and the guilt and sorrow that must come along with it. I will never pretend to know, and I hope I never will know. But unfortunately, I can't be sure. I'm just trying to talk about trends. And culture.
I was taught that I am entitled to happiness, and I shouldn't settle for anything less. It's no wonder that when things get tough, I look for ways to fix it. I was also taught that love is real, love is true, and that I deserve to be loved unconditionally.
I think it boils down to expectations, and choice.
You make a choice. If your expectations are unrealistic, whatever choice you made will never be satisfying.
Sometimes, I look at my own future and see too many choices, and too many possibilities for disappointment. (I also have slightly depressive tendencies, which according to a recent TIME article means I am able to more realistically forecast my future than optimists. That's a sad statistic). But then I step back and I look at some Azeri women who don't have a choice. Whose expectations are likely more realistic than the average American bride...and I wonder.
The divorce rates here are very low, because divorce is stigmatized and second weddings (for women at least) are basically unheard of. But there's always a price. Low divorce rate could signify better external support systems for couples (from th family and from the community), and couples more willing to work it out and accomodate each other. But it could also mean more unhappy marriages. I suppose in America, the price we pay for the freedom to love who we want and how we want, and to chase after our own happiness, we have to accept that sometimes, we're going to want a way out.
Marriage is a very social contract, and the more we have personalized our choices, the harder it is to allow marriage to be something that the community is part of. Maybe that's why marriage is on the decline in America.
If I've learned anything from living in a society with strange rules and customs, and trying to maintain my own relationship in this foreign place, i've learned that it's personal, and it's a choice. And with that, comes the beautiful freedom to write your own rules, and your own story.
And whatever the sacrifice, I will always choose to have that freedom.
What she finds along the way, is a Brazilian man named Felipe. They fall in love. Book ends.
Book doesn't end though, as both of them have survived difficult divorces, they pledge to never marry. Which generally wouldn't be an issue, until the Dept. of Homeland Security devides to never let Felipe into the country again.
So, their only option, if they want to live in America, is - to get married.
Leave it to Elizabeth Gilbert to be faced with a challenge and spend many months and an entire book obsessing about the issue.
Hmm. Sounds like something I would do.
So, cut to me coming home and my mother handing me a copy of the book Committed.(My Mom's been working on it since December, I devoured it in about a week).
Note: My mother tried to convince me to read the book by citing a passage that stated why men and women get married, and the benefits to each of them . Turns out the benefits are largely skewed in favor of the man, in that married men live longer lives, make more money, are less prone to depression and alcoholism, and are less likely to die a violent death. In all instances the OPPOSITE is true for women. Married women do not live longer, they make less money, are more prone to depression and alcoholism, and are more likely to die a violent death (more often than not at the hands of their husbands). Thanks Mom, for pointing this out to me. Are you trying to tell me something?
It's enough to say I enjoyed the book, but not just because I went to a friend's wedding back home, and one of the first things I did after coming back was go to an Azeri toy (wedding).
I was struck most by her discussion of choice. Gilbert introduces the paradox of how in society after society, the moment marriage is allowed to be based on choice, and love and freedom of intention, the divorce rate skyrockets. How is it that arranged marriages end in less divorce?
Turns out, arranged marriages are usually arranged with the support of the entire community. Usually these matches are based on financial stability, the merging of land or funds, or tend to be more pleasing to the community as a whole, and therefore have more investment from others. (This isnt to say these marriages are necessarily happier - it is possible in these cases couples are locked in a state of unhappiness because they aren't allowed to divorce...but we'll shelve that point for a moment).
In the society I've grown up in, I've always been told to wait for the right moment, to wait for love, and to choose when I am ready. This makes the choice to marry ultimately personal, making it that much harder for outsiders to support and have a share in my personal commitment. At the same time, when the power is left to me, it gives me a choice. When there is a choice, when there is more than one possible option, there is ultimately anxiety. Anxiety that I will make the wrong choice, anxiety that the path I choose will turn out to be less satisfying than the other path (or paths) I could have gone down.
Cut to 15 years down the road, when all that white-knight stuff has faded away, and you're left with this man sitting across from you drinking coffee, and you think, "What if..." Dissatisfaction (maybe) begins to grow. Some relationships make it through, and for a million varied reasons, some relationships dont.
Note: I grew up in a loving family, and my parents just celebrated 25 (generally) blissful years of marriage together. I know nothing about divorce, I know nothing about the kind of pain it can cause having to make that decision, and the guilt and sorrow that must come along with it. I will never pretend to know, and I hope I never will know. But unfortunately, I can't be sure. I'm just trying to talk about trends. And culture.
I was taught that I am entitled to happiness, and I shouldn't settle for anything less. It's no wonder that when things get tough, I look for ways to fix it. I was also taught that love is real, love is true, and that I deserve to be loved unconditionally.
I think it boils down to expectations, and choice.
You make a choice. If your expectations are unrealistic, whatever choice you made will never be satisfying.
Sometimes, I look at my own future and see too many choices, and too many possibilities for disappointment. (I also have slightly depressive tendencies, which according to a recent TIME article means I am able to more realistically forecast my future than optimists. That's a sad statistic). But then I step back and I look at some Azeri women who don't have a choice. Whose expectations are likely more realistic than the average American bride...and I wonder.
The divorce rates here are very low, because divorce is stigmatized and second weddings (for women at least) are basically unheard of. But there's always a price. Low divorce rate could signify better external support systems for couples (from th family and from the community), and couples more willing to work it out and accomodate each other. But it could also mean more unhappy marriages. I suppose in America, the price we pay for the freedom to love who we want and how we want, and to chase after our own happiness, we have to accept that sometimes, we're going to want a way out.
Marriage is a very social contract, and the more we have personalized our choices, the harder it is to allow marriage to be something that the community is part of. Maybe that's why marriage is on the decline in America.
If I've learned anything from living in a society with strange rules and customs, and trying to maintain my own relationship in this foreign place, i've learned that it's personal, and it's a choice. And with that, comes the beautiful freedom to write your own rules, and your own story.
And whatever the sacrifice, I will always choose to have that freedom.
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