When Two Worlds Collide

I've been avoiding writing this blog post. It's caused me to get even further behind on my intended blogging, so it's time to rip off the band-aid and get it done.

After I got back from my trip, and I readjusted a bit, it was time for school to start. The first day of school here is always on September 1st. This year that landed on a Saturday, so I woke up early, got dressed up, and headed to my first Saturday school day ever. (School on Saturdays is actually not uncommon here. The Armenian school system uses it often to make up for missed days due to holidays or other cancellations.) Generally, I wouldn't have gone to a Saturday school day, but this was First Bell - a celebration of knowledge and learning that signifies the beginning of the school term.

First Bell was the first big milestone that I experienced last year and again this year. Which made it the first big experience to compare from year 1 to year 2. What a difference a year makes.

This year was drastically different. For starters, I dressed like myself. When i came to Armenia, I bought a whole new wardrobe, one that was much more feminine than I was used to. Over the last year, as clothes have worn out and I've lost weight, I've slowly replaced my feminine clothes with things that are more my style. When I started making those changes, I got some strange looks, but most people didn't say anything so I figured it was all good. The one comment I do remember getting was made to another volunteer. "Emily likes to wear boyish clothes doesn't she? They suit her." That was enough permission for me, and as I switched over the rest of my wardrobe, I was surprised at the compliments I received about how much better the clothes I was comfortable in looked on me. So, this was my first day of school outfit.

I was amazed at the response. My counterpart actually asked our homeroom class in Armenian "How nice does Miss Emily look today?" The students applauded and cheered. I turned a whole new shade of red of course, but I really appreciated the sentiment. Something that probably would have super ostracized me last year, was totally okay this year because my community knew me enough to accept me as I was (plus I really do look better in masculine clothes).

So I got to school for First Bell and the school courtyard was already packed. Last year I remember looking frantically for my counterpart, awkwardly being stared at and slightly avoided in the crowd, the strangeness of being a foreigner in a culture I didn't quite get, overwhelming. This year, the students enthusiastically greeted me. I didn't see my counterpart right away, so I stood around with the other teachers, just chatting before things got started. I comfortably took a seat next to some of the other teachers, feeling no anxiety about what I should do. I was just another teacher, and a part of the community I was surrounded by. In soviet times, it was standard for students to wear black and white to school every day. On special occasions, many families still carry over the tradition.

 The first thing on the agenda was an introduction from some 9th graders (the highest grade in our school), and a short show by our newest additions, the tiny kindergartners. As the new kindergartners began to dance and give their little speeches, I took pictures with the rest of the teachers and parents because I no longer felt like an outsider. I ooh'ed and aah'ed over how cute the newest students were and clapped for and smiled encouragingly at the more nervous students who were trying to remember their lines.

As the school director stood up to make her speech, welcoming the new students and the returning ones, acknowledging the pride our school has in their students, their teachers, and their community, and celebrating the importance of knowledge and learning, I followed the majority of what she was saying. I noticed nuance in the way she addressed the school that differed from the norm. I understood not only what was being said, but also much more (though still not all) of the larger context in which she was saying it.

The students made more speeches, sang, danced, recited poetry, the oldest students (9th graders) often taking the lead and running the show. The older students led the newest students to their classroom, each one taking the tiny hand of the youngest additions to our school. It was an example of mentorship and responsibility that can rarely be found in our schools. I got wrapped up in the ceremony of it all, and found myself also feeling a sense of pride in the school I've been calling my work home for the last year and a half.

This year felt drastically different, an experience I am fortunate to have as many Peace Corps Volunteers find dishearteningly similar struggles in year 2. I am lucky to have the school and counterpart assignment that I do. I have been given an opportunity to work with a site placement that genuinely wants me there, respects my opinion, and employs my skills. That's an experience many volunteers don't find, through no fault of their own. Don't get me wrong, there were still many things I didn't personally like about the school system - the occasionally exorbitant celebrations, the seemingly unwarranted formality and posturing for the sake of hierarchy, and especially the discipline system and shame culture of the school. The difference now was I knew more of the big picture, and I could see how some of these things were bound by the society, politics, history, and culture in which they existed. I could see the subtleties of how some people were trying to make changes, and the small victories that were occurring. Most of all, I felt like part of the team working to address these things, instead of just a foreigner looking in, condemning what was different from my own experience.

All in all, First Bell marked the beginning of a promising year, and I was happy to be starting school again. My world here was good. My world back home had other ideas.

Back in May, I had reconnected with two friends, Katie and Melissa, who were friends of mine from college and grad school, and had gotten married while I was away. The way they were able to sympathize with me, support me, and distract me from the hard days quickly became invaluable. From May until September, their love and friendship was a constant comfort and daily reassurance. Then, on September 3rd, Melissa died suddenly. There were no warning signs, she hadn't been sick to anyone's knowledge. She was just gone. Her heart had given out. I was messaging with Katie while it was happening, and even though I wasn't physically there, it's an experience I would never wish on anyone.

There's a lot I'm still processing about this. Dearly missing a friend who had become part of my daily routine. Regret at all the time missed before reconnecting. Anger, frustration, and mostly shock that someone so young can just be gone. Watching Katie be in so much pain and not being able to be there in all the ways I wanted and needed to be. Missing out on the opportunities to grieve properly. A lot of feelings about the fleetingness of life. Wondering how many of my loved ones I was going to lose while being on this side of the world and missing time with them. An almost crippling fear of losing more people close to me. Then later... Guilt at not being as engaged here because I was hurting so much from the events and pain there. Wanting to leave because of the aforementioned fears. Questions about priorities and the effectiveness of anything I do here, and if it was/is worth it. Becoming a vital support to someone so important to me, while being on the other side of the world. Having my needs and obligations here constantly collide with the needs and wants I still have back home and with the people back home.

I stopped sleeping. I only ate when Lauren came over from her village and told me to eat or made me something. I was distracted when I went to work and would randomly burst into tears throughout the day. My counterpart sent me home from school, more than once.

One thing I do want to note is the complete and unqualified sympathy that I received from Armenians. When Mane sent me home from school, it was without judgement or frustration. It was out of genuine care. Whenever I told someone here what had happened, their response was immediate compassion. Often responding with the Armenian phrases for grief of "I hurt for you" and "patience" because time is the only thing that really helps grief. In fact, the Armenian response to grief is, in my experience, so much more compassionate, kind, and genuine. It is one that recognizes the length and severity of grief. Armenians hold memorials for loved ones for up to a whole week after death, then again at a month, and another at a year. Sometimes adding even more celebrations or memorials at other intervals or occasions. During these times, people miss work. They miss responsibilities and obligations, and it's understood and accepted. There's no definitive timeline. I've watched my host Tatik (Armenian grandmother) burst into tears at the mention of her husband's name, who died 5 years ago. There was no shame in it. The whole family stopped, remembered him, recalled his importance to them, and shared a moment of pain... and that was okay. As I've been watching the responses people have to Katie, who lost her wife, the person who was her partner in everything she did, I have often been less than impressed. Our culture tends to take more of the view of "life goes on", which often translates to a "time to get past it" mentality. It's something this experience has shown me as problematic. It's something I would much rather take the Armenian response to any day. What is more essential to humanity than death? Why doesn't that bring out our most humane treatment and responses? We get so wrapped up in work, productivity, life moving forward, that we push away the pain and put our own ideas of "proper timing" on losses that shake our entire worlds.

I'm getting preachy, so I'll move on, but this is something I feel strongly about. This is a part of my experience here that will shape who I am as a person.

The weeks following Melissa's death were impossible. All of these questions and feelings were constantly circling, the lack of sleep and food not helping. I spent an hour on the phone with a member of Peace Corps staff, discussing whether or not this was the last straw for me, debating on just being done and going home. The Peace Corps doctors were concerned too, consistently checking in on my physical and mental health. Among staff, my home emergencies had kind of become notorious. Losing three people close to me now, a terrifyingly close call with my dad, a brother on the heart transplant list. All volunteers have struggles at home, but most don't go through so much at home during their 2 years. Everyone has a breaking point.

Through lots of discussions and hearing many different points of view, I decided to find a way to get home for a visit. I requested funds from the meager readjustment allowance Volunteers earn throughout their service that they receive when they get home. Headquarters approving the request was the sign I needed to know that this was what was best for me.

I didn't tell many people I was going to be home. I knew I needed the time to process all of my feelings, grieve Melissa, for once in the past year and 8 months be physically there for someone I loved going through so much pain, and get my head in the place it needed to be to come back and productively finish my service.

I saw my immediate family and one friend and spent time helping Katie with her grief while processing my own. It hurt a little to be so close to so many people I love and miss and not see them, and I'm sorry for anyone who felt slighted or sad. It would have been overwhelming to see all the people I care about in such a short time, and I'm not sure I would have chosen to come back to Armenia if I had. I did what I needed to do.

I am back now. I am back and engaged and doing my job here. There are still feelings of grief, sadness, the need to support people back home, and conflict about where I need to be. I'm doing the best I can to balance those while making the most out of the time I have left in Armenia. I'm writing a grant with my school to set up a resource center for our students (we just got approved!). I'm leaning into relationships with other PCV's and Armenians who I'm going to really miss at the end of this. I'm intentionally taking care of myself and those around me, doing the best I can with where I am at. I'm working on getting back that excitement I felt during First Bell for this school year that's already been so different from last year.

My Peace Corps "Person", Lauren, recently went home. (Another thing I'm working to process.) She didn't necessarily want to, but it was what was right for her. I'm still here, I'm determined, and I'm hoping it's what is right for me.

Համբերություն, (hamberootyun; patience)

Էմիլի

The Big Trip

As promised, I am trying to go back and catch up on all of the time I missed on my blog. Most people are also friends with me on Facebook, so you already know I took a long journey this past summer. However, in this post I'm going to focus on the bigger picture as opposed to the brief glimpses I gave during my actual travels.

When I first moved to my permanent site way back in June of 2017 (that feels like it was about 10 years ago), I didn't have a whole lot of work right away. In some of my spare time, I started toying around with trip-planning websites and seeing what I might try to do for my "Big Trip". From that month until I was actually on the trip, the planning never stopped. I created a detailed itinerary with transportation, lodging, attractions, optional activities, costs, corresponding websites, food options, and more for every city I was going to pass through. I knew I wanted all of my options easily accessible so I could very quickly pick and choose what I would do along the way. I also had very meager savings, so I wanted to know this was going to be possible on an extreme budget.

During my trip I ended up seeing 10 countries and 15 cities in 34 days before making my way back to my permanent site in Armenia. It included 2 flights, 2 overnight trains, 1 ferry ride, 1 group tour van trip, 9 bus rides (mostly overnight), and 1 shared taxi. I stayed in 9 hostels, 1 couch surfing apartment, 2 airbnb's, and 1 tent on very hard, poorly-advertised ground. This was my route.

Yerevan to
Moscow, Russia, St. Petersburg, Russia
Helsinki, Finland
Tallinn, Estonia
Riga, Latvia
Kaunas then Vilnius, Lithuania
Krakow, Poland
Prague, Czech Republic
Budapest, Hungary
Zagreb, Plitvice Lakes National Park, Split, and Dubrovnik, Croatia
Tbilisi, Georgia
then back to site in Armenia.

This is what it looked like on a map.

As anticipated, I was thoroughly exhausted by the end and ready to get back to my cozy Armenian apartment. I was even more ready to not be living out of a backpack or have to sleep on any more buses or hostel beds. My enthusiasm lasted longer than I thought it would though, and it wasn't until the second half of Croatia that the burn-out was feeling real. 

I experienced so many new things on that trip. Throughout my planning process, I never stopped to think "Can I actually do this?" or "Will I be too scared?" I planned as if it was all hypothetical, all a dream. I didn't think about how I would actually feel during any of it. Needless to say, my first night in Moscow (unfortunately, also my worst hostel choice) was terrifying. I made it through. I just kept moving forward, and I was rewarded. I saw uncountable sites, both of the nature and man-made variety. I met some really interesting humans. But my biggest takeaways from the whole thing were all experiential. Here's the best highlights of things I did.

Learned how to take a selfie with cool background things (only half joking)

Meandered through a legend-ridden ravine

Managed to be the sober life of the party with 9 complete strangers

Saw a ballet in St. Petersburg

Became friends with 14 hilarious middle-aged English women

Went swimming naked in the ocean on a nude beach

Got invited and attended a party on a boat

Rode a bike throughout almost the entire metropolitan area of Helsinki

Ate solo at a very fancy restaurant

Spent an entire day in self-reflection on a beach

Got over any fear of doing literally anything alone

Tried caviar, raw salmon, smoked reindeer, kalamari, and pig belly, in addition to ethnic dishes in every country I stopped in

Mentored a 15 year old girl from Greece

Got a tattoo

Got massages in 3 different countries

Took in, on a much more real level the horrors of the Holocaust at Auschwitz and Birkenau

Climbed straight uphill for an hour with a 60 pound pack (among walking a lot of miles)

Sat on the top of cliffs and in unbelievably clear waters

Snuck into a closed pharmaceutical garden (shhhh)

Sang and danced in the middle of the street with no music, and didn't care when people stared

Danced in the rain after getting caught in it

Asked someone out on a date

Went to a cat cafe...twice

Watched the sun set while swimming in the Adriatic sea

Got just a bit lost in a stunning forest

Actually, got just a bit lost in about 15 different cities

This trip was more than I thought it would be. I did more than I ever thought I could do, just by not limiting myself and continuing to move forward. There were plenty of plans I made that I later decided to just skip. There were a few choices that felt just a little too risky and I backed away. But if something was physically safe to do, I just went for it and I didn't second guess myself.

I discovered I like traveling alone, and I can handle it when everything is going wrong. My trip to Helsinki from St. Petersburg ended up being an adventure due to an unforeseeable internet malfunction. I was ushered along by three men who only spoke Russian but who were clearly trying to help, and even though I wasn't supposed to leave for another 2 hours, everything started moving very quickly when my name wasn't on their passenger list. I got into one of the guy's car (I know, maybe not the best), rushed halfway across St. Petersburg where I was practically tossed into a waiting tour van. Had a drunk guy passed out next to me the entire ride. Thought I lost the van at a rest stop. Got to Helsinki at 5 am. Everything was closed. I had no internet. 5% phone battery. No jacket, and it was cold. No idea where I was or where my hostel was in relation. I used my instincts, remaining phone battery, and a pretty solid direction sense to find my hostel. Everything ended up okay. 

I made plenty of mistakes on my trip, but as cheesy as it sounds, I don't regret any of them. It was all an unforgettable experience, and I know how fortunate I am that I was able to do it. When I got back to Armenia, it took some time to readjust. There were some unforeseen problems with my apartment, so it wasn't quite the cozy homecoming I was craving. Still, feeling settled again in Armenia happened faster than I expected. In some ways, doing all of those incredible new things helped me worry less about the things that make me uncomfortable here, too.

I was also genuinely happy to see many people in Armenia that I had been missing. My time away helped me to more thoroughly appreciate the friendships and connections I have made here. One Armenian friendship in particular became so much closer than I had anticipated, allowing me to be my most true and authentic self with at least one person, and I think it took my absence for that to happen. I couldn't be more grateful. 

I realize I should add more pictures, but with my internet speed, it tends to be a very time consuming process. So, sorry for the brief, unillustrated, and possible uninteresting post.

I'll try to post again soon with some more cultural stuff next. The excitement of First Bell (school starting) and other insights to come.

Բարի գիշեր, 

էմիլի

The Best of Days

I haven't posted in a long time. A lot has happened, and despite my best intentions, I did as many PCV's do and let go of the blogging in favor of what felt like more pressing things. There were so many ups and downs of the last 3 months though that I feel like I need to go back to the beginning and work through it all. I'm going to try to post consistently in the next few weeks to catch up. This first one I had already written, but forgot to edit and post. So enjoy this look into my brain a few months ago. It was a good time to have written down.

Peace Corps Volunteers receive 48 vacation days during their 27 months of service. There tends to be three general strategies for the use of these days. 1. Take a bunch of little trips throughout your service to keep things fresh and interesting. 2. Take a few medium sized trips to balance optimal vacation immersion with occasional refreshers. 3. Take one very large trip in the middle to tide you over in between your first and second year. I chose the third, and while I'm very excited for my very cheap (hopefully) yet extensive trip, I'm also thinking my timing might be just a bit off.

PC service has many ups and downs and they usually follow a pattern. At mid-service, we are expecting a bit of a slump, which is good so we know it's normal when we start the downs. My slump hit earlier than many, and I was really feeling it in February/March. This was a blessing in disguise, because despite all the challenges, the cultural mishaps, the miscommunications, the variance of values, all of the indescribable awkward and difficult little things, I have realized I am so not ready to leave.

For a couple weeks now, I have reached a level of integration I didn't think would be possible for me. I am a larger woman, who isn't graceful, has short hair, 14 ear piercings, doesn't mind getting dirty or working up a sweat, and happens to prefer the way I look in more masculine clothes. Any one of these things super duper sticks out in Armenia, and I'm not even exaggerating. I had just accepted that my integration, something that is super stressed throughout all of our training, would be limited. I was wrong.

Let me tell you about today. Today was a magical day. Today was one of those days that you just have to sit down and take a minute to really appreciate how beautiful the day was. It wasn't any big thing. It was a bunch of little tiny bits of wonder, and though my descriptions won't fully explain how big each of these little things is in the context of my service and life in Armenia, I'm hoping all of them together will give you a little slice of the magic of today.

Walking to school today, I shared a pleasant hello with my favorite school supply store owner. The mini-bus I usually take saw me running to catch it before it passed, and actually stopped and even missed a green traffic light just to wait for me. At school, all of my teachers seemed genuinely happy to see me (a relatively new development) as they demanded I celebrate with them the engagement of one of the young teachers with some cake and cognac for breakfast. After, we had English club for teachers, and the teachers thanked me profusely for agreeing to teach them. One proud student (a 60-something art teacher) who learned French in grade school and never had any English before our 3 week long club told me, "Our teacher is the very good. We love you." After that club, I had another club with my young students and the kids pleaded for me to extend our optional English club another hour, and although I couldn't today, we agreed to meet a second day this week. On the way home, I stopped at my favorite shwarma place (a once a week indulgence I allow for myself), and my favorite shwarma guys gave me a very cool head nod and started my order before I could even get to the counter to ask (they even help me jump the line sometimes when the place is filled with young rowdy guys, a normal occurrence). I ran across the street to my local store and although you buy all the different types of items at different counters and I only needed one counter today, every clerk I passed said hi to me and the one clerk I did need didn't let an older man cut in front of me, a miraculous event in itself. Later I went out again to hit up the bank and run some other errands. I passed an English teacher I've worked with who gave me an enthusiastic English hello. I went to the post office, and one of the regulars kindly told me there was nothing with my name on it before I could even get the sentence fully out to ask. During my evening adult club, my club members complained about how bad it is for them, despite being good for me, that I will be gone so long. They protested with how much they will miss me. After club, my club member who has an impressive rank in the local police force (especially considering she's a woman), asked me to come to the police station with her tomorrow to teach all of her colleagues some basic English for an important welcoming ceremony they must put on. Upon walking up to my apartment complex, the kids who live in the buildings all around mine ran up to me, excited to use whatever English they had, and then more excited that I could understand and answer their Armenian questions too. We took selfies as each and every child very enthusiastically told me how old they were and what floor they lived on. 

I have reached a point, even in a (relatively) large city, where I feel integrated. I no longer walk down the street, or anywhere for that matter, without recognizing someone and being warmly recognized in return. I don't think that I did anything to make this happen, except for maybe persevering through the days of cold shoulders, line cuts, and misunderstanding with patience. I think I can see some of the turning points though, and I want to share them because these were game-changers in my whole existence in Armenia.

Number One. Winning over the Teachers. At the end of the school year, a young teacher at my school approached me and asked if I would teach some English to a small group of teachers. I was honored. Like seriously. Up to this point, my interaction with other teachers was limited to Barev Dzez (hello), shy smiles, and a grand total of three attempts the entire school year to bring me into conversations that went by too fast for me to follow. The teacher posted a sign up sheet on the wall in the teacher's lounge, and we both expected only a few names from the younger teachers to pop up. It didn't take long for older, generally more stern and formal teachers to come up to me, almost bashfully asking if they could participate or if they needed any former English knowledge. I told every single one they were welcome. By the end of the week, we already had 15 names.

When I showed up the next week for club, I walked into the room and stopped in shock. Not only was the majority of my school's faculty there, but my Vice Principal and Principal were both also in attendance. School hierarchy is taken very, very seriously in Armenia, so my nerves instantly went on high alert and the other teachers instantly quieted down. All of a sudden, my laid-back summer time teacher club felt very formal and somber. Turns out, this was actually just what I needed. I asked the first question and my principal discreetly raised her hand in the back of the class. I called on her and she almost shyly answered and laughed at herself a little in the process. This was classroom environment magic. It broke all of the tension in the room and the rest of the teachers, myself included, all let out a breath. From then on, things were more friendly and casual, and when the teachers got too rowdy, it took two pen taps on the desk by the principal for everyone to instantly quiet down. She not only gave me permission to teach in my more relaxed style that day, but she completely took care of classroom management for me. It was an unbelievably kind gift, as it would have been inappropriate for me to be stern with teachers who were obviously my superiors in the hierarchy, but they would have lost respect for me if I couldn't keep the class on task. The principal came to most of the classes, but even the ones she couldn't make, the precedent had been set and each class was both productive and enjoyable.

This club made me real to my teachers. I was no longer the awkward foreigner in the corner who couldn't hold a decent conversation. The teachers were amazed at how much Armenian I could actually speak when given patience, and they started talking to me before and after class. I can now comfortably sit in a room with them and feel a part of it. Teachers ask me questions like they would ask each other. I even got called into the Principals office with a group of teachers the other day to be asked for assistance on a school project. It felt super cool.

Numero Dos. The Emily Mini-Fan Club. Another turn in my integration and service happened when the small children around my apartment spontaneously became my little fan club. I live in a large U of apartment buildings. In the center is a small park, and all of the children from the buildings are constantly running around, playing soccer, riding their bikes, or otherwise goofing off. My apartment is in the bottom of the U, so I pass these kids every single time I go in or out. For almost 9 months of this, there were stares and awkward silence every time I passed. They would all literally stop, stare, and ignore. My attempts at Armenian hello's were met with wide eyes and silence. To a lot of the smaller ones, I might as well have been from outer space. These kids had never seen a human even vaguely like me before. Then one day, one kid said "Hello". I smiled and said in very slow, clear English, "Hello. How are you?" The kids response was automatic because many kids learn this language chunk on their first day of English class and repeat it every single day after that. The kid replied, "I am fine. Thank you, and how are you?" I smiled really big and said, "I am good! Thank you!" The kid suddenly had a mob of children around him and they were all giggling. I flashed a big smile at them and continued on my way. I was officially no longer a big green scary alien.

I came back an hour and a half later after running a club. The fan club had officially been chartered. I was bombarded with an uncountable amount of hello's. The interactions to come would progress into more "how are you's" and other basic English questions, followed by the discovery that I could speak and understand Armenian. Now my apartment kids make every day better. I don't leave or come back without meeting smiles. They've volunteered to carry things for me. Helped a friend move all of her things into my apartment, and then helped her load the taxi as she moved back out. They ran around hunting down a lost taxi driver for me. They give me news items with pride, loving to be the ones to inform the American of what's going on. They all know which apartment is mine. They also all want me to know which ones are theirs. For all of the fear and dislike I felt in 9 months, it took less than a week for their obvious kindness and love to far surpass that. The best part is, the adults are starting to follow the kids. I get more Armenian hello's from neighbors, more offers of advice (a sign of caring here), and more shy waves and smiles, than I ever had before. This was a perfectly wonderful surprise in my service.

Nombre Trois. Reconnecting with Friends. Being in Peace Corps and surrounded by a completely different culture sometimes feels as if I'm a completely different human than I was before. It feels as if, out of necessity, I slipped on a new persona that is now at least partially stuck on me forever. This can be disconcerting at times, and I didn't realize how much it felt as if I wasn't being completely myself until I unexpectedly reconnected with some friends stateside. Not only did those friends have a fresh take on the changes I've felt in myself, but they were able to give me a fresh take in processing Armenia and my service. I started to see more of the good things again. I started to be able to step outside of the right now and re-recognize the adventure that this will all be in the larger context of my life. I started to once again appreciate not only the ups, but the parts of the downs that help me grow and adapt and become more resilient than I ever imagined I could be. I also started to feel a bit more like myself. There's more to come on the friend front, but the point is, reconnecting with people is a magnificent thing.

Tiv Chors (Թիվ չորս). Accepting the Dinner Invites. When we first got to Armenia, we were fed non-stop. This lasted for months. Dinners were often stressful because the Armenian being spoken was too fast for me to understand and having food constantly pushed on me became a source of tension. When I moved into my own place, I stopped doing dinners. Made every excuse possible. No dinners. Recently, I finally started getting closer to some people, and despite my reservations, I said yes to a few dinner invites. The result? I have friends. Actual Armenian friends where I can be myself on a level I didn't anticipate in my service, mostly out of knowledge and carefully crafted respect of cultural differences. I ate at a fellow English teacher's house who I've helped out with a few clubs. She's a self-proclaimed lifelong learner and an inspiration here. She invited another teacher and her mentor, and I brought Caleb and Lauren. It was a blast. Then I finally made it to my counterpart's house for dinner with her family. The breakthrough in our relationship was immediately noticeable. It was amazing and an honor. I have every intention of going back. I also went over to dinner with another English teacher who is my age and more of just a friend. This led to my closest friendship here yet, and while there's more to come on that story too, it may have been my best decision in Armenia to date.

A lot has happened since that magical day. These breakthroughs continue to help, but of course the ups and downs still come. Leaving Armenia for my long vacation when I was at such a high point was hard. I wasn't ready to go, and I was nervous. I would still change the timing of that trip if I could have, despite it being it's own wonderful experience. Now I'm doing my best to hold onto these highlights as I move forward. There is so much more to come, but y'all have already tolerated quite a long post if you've made it this far.

Thanks for reading, Everyone.

Էմիլի

So You Thought You Were An Introvert

Slightly misleading title. I am an introvert. There's no changing that despite the constant social demands of society. I still "recharge" alone, function best when I get time to myself, and at times prefer solitude to even the best of company. Social situations are commonly more nerve inducing than welcome, and I have often caught myself questioning previous conversations I've had. That all being said, I have trained myself to be social and am plenty competent at doing the human interaction thing.

Peace Corps though demands a whole nother level of social competency. I actually thought of titling this post, "Peace Corps as Exposure Therapy," but it's more like "Peace Corps as Exposure Therapy Done the Absolutely Wrong Way and Actually Stuff Just Keeps Happening and You've Got to Roll With It." So this post is dedicated to all those completely and utterly awkward and uncomfortable situations (with a few legitimately terrifying ones) that I've had no idea how to respond to but survived anyway.

So first off, I would like to make you all aware of the driving situation in Armenia. I love lots of things about Armenia and Armenian culture, but this is one thing Armenia and I just don't vibe on. Their population density is pretty low here, and a lot of that population doesn't own cars. This somehow translates to even basic road rules being super optional. Going 60 km per hour down blind mountain switchbacks in the rain while passing two other cars so three of you are racing around the next curve hoping nothing comes the opposite direction is not a rare occurrence. Top acceleration with slam-on-the-breaks stopping is like a fad lifestyle choice. I've ridden down mountain switchbacks with no guard rails at high speeds when the engine stopped on a mini bus, and there was no power steering or power brakes. While drinking and driving is against the law here, it's really not even considered questionable in most cases. In fact, questioning even the most scary driving choices here can be offensive depending on your relationship and status. Meanwhile, in a few days it will be the 10 year anniversary of the day I was driving my friends home early on a Friday night and we got hit head on by a drunk driver. It was bad, and that kind of extreme car accident is traumatizing.

I'm sure y'all can imagine what the first month was like for me. I would audibly gasp in fear almost every car ride. There was one instance where tears uncontrollably started rolling down my face as I sat in the back begging the other Trainees to just ignore it. It did help that during our training period, most of our car travels were with Peace Corps drivers. Major shout out to Razmik, who is by far the kindest and most protective driver I've ever met and made this terrified PCV feel safe to the extent that it was in his control. I still hug him every time I see him because thank you is not enough. Anyway, 14 months later and I barely miss a heart beat when we have close calls. Being terrified to move wasn't an option, so I slowly managed to stop being terrified. Like I said, exposure therapy.

Moving on to less extreme discomfort, let's talk about even the theory of your first day in country. You are moving in with complete strangers, at their mercy for food, hygeine, and other needs, with no real understanding of each other's cultural guidelines, social cues, or acceptable behaviors, and virtually no way to communicate with each other. I'm not sure why I didn't think about that before i signed up for Peace Corps. Maybe I subconsciously acknowledged that that would totally freak me out so I just chose to not address it. I think my brain actually went into shock that day. The only thing I can really remember is this salad I took a few nibbles of out of everything on the food table. The actual day and faux pauxs and interactions, those weren't actually processed. My journal entries remember the day a lot more optimistically and fondly than my residual feelings do. But we all survived that day and learned how to thrive in that environment. Even my decidedly introverted self.

I speak so much more of the language now, but there are still so many times where I feel like a dog cocking it's head to the side in complete confusion. Today I was walking to the bus stop with my headphones in when a woman walking towards me stepped into my path and made eye contact. As I was still walking towards her I was trying to figure out if this was like a power challenge or if she was just confused as to who I was and why I was in Armenia. Right as I was about to hit the critical awkward point of either inevitable collision or a clumsy attempt to swoop around her, a hint of facial recognition came to my brain. I stopped and pulled my ear phones out. Here's how I thought the conversation went:
Woman: Hello, we have met before.
Me: Uh, yeah?
W: Yes, is your work going well? Emily Gesell, right?
Me (a little confused and wracking my brain for how this woman knows me because literally no one in Armenia  knows or can actually say my last name except this one woman): Uh..
yeah.
W: 9b.... [she spouts off my exact address]
Me (now super confused and trying desperately to pretend I know what's happening): Yep!
W: Good. Bye!
Me (realizing there's no way to save that conversation from the awkward): Uhhuh, bye!

It took about two blocks of me walking and replaying the conversation in my head before I realized this is how it actually went down:
Woman: Hello, you have a package.
Me (where I should have realized I recognize her from my post office): Uh, Yeah?
W: I work at the post office. Emily Gesell right?
Me (looking like I don't know my own name): Uh... yeah.
W: [Says my address to confirm that I actually know who the heck I am and she has the right person]
Me (probably appearing as if I suddenly remembered my identity): Yep!
W: Good? [Aka, that was weird] Bye!
Me (accidently confirming how weird it was): Uhhuh, Bye!

As you can see, any attempts here to save face are fruitless. In my defense, the colloquial sentences for "We have met before" and "You have a package" are literally the difference between the 'ts' sound pronounced openly with aspiration and the 'ts' sound pronounced tightly with no air. I literally can't count how many times I've walked away from a conversation realizing I completely failed at understanding. Or how many times Ive walked away realizing I just said the most ridiculous thing ever. It's good I'm not a big ice cream fan, because I refuse to say the word. You see, if you pronounce ice cream slightly wrong in Armenian, it comes out as condom. That one just seems a little too risky. My friend spent a week saying "store" instead of "bathroom" and I know Ive done worse. When despite even your best efforts, you make the most blaring social mistakes on a daily basis, you stop worrying so much that they're going to happen.

For more squeamish people who don't want to read about bodily functions, just skip this paragraph. For real, dont comment "TMI" if you cant handle the tmi, just stop reading here and continue below. When you move to a new country with a completely new diet, it's like a shock to your system. My digestive system still hasn't re-regulated. I was visiting a friend who still lives with a host family once. I needed to rush to the bathroom for another unexpected digestive system revolt, and only later realized the lack of toilet paper. My pockets are empty and I'm sitting there thinking, I literally don't even know the words to ask for toilet paper. My brain just went blank and I couldn't think of a single thing I could actually say that would get that message across. And my friend was upstairs. So I took off my socks, used one to take care of business, turned it inside out, balled it up inside the other one, and stuffed them into my pocket. As if that wasn't mortifying enough, when I finished my friends host mom looked at me a little sideways and told me the next time I needed toilet paper to just yell. In my brain, I was like, she knowssss. In the states, if for some reason something like that happened, I would have made every effort to avoid that person probably for the rest of my life. Now, well, it's just another day. I've been back to visit that friend and her mom repeatedly. I've heard enough to know, if a PCV denies ever having an embarrassing bathroom situation, they are lying to you. Seriously.

I almost completely forgot to mention the complete physical awkwardness of just being a larger human who is not at all graceful. You don't know true physical awkwardness until you're standing on a packed marshutni and literally fall right into someone's lap. Or just into the person standing next to you. Or step on their toes in an attempt to not fall. Or whack 7 people with your backpack cause you're just trying to get off at your stop before the driver pulls away. Or bash your head off the top of the door so badly that you hear everyone om the bus wince. I can go on...

Another previously strongly avoided thing that I've magically become immune to: literally being the awkward silent kid in the corner. For the first 6 months, I could talk about maybe 4 things with confidence. I could tell you about me and my family, what I was doing here, where I was from, and what I liked about Armenia. To be fair, for the first 6 months that's also all anyone asked me. Anyway, after those topics were exhausted, my options were to randomly interject with things that had no relevance to current conversation or sit silently trying (and very often failing) to understand what was being talked about by others. So I've spent countless family dinners, dinner parties, teachers lounge convos, coffee breaks, and general conversations just sitting there awkwardly silent while the people around me have engaging conversation. Sometimes they will try to include me by asking questions, which is worse because I have rarely  followed the conversation successfully to this point and have no context in which to respond, and that brings us back to my awkward conversation attempts. After the first failed attempt, they usually leave me alone.

I don't mind silence anymore. I don't even experience discomfort when I'm sitting quietly in a room where everyone else is engaged. I don't fear failing at social situations now. 1. Because I've already failed in every way possible and it's completely okay. The earth has not in fact crumbled. 2. Because when I can actually understand the other person or people, it all feels so much easier now. Like, I can think and form a response without having to work through interpreting the 5 different possible explanations for what I think I just heard? Easy! Embarrassing situations are still embarrassing, but there is no longer a sense of prolonged shame. Ive talked before about how much the word shame and phrase shame on you is thrown around in Armenian culture. One of my favorite things to say to my kids now, is ամոտ չունեմ (amot choonem) I have no shame. For the first time in my life, I feel like that's actually true. And the fear of car accidents... I wrote this entire blog post in a marshutni (minibus). I've been counting along the way and we are up to 6 close calls, either narrow misses by other cars or drastic brake-slamming. I half-heartedly looked up to investigate the cause once. If exposure therapy does all this even when done incorrectly, as a completely and utterly unqualified person to recommend mental health things, I highly recommend it!

There's a few other potential titles for this post: I Have No Shame. Growing pains. Bravery is Not Optional. Learning to Suck It Up. I Can Do the Things Now. The bottom line is, this experience is difficult and uncomfortable and challenging, but I've already grown a lot from it. One year left. Let's see what other things I can do!

Witnessing a Revolution

While serving in the Peace Corps, it is important to remain objective. Our mission is a non-political one. We aren't here to push Western ideals or shape political opinion. We are here in simple terms to: A. provide labor, and B. facilitate a 2-way cultural exchange. I want to start by saying I'm not endorsing any political party or politician in this post. I am, however, amazed in the best of ways by the Armenian people.

I left home during a pretty rocky period. Our own politics had just taken a drastic turn and the dust was still settling. There were plenty of demonstrations, rallies, and protests just starting up in America. A year later, and much of that has died down without much change to show for it. Many Armenians have pointed out to me, what America couldn't do in a year, Armenia has just done in a month.

Granted, that's an oversimplification. There are pretty large differences between the geopolitical climates of  America and Armenia. The largest factor is probably the size, with the population of Armenia landing close to the 3 million mark. Total. That's about the population of the city of Chicago for some reference. Armenia also has a much newer government, a much more homogeneous population, and a much less developed infrastructure. I'm sure all of these factors plus plenty others played a role in the success of Armenia's "Velvet Revolution". But as an American, coming from the backdrop of the often ineffectiveness of even our more massive demonstrations, I have been wowed by what I have witnessed.

I don't want to give the whole back story of what has happened in Armenia, mostly because I'm not sure I could be very succinct, but also because I'm not sure I would be the most unbiased. NPR posted a pretty brief and informative article about it here: https://www.npr.org/sections/thetwo-way/2018/05/08/609364542/leader-of-armenias-velvet-revolution-takes-power-after-weeks-of-protests 

Super cliff notes version: A man who was President for 10 years was then elected Prime Minister. The people protested. The man stepped down. The next man who filled in as Prime Minister was of the same political party with very similar ideas. The people protested again. That man stepped down too. The people started backing a man from the opposition political party. The ruling political party in the Parliament rejected him. The people protested in an even bigger way. A week later, the ruling political party gave in and the people's choice for Prime Minister was confirmed.

Hopefully without putting my opinion into the matter, I wanted to share some of the things I witnessed. As Peace Corps Volunteers, we must avoid big crowds, especially those with political motivations. So while I didn't see everything, this movement permeated almost all aspects of every day life for me in those three weeks. It was pretty hard to avoid. (Disclaimer here - PC Armenia was constantly attentive to our safety throughout the movement and had appropriate measures in place just in case. I never once felt in danger.)

On my way to school, all the intersections were blocked. I had to turn around. It turned out, none of the mini-buses were able to move, so none of the teachers made it to school. Which didn't matter so much because almost all of the students were at the protest.

The first thing I noticed was the palpable range of people participating in the Velvet Revolution. In my school and my adult clubs, there were Armenians of a wide variety of ages and backgrounds excited and actively involved in the movement. My 6th grade students organized themselves to make posters and march down to the square together, about a 3 mile walk. A very traditional doctor in her 60's in my adult English club painstakingly wrote out her support for the movement and her reasons in English so she could use them in class. A student's mother came to talk to my counterpart because her daughter was worried about missing class, but didn't want to miss the revolution. My counterpart assured her that she was where she needed to be, to stay safe, and stay with her classmates (also all at the revolution). The teachers in my school, who often have an intimidating level of professionalism, realized none of their students were coming, so they marched outside, joined hands, and blocked the highway together. The next day they went all out, created a school banner, and just went with the students from the get-go.

The teachers are in the back with some of our students in the front. The sign says "Vanadzor Basic School #19".

The second thing I noticed was that there was an almost imperceptible shift that likely never would have happened without the youth. Since I arrived in Armenia, I have heard countless complaints about the state of things in Armenia, but how no one can do anything to change it. Defeatism and/or apathy was the rule, not the exception. Then Serzh was elected. The youth came out first. Young adults and students were in the city square. There were others, but it was overwhelmingly children and young adults who came first. Everyone else seemed to have a mixed response. They supported the youth, but weren't sure it would do anything. I even heard someone say the words, "It is nice what they are trying to do, but nothing will change. Serzh won't give up." 

Students marching the 3miles into the city center while chanting. No adults needed.

Then, Serzh stepped down, and that seemed to be the signal many others needed. There was a brief break for the Genocide Remembrance Day, and then every person I knew was in the city square or marching towards it. Nikol Pashinyan was a major voice from the beginning, but he became THE voice. An Armenian acquaintance of mine commented, "When this all started, Nikol was never the man I would vote for. Now he is the only man." Another comment was, "My grandfather says he was there during the protests after the 1988 earthquake. This is much like that, but amazingly even bigger and more peaceful."

The sounds of protest. This was an almost constant soundtrack for about 2 weeks. They did take nights off, so sleeping wasn't a problem.

Which brings me to my next observation: peace. I have never seen such a large gathering of people, especially with political motivations, continue for so long without violence. I wasn't even convinced that was possible. Sure, emotions were high, some tempers flared, but property wasn't destroyed. Citizens who disagreed, talked, or even yelled, but punches weren't thrown. (Granted, neither party was attempting to dehumanize or strip rights away from the other.) People weren't being beaten back by the police or injured with various harmful repelling devices. There were some early reports of such occurrences in Yerevan, but those only happened for the first few days before I'm assuming authorities realized it wouldn't make the protests stop. There was no such action in my city. In fact, a police officer who attends one of my clubs expressed the wish to join the protest, but the boss had instructed the police force to not be involved on either side. They were only to watch to see that things remained peaceful. The peace was so prevalent, some people began calling it the White Revolution, for the lack of damage and blood. After it all ended, my counterpart told our class, "If you would like, wear white tomorrow. We will all wear our white to celebrate the successful, peaceful, White Revolution."

The revolution itself seemed to be a celebration. Protesters took to the word դուխով (pronounced, dookhov). I asked my Armenian friends if they could translate. They said there is no English word for it. Here are some of the "it kind of means this" explanations I received: to move forward without fear of bad consequences, to persevere with joy, to go with dancing, to keep moving with good thoughts. My apartment is over a kilometer from the square where people were protesting, but I could hear them moving forward clear as day from within my room.

As a foreigner in Armenia while this was happening, everything felt electric. I hid inside a lot, not because I was scared (although large crowds can definitely be a bit nerve wrecking), but because it was almost impossible to be outside and not be in the protest. The protest was everywhere. It permeated the entire city. So my functions became limited to going strictly where I needed to go and coming back home. I even had to turn back around a few times from the road blocks or marches. No one paid me any mind, though. This was about Armenians and Armenia. I was only a peripheral observer. 

Electricity. Every day.

I would love to have more personal conversations on everything that happened here. It really was an incredible thing to witness, regardless of whatever politics were on either side. One cool fact, my first Armenian teacher in country was selected as the Minister of Culture in the new government. She is one of two female ministers and I am super proud of her. She is a truly brilliant, compassionate, capable woman. She is the one in red. 

Things have settled down now. Life is pretty much back to the every day. Still, I sometimes hear my students, co-teachers, and friends discussing what happened with a sense of happy nostalgia. There seems to be a little more hope in the air. Who knows if the politics will be what Armenia wanted or how it will all develop in the coming years, but the event in itself, was definitely something momentous.

Measuring a Year in the Good Things

Today marks a year since getting on a plane for the start of my service. It has been simultaneously the fastest and slowest year of my life. Many of you have already heard about the struggles of the past year, as writing has become a way of processing some of the more difficult parts of my service. However, today, I want to focus on the good.

If we measure this year in only the good things, what a year it has been.

I kinda sorta learned a new language, բայց չեք կարող կարդալ սա կամ լսել ինզ, այնպես որ դուք հավատում եք որ ես իսկապես սովորեցի նոր լեզու. Honestly, I'm still learning, and I hope I will continue learning it until I leave. I'm going to feel so incredibly cool though the first time I meet an Armenian somewhere else and can have even a short conversation with them.

I met some really awesome fellow PCV's, including a Lauren, who holds me together over here most days. If my service ended today, and all I had to show for it was my new PCV friends and my friendship with Lauren, everything would be okay. (Thanks Mom and Dad for the matching PJs)

I have two new Armenian families, and while I'm living on my own now, I'm still really happy I have those relationships.

I have a kitten. She's adorable. And perfect. And a soft, cuddly, stress-relieving fuzzball (most days). Oh, and she's coming home with me. Here's Hiccup!

I found, hands-down, the most wonderfully kind landlord in all of Armenia, and he often tries to give back some of my rent money so I can buy myself things like extra winter blankets and Armenian souvenirs. Seriously.

I formed an astonishingly harmonious work relationship with my counterpart to the point where we finish each others sentences in class and even use the same error correction techniques at the same exact time. Our brains work the same way somehow. Usually two people that think as similarly as we do would cause stagnancy in teaching, but with our vast background and cultural differences, it just makes everything work.

I made friends with some really, really cool humans, including some people who I believe are going to be the real agents of change here in Armenia. Including these young people -

And these professionals I get to work with (I still don't know how to take "funny photos") -

And my awesome adult English class -

I have been bombarded by an obscene amount of adoration from some small children. I still can't handle it. The little one in the white and orange zip-up is Malena. She's quite the English speaker and is also going to steal my passport. Update on that, I had an open lesson where all of our school administration comes and judges mine and Mane's teaching. (Also a good thing for the list because it went swimmingly! We are REALLY proud of our students.) Anyway, some Peace Corps staff came to the open lesson as well. After the lesson, Malena walked right up to #2-in-charge person of our PC staff and said, "Miss Emily can't leave. I am taking her passport."

I've seen some really pretty mountains. Every day. They're gorgeous, and the midwest is oh so very flat. This is just the view I wake up to. There are many more splendid ones every moment.

I've also hiked a bit, traveled a bit, tried new things A LOT, and worked a lot.

There are so many good things not included on this list. It's hard to capture each little good moment and put it into words. If I could, this post would turn into an actual novel. Of course service has all of the ups and downs of normal life, but here, experiences often are amplified. Which means the good things, they can feel almost magical. Who knows how the next 15 months will go, but I will forever be grateful for the collection of good I've already managed to find.

Crawling towards a year in country, and still crawling through service.

Well, I've just about made it a year. I'm not quite sure how. The days seems to last forever sometimes, and weeks crawl by at a surreal pace. Months don't seem to move at all. Yet somehow, it's been almost a year.

There are so many things I want to write about, that I've meant to write about, but every day the time and effort it takes just seem to slip away. I'm doing a lot. I'm teaching and lesson planning every class with my counterpart, along with occasional classes with the other two English teachers in my school. I am running 6 different club meetings a week, and assisting on 2 others. I am the chair (and a founding member) for one Peace Corps committee, the secretary for another, and assisting on a third. Plus there's always another project to assist with or another competition to organize. In other words, I'm doing what I always do and making sure I don't have much time to sit down and think.

Unfortunately, that doesn't always seem to work. Most or all of you already know about my dad's health problems. I flew home for 12 days in December to help out after he had a massive heart attack and two operations to put 6 stints into his heart. These things don't just magically go away, and there have been ups and downs through his recovery and another precautionary operation has been scheduled. Then there's my adopted brother, Drew. While never officially adopted, Drew lived with my family for about 6 years, and he's been my brother since day one. In January, Drew went to the hospital not feeling well, and things got scary fast. Drew is 27 and now on an lvad machine waiting on a heart transplant. Please give your thoughts, good vibes, prayers, or whatever you do to both Drew and Dad. It's been rough. On top of that, last week my mom went to the hospital with a scare as well, and while she was released, the stress of it all is overwhelming to say the least. My other brother told me that if he knew all of this was going to happen after I left, he wouldn't have let me go. Sometimes, I agree with him.

I've mentioned before the pure helplessness I often feel while I'm halfway across the world from most of my loved ones and they are hurting. It is by far the most difficult part of my service. While many of my Armenian friends and colleagues are kind and try to be supportive, I think cultural and even personal differences are brought out the most when you are looking for comfort, and what comforts you varies from the comfort that is being offered. Honestly, I'm also not the best at letting people in when it comes to this kind of stuff. I've already told the internet more with this post than I've told everyone in Armenia, with the exception of about four people. That's my fault, but also my coping mechanism, and that's okay.

Moving past the home things, maybe you're wondering, "Emily, how are you doing? Is it like you imagined? Do you think you'll finish? Are you happy you're serving?" Those are loaded questions. Day-to-day, I'm doing well. I've developed a phenomenal working relationship with my counterpart and we are getting things done. That part feels wonderful. A lot of students have improved drastically in their conversational English skills over the last year, and that feels even better. Sometimes I get sick or I have to go to Yerevan for some work in the capital and I miss a few days of school. Every time I come back after missing a few days, the kids react like I was gone for a year and give the biggest smiles I've seen in country. That part... that part warms my heart in a way I haven't experienced until now.

Last week, a 6th grader named Malena came up to me during our break time. Students start learning English here with the alphabet in 3rd grade, and it's hard to believe some of these students have only been learning for 3 years. Anyway, Malena came up to me and asked, "Miss Emily, when do you go America?" Very slowly, I responded, "Not until the end of your 7th grade year." Malena's first reaction was to jump up and down and clap. At this point, I had a small crowd of 6th graders surrounding me waiting to ask their own questions. Malena is persistent about practicing her English though, so she immediately responded with, "But Miss Emily, can you stay longer? Until our 8th grade year?" Now Nareh was involved in the conversation, too and chimed in with, "Can you stay forever?" I laughed and said, "But, I miss my family. I would miss them too much." While this is coincidentally true, it usually has the added benefit of ending this particular discussion. Armenians respect family above almost anything else, and most Armenians say they could never bear being in a different country than their family. Little Malena wasn't taking that as an excuse though. She thought for a second then jumped in with, "You can... բռնել ինչ է․․․" "Bring" "You can bring them here!" Of course, I'm picturing my family in Armenia trying to follow all of the very different cultural norms here and getting a very funny picture in my head, but I just shake my head and laugh a little, not knowing what to say. Malena isn't letting me off the hook that easy. She steps away for a little while, and I begin answering the eight other adorable questions being directed my way, trying to respond in English each student can understand at whatever level they are at. The bell rings, and the kids begin to go to their seats, and I am getting ready to leave. I swear I am not making this up, but Malena runs up to me in the last second and says in, I kid you not, perfect English, "Miss Emily, I will take your passport and tear it up and you can't ever leave. We will keep you here, and you will teach us forever." She gives me the biggest smile ever as I'm standing there in shock and runs back to her chair just as their Armenian history teacher walks in and I need to hurry out.

The days like those are the days I will never forget. However, I probably also won't forget the immense loneliness you can feel from having to justify your reason for being in a country, justify your very presence, every single time you see someone new. Or the depth of isolation that comes from being surrounded by people you feel will never know all of you or truly understand you because where you grew up was just too different from where they grew up. I always believed the life of a refugee or immigrant must be extremely difficult, but now I have experienced a small part of that loneliness and isolation, and the respect I hold for the people who don't even have the option to return to their home, or the people who give up their home for a myriad of reasons, is boundless.

I still don't know how to answer those questions. How am I doing? It depends on what moment you ask me. Are you asking when I am surrounded by twenty 6th graders who fill my heart with joy and wonder at their little creative and flexible brains? Are you asking after yet another shopkeeper refused to understand my Armenian because they saw what I looked like and just stopped listening? Are you asking after I meet with the large group of English teachers in my community who come to me to expand their vocabularies and collaborate on new innovative teaching ideas? Or are you asking at the end of a long workweek when all I want to do is walk down the street and have English conversations and really get to know someone new and bond with someone on a level that is incredibly difficult to do through language and cultural barriers? Life is still life here, and every moment changes how I'm feeling about my day, my week, and my experience.

Is it like you imagined? Yes and no. Peace Corps is indeed hard. I am definitely changing as a person and growing as a professional. I am having a zillion and one new experiences and truly seeing more of the world than I would ever understand without such an immersive foreign experience. All that, I signed up for. But also no. My favorite anecdote here is when I signed up for the Peace Corps, I fully expected to experience a lot of physical and some emotional discomfort. Back then, I believed the change in physical amenities and living conditions would be the most prominent discomfort in my service, and those things would eventually push me too far emotionally. I thought the emotional part would be this grand adventure in exploring a new, exciting culture. Then I was sent to Armenia. Most days, I am comfortable physically. Sometimes it gets to me a little when the warmest my house can get is 50 degrees. Sometimes a sudden water, gas, or power outage prevents me from showering, having coffee, or working on my computer when I want to. For the most part though, life is physically fairly similar to my life in the states, and a 3-hour, $1.40 mini-bus ride to the capitol can always bring all of those comforts right back when really needed. The grand cultural adventure though, is often times more of a grand struggle through nuanced communication, cultural faux pas, constant staring, and a big ol' heap of shame. Long story short, the physical stuff is a tiny rock in my shoe. The emotional is more like a large shard of glass. My expectations may have been a little reversed.

Do you think you'll finish? Today, I think so. I've made it a whole year! It's been a really hard year, too, but I've stuck it out. If I've gotten this far, I want to make it the whole way. Today, sure I'll make it. If you asked me in December, I might have just cried. If you asked my in July, I would have told you I would never, ever leave early. If you asked me in January, I would have told you no, I'm probably going home. Today, I think I'll make it, but ask me tomorrow.

Are you happy you're serving? Surface answer, yes. More depth... oiy. This is, in fact, an experience of a lifetime. This is also keeping me from actually being there for my family, during the biggest challenge my family has had since I've been an adult. My trip to help my parents after Dad's heart attack was not funded by Peace Corps. If something, God-forbid, happens to Drew, that won't bo covered either. Sadly, what feels drastically serious to me and even some doctors isn't the same as what a large organization like Peace Corps considers serious. I still believe in the mission of Peace Corps, and I believe in the value of service. I also still believe that all organizations can and should do better at treating their human resources with a little more humanity. I am happy with the relationships I have built here. I am happy with my amazing in-country Peace Corps Armenia staff. I am happy with the possibility of making a difference in the lives of those little 11-year-olds. Yet, there's still a bit of unhappiness there, too.

Now that I've written a novel, I feel as if I've said enough for now. A surprising amount of people are somehow still reading this blog, so if you have any questions for me that I can focus on next post, or just answer casually, that would be great! About Armenia, about life here, about me, about Peace Corps, about whatever... I could use the motivation to write more often, and the reminder that there are actually people behind this computer-internet thing.

Oh, and tomorrow is Women's Day in Armenia which is the first day of Women's Month! It is supposed to be a whole month of honoring women, so to all the women and girls out there -

Շնորհավոր ձեր կանանց օրը և ձեր միամսյակը։
Sh-nor-ha-vor dzer kah-nahnts or-uh yev dzer mee-ah-miss-yak-uh.
Congratulations on your Women's Day and your Month!

Մինչև մյուս անգամ,
Until next time,
Էմիլի
Emily