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