It’s rough

I can’t lie or make it easy for those that read this thinking “what is it really like”. I can’t buff it up to those that are inspired that they have a friend that’s serving. I can’t even entertain the family and friends that read this. Well at the moment I can’t.

I get the feeling I get kicked around a lot in this country. Not on purpose or God’s will. But a general feeling of getting kicked around. Whether it’s trouble locating housing, wanting to get my point across in another language, or just eating food that I want to eat. Two weeks ago…was rough. When I thought that it just couldn’t break down more it did and part of me is still reeling from that. Whether it’s major or minor, still dealing with it. So three days ago I thought I was in heaven.

A good day in the U.S. is hard to find. Some days just melt into the next and seem a bit mediocre. But here you see, you don’t know what you wake up to. You may wake up in with an amazing spirit and the day may go just the way you want. Or you may have to fend off all the bad that attacks you from around the corner in the store, the center, or God forbid the person that walks in on you showering. Then there are bad days where you can’t imagine that the day is getting better or that it is somehow, beyond belief, getting worse.

But three days ago I knew it was a good day. I felt it in my bones. I woke up and I felt enthused. I felt as though there was life to be had. Of course I wasn’t looking forward to seeing my tutor but I had life in me. I had friends in town, I was getting packages, and there was a glimmer of hope that I’d find an apartment. Nothing could ruin the day as soon as I was given two packages. I about cried in front of my director, could barely keep from opening them as well. And it happened. The day went downhill. I fought, I seriously fought off the badness with what I thought was my positive stick. Didn’t work. It was like fighting an army of zombies with a wiffle bat. But that’s how it’s supposed to be right? Challenging?

Complaints and Discussion

I had been told that Peace Corps Volunteers talk about sex, food, and poop. Occasionally all in the same conversation. I can now confirm that yes, yes we do. In fact I should probably check on someone to find out how their poop came along (don’t ask). But in the middle of a conversation with someone I was told the following thing that made me rethink some things. They said that they complain about real things that they can’t change and I complain about things I can. Now this person is right but not fair in the judgment.

I hate having to think about the things I can’t change. I hate talking about the stuff that’s deep inside to people. I’d rather keep it all in and focus on the things that I have control over. And once I fix one of those things I have to have something else. I have to. I have to have that control to not feel so helpless, so powerless. I can’t help that I want to keep those major things in. So yes, I complain about some things I can do to fix my life but for reason.

You’re never really aware of these character flaws of yourself until all you have is time. Lots and lots of time. Time to ponder life, meaning, feelings, and the ineptitude of the U.S. government. So much time to think about who you are and what you want to be or do. It’s a scary thing this time.

Story

I hate traveling. This hasn’t always been the case. I liked the outcome of traveling more than anything. Meeting that final destination and just having a moment to go “yeah…I’m there”. Recently, and I hope not permanently, I have started to hate traveling. The main reason was due to my recent dental work and the six trips on the train. Now Ukrainian trains are not well…great. They are rather cheap and somewhat reliable, I’d say reliable but that four hour trip I took once turned into seven.

But once upon a rather tiring trip back to Kyiv, after having spent 22 hours at my site from a train ride to it, I was attempting sleep at 11:30 pm. Who joins my cabin? A Bulgarian, Lithuanian, and a Ukrainian. To be fair the Ukrainian guy was there only to put his stuff down, for that’s all I saw of him. The other two ladies, being polite now, were wasted. I mean they were gone and apparently spoke English. So when they spoke Russian, which of course I don’t know, and I threw out Ukrainian they naturally figured out I was foreign. Ahhh…English…how I shouldn’t have said anything in it. For the next two hours the two…drunken ladies…wanted to talk in English.

Needless to say I would’ve moved if for one thing didn’t happen, they brought in the conductor to get drunk. I took it like a champ I thought. I attempted sleep while they partied the next couple hours before getting a refreshing 2 hours of sleep.

For the record, I was polite though I was plotting their death for four hours. Still A for effort though right?