Generate, Organize, Destroy

Years since writing - but now am feeling the necessary push to get me to express myself with words again. Yet, silence beckons me constantly...

Here is something for the new year.

As we have heard so far, t'filah, tzedakah, t'chuvah are the three threads that ties us wandering Jews to our annual introspective journey of self awareness. This year has brought to me all three of these understandings, in much greater and spiritually enlightening ways I've felt thus far.

I find myself returning to the answer this year, more so than I ever have before.

It is mid-June in the desert of New Mexico. Mountains rise in front of me as I slowly rock with the forward motion of the truck. Below cries the sleeping valley of meth heads, young boys selling newspapers on the corner, and taqueria after taqueira. Above lies the waking village of consciousness, very intentionally placed on the exact opposite side of the globe from one of the most spiritual places in the world: Amritsar, India, drawing me closer. Digging into the core of the earth with our energies, all 2000 of us hoped to return to the answer together. As yogis, as activists, as parents, children, healers, and businesspeople - All coming together to return to the answer in our own little ways.

On top of this mountain I float into a perfect space of T'chuvah. But more than a state of repentance of sins or sorrows, I attempt the simple act of loving all that is unloved, all that has hurt me, all that i might consider my "enemy" or "darkness". I embrace that energy, I hug it tightly, wrapping it around my third eye, deep breath in, down to my heart center, out through my lungs, capillaries, sprouting through my fingertips. Rooting it through my feet into the very source that birthed my human experience. Then I ask it to please transform. Strengthening my roots, blossoming flowers instead of broken fingernails, emptying my lungs so they fill with compassion, a heart center so full of intention it might burst, and then finally back to my third eye, where I remain neutral, simply seated in the valley of meth heads, indigenas workers without jobs, and the endless aisles of Wal Mart's spend less get more mantras. For when I return to the land most of us know -- the one where I, as a struggling human being trying to heal the open wounds of this Earth, of my people, of all people, of all living beings - I must be able to teach without attachment, to let it all in and show some compassion.

My repentance lies in the idea that GOD exists everywhere, and that I forgot that for most of the year. All that generates, organizes, and destroys - everything with energy, holds the utter transformative nature that GOD contains. As I stand on the mountain, and as I continue to gaze up at that mountain's significance from wherever I might be standing in this human world, I remember the answer I've returned to: be more compassionate and give my heaviness a hug - for we all have the power to generate, organize, and/or destroy all that holds us back as creative beings. deep breath in, deep breath out. L'shana tova, I love and miss you all so much.

Some Pictoral Recordings

Boston Ethiopian with new friends!Capoeira family

Spreeing
Dean St, Brooklyn
40s at 40 with family!
Colorful friends

photoshoot

my friend nicole shot me for her photo class. these were the playful ones at the end with the digital.

Traveling daze

Hi all,

So I am back in the good ol' USA. Here are some things I have been doing:

1.) Not sleeping
2.) Taking more planes and continuing to shift time zones
3.) Friends and family time
4.) Moving into Worcester Apt.

I came home to a not-so-ideal sitation. A lot has changed--with me and with home and with the people living and growing in my home while I was gone. I am looking forward to the coming semester at Clark, but am curious as to how I will respond to the changed environment.

I have just been asked by my faculty advisor at Clark to be a Peer Learning Assistant for her class Local Action/Global Change, a class that had effected me greatly my freshman year! and it's paid!

:)And so it goes...

Serbs giving out Cigarettes like gum (I am home in NH!)

You could be anywhere. Out having coffee, sitting watching English television, or eating a fresh batch of popcorn on the side of the road—you will get the offer. If you are with friends, the characteristic shuffle of the carton-o-cigs weasels its way into the scene. It’s socially kindled in Serbia, a way to offer what you have no matter what—just for the sake of sharing something. Always kindly refuse, and smile.

Kindly refusing has brought me far in my travels. Whether it is to people handing out flyers on the street, old men slurring some language I don’t understand as I walk past their staring eyes, or the nth plate of food offered to me, the warm smile and “no thanks” can make the difference. It isn’t menacing. It isn’t brutal. It is what it is.

I have figured out a lot about myself during these 4 months. Traveling in itself, especially alone as a woman, has its ups and downs. Learning how to work with what you have in order to make the best out of situations is key—although sometimes breakdowns are necessary. I know this trip has been successful because I have felt every single emotion that could possibly exist in the spectrum.

Like for instance—the past 48 hours…

I got on a plane heading from Tel Aviv to Vienna. The flight went well, I had a whole row to myself, a yummy meal (Austrian Air impresses me with its food), and time to finish my book (first novel in a long time). I was quite nervous with all the transfers I would have to do to get to Prague—it would require a lot of things going right.

Things didn’t go right. In fact, they went terribly, terribly wrong.

But I won’t get too ahead of myself.

The sherut brought me to Ben Gurion airport fine. The flight went well. I successfully got on the bus heading to Sudbonhoff train station in Vienna. I bought my ticket to Prague and sat for 2.5 hours in a café to pass the time. A beer and a finished book later, I boarded the train, where I would stay for an hour and then switch in Breclav to get on another train heading to Prague.

I sat down in the seat and took off my bags. Struggling (but I have mastered the technique), I lifted my 45 lb backpack up on the top shelving, my jacket, presents bag, and scarf on the lower shelving, my regular backpack by my feet, and hung up my purse on the clip so it could be close when the people needed my tickets/passport.

In walks in my new Croat friend. I don’t know his name but I noticed him in the café I was sitting at before, he looked nice and honest—maybe someone I would be friends with or share interesting stories all night long. I loved how he was Croatian too (it made me realize that I already miss it a lot).

He is a photographer and was on his way to Lithuania to do some freelance work. He lives in Zagreb. We spoke in Croatian for a while and he was impressed by my skills (!!). The conversation soon turned into him talking my ear off for an hour (and later an Austrian girl who joined us) about his travels on the trans-Siberian railway. All I wanted to do at this point was sleep.

I was very nervous I wouldn’t get off the train at the right stop. Sometimes these trains have a tendency to stop for about 50 seconds and then leave, so I wanted to have all my stuff together for Breclav. I quickly tossed on my jacket and scarf, took my big backpack, became pregnant with my second backpack thrown in front, and grabbed the bag of presents. Off I went.

Outside of the train (which ended up sitting there for 15 minutes), I met two people: Nik and Tanja, from Albania and Kazakhstan. My companions for the next 5 hours.

At this point I was happy—I had successfully gotten through all of the transfers. Now I was on my way to Prague and could relax until we got there.

Except for one thing: (can you guess it yet?)

As us three were shooting the shit on the train, I went shuffling around in my bag looking for the name of the hostel I was going to stay at. “It’s like Hostel…plus…A…something, just hold on”. After about 10 seconds of shuffle, I almost shat my pants. Where was my purse? Where did it go? I don’t have it. Shit, I don’t have my purse. My purse with every single piece of identification, currency, PASSPORT, and ipod. I left it on the train. I left it hanging on the hook. I knew It. I couldn’t believe it. But I knew it.

Holy fucking shit (this is an appropriate time, mother).

I flipped out. The two with me didn’t know what to do, but calmly told me to find someone on the train to tell them.

(All avenues to calm down were certainly out of the picture)

I ran up to one of the women who checked for tickets. A new dialect of English spilled out of my mouth as I tried to explain to her that I was royally screwed. That I had a plane to catch the following morning home, that I had exactly 4.5 euros in my pocket and nothing else. She looked at me like I was crazy.

She gestured for me to return to my seat. I sat down with my hands covering my face most likely swearing over and over. When the woman came to our car, the Kazak and Albanian came to the rescue.

I told her exactly what train I was on, where I was sitting, where the bag was, what it looked like, and what the two people in the car looked like as well. She phoned in. Nothing. I didn’t understand. All I could do was wait. I thought I was going to vomit.

I took out my ticket and showed her the train I was just on. She quickly grabbed her phone again, repeating the directions to another voice on the other end of the line. A few moments later she peered in at me with a smile and thumbs up. Found it!

I started laughing. Like a crazy person.

.But the journey wasn’t over

As she wrote out my mission, I repeatedly went over the situation in my head. How could I have been so stupid? So so so incompetent. So…wait. Breathe. Don’t be hard on yourself. This stuff happens right? I could go to the embassy first thing in the morning; I could ask my parents to wire me money. I have a copy of my passport on my computer which was with me. I could make it work.

The woman wrote out that I had to meet train 422 coming at 8:29 to Prague from Kosice, and that the conductor would stand outside waiting to give me my purse.

I knew I had faith in the world.

Our train was suppose to arrive in Prague at 330 am, but it mysteriously stopped for over an hour halfway in between. The Kazak and the Albanian really made the difference—they offered me a place to stay until 830 when they would show me back to the train station and help me get my purse. The catch was, we didn’t get into Prague until 5 am (because of the delay), and I wasn’t ready to take a 30 min trip to sleep for an hour and then take another 30 minute trip back by myself and get lost along the way.

No. I would stay there.

Funny thing is about the Prague train station—it’s not heated or inside. Great. I had 3.5 hours of pure hell in front of me—hell that was freezing instead of sweltering, thirsty, hungry, completely tired, and nervous that it wouldn’t work out. I wanted to believe everything would be okay, but I also had to make a plan if the worst happened. The worst being that the purse doesn’t make it on that train and that I am royally screwed.

Embassy, day after Christmas, plane in 24 hours, no money, no food, no water—even the bathroom cost money. The Kazak and Albanian left me with enough money for a phone call and their cell phone number, in case things went wrong. I didn’t want to spend any money (just in case), so I sat on a bench staring at the arrivals board. The clicking of the changing names almost drove me mad.

I put my big backpack horizontally in front of myself and wrapped my legs around it, along with the smaller backpack. I placed the bag of presents on my lap and arched around it. I fell asleep like that for around a half hour, sparing me some grief.

There are a lot of crazies in the train station. I was among them. For the first time I felt like any amount of pride was thrown out the window as I shuffled around the station trying to get warm but trying not to get more thirsty or hungry. I tried meditating. I tried praying. I was going completely bonkers.

Everything had to go perfectly. I set my alarm for 8 am just in case I fell asleep again. I walked in circles. Anything to pass the time. But truthfully, 3.5 hours never went so slowly before.

It was finally 8:10 and the platform number popped up on the arrivals board for train 422 from Kosice. I had to go! Of course platform 7 was the furthest away, and of course when I got there there was nothing written on the black board which usually tells you when and where the train is coming. Just a blank screen.

There was another man shuffling around that platform so I asked him if he spoke English. He shook his head and asked Dueschland? Rusa? Italiano? No no no. I thought for a moment and spurted out some unintelligible Croatian (very similar to Russian), and he smiled. We were both waiting for that train so it made me feel a whole lot better. I placed my smaller backpack on a chair with the bag of presents and began circling the bench. I circled and circled, quietly praying and wishing and hoping everything would work as planned. That the conductor would help me complete my mission. I even got to a place where I told myself “if this is what God wanted me to experience today, so it shall be”. When did God come into the picture? What!

Suddenly the train came in. The man I had just spoken with looked at me and gave me a not-so-assuring “maybe” shrug. I waited for the train to stop and rain up and down the doors, yelling “excuse me!” and “help!” and “English!!!!!” like the freak I am.

I get to the end of the train and look back, and I see a tiny figure in the distance in a black hat. It’s him!!!

I bolt with my 45 lb bag on my bag, my heavy-ass bag in front (with computer, etc), and my bag-o-presents. I wave to him. He waves back. I yell “purse!”. He waves back. Is he just waving because I am waiving? I get around 15 feet away and he smiles, nodding after I huff out “purse, you have, passport, mine, Vienna…” He tells me to wait a second. He goes into the car and unlocks a door, coming out with my purse.

I almost fainted.

I burst into tears as I thanked him over and over again. He just chuckled and walked away, as I searched through my purse making sure everything was there.

And it was. By some miracle, it all seemed to work out.

And by some other miracle, I walked around Prague for 7 hours without much sleep. I don't remember what I saw, but I know I was there!

And now I am at home...

Now what?

Like the Chinese student said to me in the hostel in Prague: don't put all your eggs in one basket!

(note: somewhere at the end here I was going to tie in kindly refusing into the story. but i am too tired and not that creative yet. More to come)

have a jerusalem christmas

I am sitting on Ben Yehuda street in Downtown Jerusalem. It is Christmas day and I am sitting outside on my computer with a small sweater on. I do not miss anything about Christmas...

I leave today for Prague via Vienna. It will be a long trip. I am tired. Ready to be done traveling but not so sure I am ready for the be-back-at-home business. It will take me a while to adjust. I think I will need good listening ears and some catch-up on sleep.

So much to say, no time to say it now.

After walking...

...through the Burnt House and the Wohl Archeological Museum, whichuncovers the remains of the Jewish Quarter and it's destruction by the Romans in 70 BCE, I placed foot after foot descending down a staircase. At the end of the staircase was a view, overlooking the plaza and the Western Wall. The clouds were dark, a storm was coming. The sun was beginning to set and the buildings of te old city were glowing white specks. Striking through the clouds, hitting the glowing buildings, was a rainbow, reminding me of the color flowing between the light and the dark. It was truly magnificent.





note: there are a lot of things to say, especially since the last time I wrote. For now, I am in Jerusalem, trying to figure out what to discover and how to stay honest.

Spinning. Everything is spinning.

Today I woke up at 11:30 am. My train to Budapest left at 7:50 am. Oops. Next time?

Tonight I sat in Trg Republike, the main square in Belgrade, and watched everything spin around me. This city is buzzing, and I feel entirely comfortable sitting and watching the people who live here. I went on a long walk, up and down the pedestrian road, reminding myself of all the people I have met in this city, why they are special to me, the things we have shared, etc. I want them to know that they have greatly effected me, that I will hold them close, and that they have another person who they can go home to.

That is something I have realized quite a lot while traveling (and I haven't even started the "long haul" traveling). I want to be a provider of a home. I don't know what this means--if it means I want to have a shelter or just a never-ending couch for people to crash on. I think making home for people is one of the most beautiful things you can do.

The long haul. The beginning of the end. The mega trip of a lifetime. So why do I already feel tired??

My paper is done, at least I am telling myself this. It is hard to move to that completion mode—I always want to continue editing, erasing, starting over—but I just can’t do that. I have to be okay with what has been produced.

I am sad to leave Belgrade, in many ways. I am sad that I might not see the friends I have made—in particular Tijana, Stevan, and Dejan. They really touched me while I have been here. Tijana and I have had some great conversations, I feel like we really connected in a lot of ways. She is one of those righteous babes. Stevan and Dejan were amazing. We only hung out…maybe 4 times, but each time it was wonderful, fun, exciting. I laughed so much with them. They were great companions, they brought the best out of me.

I am nervous for next week—for re-entry into Zagreb and group dynamics. I cannot believe it has already been a month, although at some points the time ticked by. Doesn’t it always?

I head to Zagreb tomorrow. The group heads to Slovenia on Thursday. On Sunday we head back to Zagreb for the family gathering. Monday I go to Vienna. Tuesday I go to Israel. The following Tuesday I come back from Israel to Vienna. Then to Prague. Then to home. It sounds quite hellish at the end, so I am really going to have to keep the positive energy rolling. I will also be traveling alone, something which always tends to affect me so much.

It gives me the space to think—where anything that I might be holding in side for whatever reason—has the ability to come out. You sit, for hours, maybe with something to do but maybe just time to think. The room heats up. Thoughts roll out of your head, circling around you as you zip into another time zone. It is inescapable me myself and I time, and unless you have some strong sleeping pills, you have no choice but to deal with yourself.

I am going to miss the Three Black Catz and Mladen, Marija, Eve, Jasna, and the gang. This room has become mine (although now I am the only one left). I feel like the resident greeter for all the comers and goers. These are the people I remember.

- The 50 year old from Ireland

- The Frenchman who worked in the Middle East as a freelance journalist

- The two men from…SE Asia somewhere…maybe Indonesia I forget

- The girl studying in Thessaloníki from Virginia.

- Two Estonian girls

- Two French guys

- Berlin, Germany guy with a girlfriend in Nis

- Three Aussie girls

- 3 Dutch from Amsterdam

- 2 Bulgarians

- 1 Italian dude who slept in his tighty whities

- 2 Aussies who had been traveling for 11 months

- Seattle dude

- Seattle dudette

- French girl in the beginning

- New Zealander living in London

- Canadian – Victoria

- 2 Guys from New Jersey

Making Home

najbolji prijatelji u beograd - best friends in belgrade
thanks for making it feel like home!

Abstract for paper, abstraction obstruction insanity?

Dealing with the past is the process in which a society determines truthful facts of past events, and with the support of civil society and its leaders, undergoes a transformation from a culture based on conflict to one of peace, through the processes of reconciliation and depolarization[1]. Youth between the ages of 18-30 are the future of Serbia. They grew up in the midst of war, under a regime that greatly affected the economical, social, and political stability of the newly independent country. Because of these factors, their perspectives and opinions become critical in determining how this country is approaching topics of the past. This study highlights their opinions about governmental engagement, Non-governmental organization’s initiatives, and personal responsibility towards topics of the past, and whether or not they are effective in creating a culture of peace for Serbia’s future.

---

[1] Bleeker, Mô, and Jonathan Sisson, eds. Dealing with the Past: Critical Issues, Lessons Learned, and Challenges for Future Swiss Policy. Swiss Peace Foundation. Bern: Swiss Peace, 2005. 16 Nov. 2007 >.

So I have my 40 pages. Whether or not one can understand them is an entirely different story. I am leaving for Budapest either tomorrow or Sunday, going out with friends I've made here tonight, and trying to clean up the paper in the time between.

I am going slightly crazy--mainly because I get so utterly lost in papers I write. The process of editing is, for some unknown reason, the hardest thing for me to conquer. I have these thoughts and I write them down and I don't like to question them! Okay! And I disagree with grammar but that discussion is for another day.

who cares if my sentences don't have punctuation and i make up words. It's not like I am going to publish it or anything (thanks to the remarkable IRB group that has been created to protect human-subjects in the research process).

Sarcasm? Never...

things come

things come together like falling
rain hits the ground
seeps, sometimes flooding first
frantically finding space in roots
kitchen sinks
cesspools
sometimes it hovers over us
and we can smell it
almost.

i feel like i have been writing for years but
since then and after the fact
really it seems time is a tall tale
we forgot was created.

i might forget somethings sometimes
but i remember exactly where i was when
things came together.

like i was falling.

but suns rise
moons rise too
and even when the rain pinches the ground
it floats back up again
becoming stars
or at least cloud bouncers
enjoying the day's parade or mistakes made
hitting it all very hard so it can feel something real
each moment
like a continuous reason
to piece it all back
together.

december 3, 2007

In between sentences

I am in the midst of writing the first draft of my 40-page research paper and I really wanted to flush out a few thoughts about my recent trip to Southern Serbia. In the words of Stasa, the founder of the Women in Black office here in Belgrade, this city isn't real Serbia. Real Serbia can be found in the small towns and villages away from the big cities of Novi Sad and Belgrade, where people live the way Serbians have been living for years. There is a lot of poverty. The streets smell of burning coal (that is how they still heat themselves here). It felt like I was in a movie from the 40's in Serbia after Tito kicked Fascism out. Things have been paused since then. Socialism seeps through the cracks still. It's still very much present there, the remnants of it all.

So far in my travels here in the Balkans, if I keep my mouth shut people don't think I am a foreigner (kind of refreshing from Chiapas). But in Leskovac, the small town in Southeastern Serbia (a few hours west of Sofia, Bulgaria and right on the edge of Kosovo), I was stared every moment.

I was there to have a focus group with youth in the area. I stayed over at the Women for Peace's office. I tried speaking as much Serbian as possible, and got a bit depressed because I just don't know if I'll be able to hold onto it.

The next morning the room was filled with a bunch of 15 year old high school students who were there to learn about the organization, become active, and listen to me, a strange foreigner, as them about a time period they don't remember at all or learn about in school. It's funny, because I am not legally allowed to interview anyone under the age of 18. So the information I got isn't really acceptable. Although I can mention the contents of the focus group, as an observation (without mentioning individuals). It was super interesting to compare their thoughts with the thoughts of the people I've already interviewed in Belgrade and Novi Sad. These kids knew nothing. Absolutely nothing. They didn't know about the genocide in Srebrenica, they didn't know about the siege of Sarajevo, they didn't know about Serbian influence in the wars. The only thing they had learned about in school was the NATO bombings in 1999. Crazy.

I was just starting to get to know people when I had to rush to the bus station to get to a meeting I had set up in Nis, a city about an hour north of Leskovac. I have been finding the kindness of strangers here to really help me in the transportation section of my life. I never know what to do at the bus or train stations here. They are all so different! People have been so helpful.

I got to Nis to talk to the activists involved in the Youth Initiative for Human Rights there. I went to Maja and Rade's apartment, where they offered me some delicious red wine and a place to stay for the night. I wasn't expecting on staying over, but the wine was so good and the company was even better. I didn't take out my notepad or my recorder. I didn't want to. I was sick of the formal conversations and the agenda. I wanted to do it my way for the last interview.

So we ended up having an incredible conversation about life in Nis, the wars, what people are doing now, radicalness of the Youth Initiative and Women and Black and why it has to be that way, etc. 2 others were there, Petro and Marko, and we all just had such a great time together. And I learned a lot. They also are trying to put together a cultural center in Nis for people to go to for a safe and creative space. They hope that it might harbor motivation and energy for activism in Nis, something that is missing there. I hope it works out for them.

I have found that I am happiest when on my own here. I have never really wanted to be a solo traveler, but in some ways it is just so much easier and enlightening. Things flow easier, time becomes less relevant. You go with it. Nobody is saying they want to go home. No obligations exist. Friendships bloom quicker. These are just some things I have noticed.

People I want to remember from this trip: Maja from Zene za mir (women for peace), Jovanna and Milan, Ivana and Nena from Zene za Mir, Rade Maja Petro Marko from YIHR Nis.

And I cannot believe it is December already. I can't believe I am coming home in less than a month. It is all good and all bad and I am trying to synthesize everything I have heard and learned into a paper that seems very far from completion at this point. And I am tired from a night of dancing, kafana fighting, and a hurt foot.

beograd

=

Quacky Qualms Quiet Quirky

Okay. So from the beginning I have felt awkward using the word "research" for what I am doing here. I think I have begun to transform it from "research" to "understanding", the process of which is heavily based in informal communication with those around me in Belgrade. I want to get a better understanding of how people my age here are dealing with the past they grew up in (the 90s) and how they visualize what is currently happening around them--internationally, nationally, and locally--with "facing the past". Also, do they feel personal responsibility towards dealing with the past?

So this is what I am interested in. My interview questions are shit and once I sit down with people I feel like I freeze and I have to act a certain way etc, I get too caught up in wondering if the recorder is still on or if I will be able to get to all my questions. Becuase of this, the "informal conversation, hanging out, getting to know eachother" shortly disintegrates into my agenda. I hate agendas. I hate feeling like I need to get something out of people. I just want to make new friends and understand the place around me as much as I possibly can as an outsider.

Everyone here has been great. Better than great. Friday night I went out with the girls from the program who I am living with right now, and 5 Serbs, one of whom we met from the interviewing in Belgrade in October. I stayed out with them all night long (which reflects how good it was because I don't tend to do that willingly these days). We had the most fantastic conversations, both serious and not serious, about ourselves, about Serbia, about Kosovo, etc. At the end of the night we agreed that we felt like we had been friends for a long time. It was just so comfortable and warm, honest, and exciting. And I learned so much from them, and will learn more from them in the future.

These are the nights I will take back with me and share with other people. This is the kind of story I want to write about, which reflects the most honest exchange of ideas, values, and perspectives of what is really going on. Without an agenda. Without a recorder. With plenty of beer and laughter and honesty.

So where do I go from here? I am stuck within the limitations of academia, SIT policy, and the obligation of a 40 page qualitative research paper due December 10. I am looking forward to the interviews this next week because I feel like I am much clearer on the things I want to know. But it has taken me a while to really figure it out. Does this taint the already-done interviews I have had? I think what has really been getting me through has been the idea that this is "training wheels for researching", that I am learning the ropes in a very controlled and specific way. I can dig that in some ways. I have to tell myself that it is good for me. I have to believe that this experience will bring me somewhere. Or else I'll run away. I know it.

I am in Belgrade for 12 more days, assuming I go to Budapest the last weekend of the ISP to explore a wonderful city I have heard mountains of stories about. Less than 2 weeks! I can't believe it! I am starting to make friends and really feel good in the city. The people who work at the hostel are my little family. I am learning more and more of the language, and losing more and more of it at the same time.

There is no conclusion to these thoughts.

Saved

Serbs saved my life last night--my social life and my sanity all at once. Talking until 5 in the morning, about serious things, about not serious things at all. Walking and having them ask me, "ask us something about Serbia" and then discussing certain layers of their unbelievable history. People, my age, dragging themselves through the assumptions of the outside world viewing Serbs as mongrels, animals, and heartless, when all they really want to do is make a decent living, travel a bit, and talk to as many people as possible.

Stevan, Djan, Nina, Dario, and Sasa. And tonight I am going to a college party on the campus of a guy Becca and I both interviewed, Boban.

These are the moments you take with you. This was not eloquent. I need to do work.

The Turkey Speaks Serbian

I think that, when I return to US soil, my roots will grow strong there. I think my country needs me more than ever, and I think I've been running away from that for a long time. (mom, don't get too excited I could work in Hawaii or Alaska or somewhere equally as far away!!)Here is a map for people who are still not totally sure of where Serbia is :)

Inspiration from a friend

"Who has not sat before his own
heart's curtain?

It lifts: and the scenery is falling apart.

Have patience with everything
that remains unsolved in your heart.

Try to love the questions themselves,
like locked rooms and like books
written in a foreign language.

Do not now look for the answers.
They cannot now be given to you
because you could not live them.

It is a question of experiencing everything.

At present you need to live the question.

Perhaps you will gradually,
without even noticing it,
find yourself experiencing the answer,
some distant day."

~Rainer Maria Rilke

Vegan Sarma and Women in Black

Becca and I made vegan Sarma last night (stuffed cabbage). We truly are "balkanized" now.

We turned that regionally loved, coveted, drooled over dish and turned it into our own. Instead of using rice, we used coo coos. Instead of using pork or beef or whatever it is that they stuff those cabbage leaves with, we used mega' fakin' tofu patties. It was the best!

Besides the amazing meal (which cost us 10 dollars total and will most likely feed us until mid next week), I am finding it hard to accept the fact that every single day here has felt different. Not just in Belgrade, but on this semester-long journey of mine. While on Skype with my dad last night, while I was using the hostel's computer camera so that he could see my face for the first time in almost 3 months (the longest we've gone!) he told me that I had 40 days left before coming home. 40 more days, 6 countries, 1 paper, 2 bags, and topsy turvy confidence levels.

Sometimes I feel like when I talk to people around me I am not listened to. Sometimes I feel like I am being oversensitive by taking this the wrong way. But sometimes, everyone needs some attention. It's the lack of community. I was starting to feel it a bit in Zagreb, but since moving here, it's all from scratch.

It's nice living in a hostel, a place that can distract you from internal demons just to have some wine with a new found friend from somewhere going somewhere else, constantly changing faces and stories and smiles. That feels nice, but completely out of my control and short.

I can't even feel out my own writing anymore. It's as if there is this block on me here, my fingers are stiff and my head is somewhere in the clouds and I just can't seem to grab myself back. I just can't find myself here.
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Women in Black, Belgrade

The office that the Women in Black work out of is small, very colorful, and full of some of the craziest women you would ever meet in your life. The door panels have different blocks of colors on them, rainbow streamers hang from the light fixtures in the center of the room, book shelves are piled high with publications, stickers, pamphlets, and posters.

They all knew I was coming. Last night it snowed so today the streets were silver lined with almost-melted snow. I trudged through the puddles of sludge and found my way to Jug Bogdanova 18, where the office is. Stasha, the founder of Women in Black Belgrade, ran up to me spitting out Serbian faster than I could catch it. She grabbed my cheeks, kissed me, hugged me, and welcomed me.

I contacted Nadja, a 20-something year old Belgradian who I met last time I was here with the group. I asked her if the office needed any volunteers to help out with certain organizing, paperwork, etc. She said she would meet me at the party but never showed up, which was a great way for me to plunge right into the conversations with these perfect strangers.

The room demographic was as follows: handfuls of middle-aged women with wine and rakija in their hands, a few men circulating the crowd, 2 other American volunteers, two gay men and the head honcho women of the organization. It was a gathering to say goodbye to an intern from Seattle who has been working with them for 2 years with this quaker-esque organization from the states. The new intern, who is replacing the last one, Katie, is from Indiana and is very overwhelmed from the situation here.

I feel really good to be volunteering and doing something related, but pretty unrelated, to my project. I think it will give me something to take my mind off of my project, the looming paper, etc. Also, the people in that room were so full of life and I feel like they will inspire me so much, something which has definitely been out of my life for some time now. I’ve been searching every spot in my mind, body, and soul for some self-motivated inspiration for the nearly 3 months I have been here, so some direct outside help would be…incredible.

When I was leaving, Stasa grabbed my face again and repeated Hvala ti over and over again. She introduced me to the entire group, she fed me, and she gave me her number and an assignment for Monday. In solidarity for sure…

At least there are vegetables in the winter

It used to be that the only vegetable you could find anywhere in Serbia during the wintertime was cabbage. Now there are bananas all year round, potatoes, and canned veggies too. The tycoon of Serbia, who owns about 2/3 off all imports and exports, has begun letting more imports come into the country. A new friend, Alonit (from Colorado, working as an English teacher in Belgrade, knows Marissa, the girl I am with now from SIT, from home) explains this to us while we all sip warm cups of Caj (tea) in her bedroom.

It feels so nice to have people around you that you know. Other than Alonit, who I met the first time I was in Belgrade, I also met a bunch of Serbian students my age who I think I will see this weekend. I foresee this next month to be full of hard work, but also full of fun and good conversation. Between the hostel, which is very small and inviting for tea and conversation, the interviews, etc, I think I will be very satisfied with the amount of people I meet and connect with.

And we're going to a huge thanksgiving bash at Alonit's next Thursday. We are in charge of bringing drinks, potatoes, and a dessert (possibly rice pudding, which would make me so happy to make and share with everyone!).

In an hour I am suppose to meet with my adviser, Djordje Pavicevic, a Professor at the Political Science Faculty in Belgrade. Hopefully he will give me more direction and resources to work with for my ISP. I already have interviews set up with some people who work at the Youth Initiative for Human Rights on Nov. 28. On Saturday, I am going to a lunch with all the members of Women in Black, Belgrade. Women in Black are a worldwide movement (I believe they started in Israel) who do a lot of street activism/education against war, memorialization of wartime history, etc.

Right now I am in the Hotel Moskva (Hotel Moscow), about a 5 minute walk from my hostel. There is free WIFI in the cafe, which serves espresso with a glass of water and a small piece of chocolate! Rumor has it, many SIT students have spent countless hours in this cafe writing their ISPs.

I think I will be challenged living here in many ways, but the biggest challenge will probably be living in such a big city. Other than that, I am really looking forward to what lies ahead.

PS: “It’s a beautiful dump,” Ms. D’Esopo said.
This is about my town!

A new journey - ISP beginnings

Traveling funks me up. It provides me endless amounts of time to think about all unnecessary thoughts, plenty of space to let my mind unravel into a bottomless pit of imaginative insanity, a perfect framework for a person with their hands tied in a straight jacket in a bouncy, white, locked room (at least that person would have bouncy walls).

I arrived back in Belgrade this afternoon. I lugged my two backpacks (one I carry as my pseudo-Croatian baby, the other on my back) up 5 flights of stairs to the Black Catz Hostel, a 2 minute walk from the center square, Trg Republike.

Becca, Marissa and I have four beds to ourselves in a private room in this hostel. I wouldn't say that I am an "experienced" hosteler, but I have been in my fair share of hostels, including plenty of collective living situations.

Basically, there is only one other room besides ours where 6 others can live. There is one bathroom with a sink, tube+shower duo thinger, and a washer-dryer. The common area consists of a table with two long benches, a TV with cable, DVD player, a communal computer, an office, a loft (for the person who works there to sleep in I'd imagine), and cupboard of a kitchen. It's what I would imagine for 6.5 euros a night.

But the important part is this: When we entered, the first thing they did was show us our room and provide us with free shots of Rakija (amazingly strong domestic brandy made here--my favorite is the honey one, called Rakija Medicom). I got tipsy far too quickly (that's what no food will do to you) but shared a conversation with a Frenchman, two Aussie chicks, a New Zealander who lives in England, and our mammoth sized Hostel dude, Mladin.

I haven't been sleeping well and am very tired. Tomorrow I plan on organizing my life for the next 3.5 weeks. We all hope to finish our projects with time to go to Budapest on our way home. These sentences don't make sense together.

We play cards with wine now. Ciao!