Fiona has become a flower.

December 9, 2006

8:30 PM

First things first: Happy Birthday Mama! Next up, the ½ century mark!


So here I am on the other side of the planet listening to “Wait Wait…Don’t tell me” (through Podcast) and I am rolling on the floor laughing. You might think that I am laughing at the show, which is hilarious, but that is not the case.

I am laughing at the recent news of a 500 million dollar library to be built in Texas; a library in honor of our President. Good ol’ Bush.

Money well spent.

Do you think they will attach a bar to the library for his daughters? It may be safer to keep them in Texas, there are no embassies to kick them out of Texas.

Good thing the war on ‘Turrur’ is boding well for the President. At this rate, the library may need to dedicate an entire wing to self-help books.

Possible new titles for the GW Library: “Geography for Dummies,” “Legacy: What to do When Yours is Ignorant Violence.”



December 10, 2006

9:00 AM

First things first: Happy Birthday Pops! Now you have a 1 attached to the 50!


I am reading some news articles that I pulled from the internet yesterday and I am once again overwhelmed. Does it not seem to anyone else that the entire world is arming itself for something? Every other news report has to do with someone spending more money to either: buy weapons, stop the spread of weapons, or protect against attack from weapons.

Now I refuse to take the “Peace and Love” stance to all of this, I have too much respect for myself and the world that I live in to believe that we can stop all the violence with a hug or two. Yet maybe our world could use a few more hugs. Reading headlines like “Britain, announced it will replace an aging fleet of nuclear submarines with a more modern fleet beginning in 2024 at a cost of around $40 billion,” or “a joint Pentagon-State Department report reveals that a $1.1 billion program to train Afghan police has run into equipment shortages and poor management” just makes me shiver.

A billion dollars is nothing these days. Well, at least nothing when it is placed in the context of national security. Yeah, I understand the need for national security and I thank the intelligence and military forces that have protected me my entire life. At some point in my youth though, I started to wonder. Now that I have grown up a bit more, my wondering has turned into questioning. A questioning that usually goes something like: “When did war replace education, guns replace books, and money replace handshakes or hugs?”

I would go no where near saying that we have lost hope, but while that entire world arms itself for the future, there is a new generation now growing up with two possibilities for their future: we exist or we won’t. That is my black and white analysis for APL. I hate to be so grim, but it hurts to watch as the world around me is arming itself for a war against itself.

There is no finger pointing here, the two headlines I quoted just happened to be from two powerful Western nations, but they are by no means the only ones taking part. Kashmir, Gaza, Darfur, Sri Lanka, Fiji, the locations could go on. Sometimes it feels like amidst the beauty and wonder of our planet there is a constant war being waged; war and violence which is often waged in the name of trying to make our world a better place. A gun with a dove painted on it or a missile with a religious emblem gracing it’s’ shell is contradiction in its finest form.

I have no answers, just grievances. So in the end, I am just an observer who is overwhelmed by some of the world’s actions. I am lost, weighted down and beaten. I will continue to read the headlines, scan the news; there always hope hidden amongst the horrible things that make the headlines. There is beauty that still lingers within the ugly, it is just hard sometimes to find it. But in a world where war and weapons mean more to the headlines than worship and wisdom, I can only pray that my children have a chance to see the beauty we seem bent on saving through a very destructive war.

Wage Peace.


December 11, 2006

6:15 PM

'The Nameless'

There are people that live in my head;
Nameless and faceless, filled with dread.
They appear to show of something to come;
A world lost in its wonders, excess, and fun.

I dream of a world where they won’t have worry;
I dream of a world where they won’t have to bury
The children they raised, the children they gave
The gift of life; now an engraved name.

My dreams are futile, they lack direction
Serving mainly as much needed reflection.
Sometimes I wish I knew them all,
They deserve face; I give ‘em scribble.


December 11, 2006

8:00 PM

I believe one of the toughest things to do in life is to raise a child. It’s given very little recognition, in my opinion, with the context of many great conversations. We make plans to visit Jupiter, continuously discover cures for diseases, and create technologies to solve our many “problems” in life. One invention eludes us though, the formula to raising children.

There is no formula because it would be impossible. Sure, there are plenty of books out there to help with the raising of children, grandparents with years of knowledge to share, and a long human history of child-bearing to tap into.

In the end though, it usually ends up being a large game of trial and error. The majority of parents on this planet only want the best for their children. There are many parents throughout this world, mine included, that have dedicated themselves to trying to provide their children with a better life than they had. And within this is one of the largest ironies of child-raising: in the drive to create a better future for their children, many parents inadvertently make it tougher on their children.

I cite an example from my current living situation. My host father, like many fathers, wants the best for his children. On many occasions I have either heard or talked with him while he boasted about his wonderful three children and the joy of having them in the house. He knows what they are capable of and recognizes how smart they are at their young ages. But this has not stopped him from berating them for being lazy.

His rants sometimes can be overwhelming and hard to listen to as he bears down on my host brother for not studying English enough. Five minutes before yelling at him for not studying English he was yelling at him for not helping around the house enough, which was preceded by a rant about how he is not studying Geography enough.

The kid is 11.

A little twist to the culture that gets tossed into this mix is that if Mairambek (my host brother) stays at school for a half-hour after classes to ‘play’ a bit he is then asked endlessly why, what was he doing, why did he come home late (this happens to my host sister too, just not as much). If he goofs around too much, or acts like he is eleven too much, he is snapped at. If I am displaying my host father out to be a military general, I don’t mean to be (though he was in the army).

Where I am trying to go with this is how sometimes my host father can, as I have seen in many people in my village, be very contradictory and have a tough time in catching the irony in their own rhetoric. My host father will berate Mairambek for not studying, and then boast to me about the new bicycle that he just bought for him. He, my host father, will get mad at my host brother for not knowing a word in English and then brag to a recently arrived guest how good his son is at learning languages.

In the end, my host father means nothing but good. He knows what an English education can lead to (university scholarships, study abroad opportunities, and wide range of future work options). He knows that employment in Kyrgyzstan is still struggling to regain footing (after fifteen years of independence); he knows the future can lead to two paths for his children: get a good education and make better lives for themselves or fade into the struggle of making ends meet.

But in trying his best to instill all of this into his children, he many times comes off as a dictator restricting growth rather than aiding it. I am only using my host family as an example because I live with them. This is not something unique to my family. This sentiment and mentality seems to filter throughout many of the families in my village. It is tough to watch as parents will tear into their children for not giving what they believe to be a satisfactory effort.

I want to remind these parents how mature their children are in many ways. Point out how much responsibility these children need to have to take care of animals, younger siblings, school work, and house work. It is very common here to see older siblings play a large role in taking care of their younger siblings. All over the streets I will see older sisters carrying their little sisters or pushing them in carriages. I have come home on more than one occasion to see my host brother take care or Sezim for hours at a time, on his own.

The most impressionable moments are when he asks if I can watch Sezim for a few minutes while heads outside to tie up and get the family cow food upon her return from the fields. He will take care of his animals duties, and then come back in to take care of his little sister. Dinner will role around, and then finally when my host mother is free and/or Sezim is tired, he and my host sister will get around to starting homework around 8:00 PM (sometimes working until 10:00 PM).

I have not breached the topic of my host sister (the older one, she is 8) yet because she is an entirely different topic. I am still floating between whether or not my host father gives her different treatment because she is young or because he expects her to just become a wife one day. My host sister, Nurila, is a wit. She is the tallest eight year-old in the world and has the brains to match her height. Sometimes I am glad that my host father doesn’t push her as hard as he does Mairambek. But there are times where I wonder why he doesn’t.

The overwhelming majority of my best English students at my school are girls; Nurila fits that mold perfectly. She will be fluent in English by the time she is sixteen. The problem with her, and a lot of my students that worries me, is that many of their parents expect them to go on and become a great housewife one day. Some may attend university, but as is the case with my host mother, they will return after university to fulfill their cultural roles as childbearing wives.

I can see a lot of my host mother’s wit in Nurila, but shiver when I think that a lot of it may be stifled by the duties of a Kyrgyz woman. There are a lot of girls in my classes that I know will one day be something great, providing they are allowed to make it that far. I have one student who wants to go to school to be a Chinese/English/Russian translator, and she is definitely smart enough to do so. I have another student that straight up told me that she wants to be an ambassador to America for Kyrgyzstan; she also has the wits and the will within her to do this. What scares me though is that while they have hopes, dreams, and even plans for their future, their family has another plan, that may inevitably take priority.

That plan usually involves becoming a bride, then a mother, then a housewife; a role in life that is very honorable in many ways (childcare being one major one), but also a role that can shut down every other future aspiration.

There are exceptions, plenty of them to these roles that both boys and girls struggle with here. But overall, there is a battle for both genders to grow both within and outside of the barriers that their culture has laid out. It is not easy to watch, and I expect is has to be a millions times tougher to be a part of. Especially when it may be the only way of life you may ever know.

This is where I come into play. Part of my role here is to learn their culture, respect their culture, and then try and show them some unique differences between my culture and theirs. Then use these unique differences to try and teach about different possibilities within gender roles, methods of education, and social life, all the while trying not to question the integrity and beauty of their own culture.

I am a teacher every moment my eyes are open, a representation of American culture 24/7, and connection to resources that my village is in dire need of.

No easy task.

I love it.


December 13, 2006

6:00 AM

Quite possibly the biggest difference in my life here has been how quickly days move. I expect this pace of life to slow down a bit the more I settle in here; but at this point, time is flying. There is a combination of a few things that keep this pace up. I wake up everyday and there is something new to challenge me, confuse me, or excite me. It could be something new with my language learning, teaching, or with my family.

The second I leave my bedroom I walk into a world that is far from what I have always known. I have been in my village for nearly three months now (and Kyrgyzstan for five months), but it is still all unique. I believe that Peace Corps has fondly labeled this the “honeymoon” stage of a volunteer’s service. It is the period when everything is still new and exciting. PC’s hope is that volunteers can spread this honeymoon stage across their two year service and keep up the excitement.

I have no idea what the next twenty-two months will bring, which why I choose to not think too much about extending the “honeymoon” stage. Right now, the world I live in is a daily lesson in the beauty and ugliness that exists worldwide. I am a participant daily in the struggles and wonders of life.

Another aspect to the rapid days stems from feeling more like a participant than an observer. While one of my favorite things to do in life is people watch, I have been able to take this to a new level here in Kyrgyzstan. I remember one of the best moments of people watching I had back home was when I traveled with my family to the East Coast for a week or so. One of our stops was New York. I fondly remember one night heading outside of our hotel to sit on a ledge for a few hours and just watch as the world stepped, strutted, and sped past me.

I loved that night, but in the end I loved it because it allowed me the comfort of stepping away from the world a bit and just watching it go. While I love to do this still, I also found that sometimes the best people watching, the best way to observe life is to step inside of it and experience it. It sounds kind of obvious, but, for me at least, this never really occurred to me as a possibility.

I had the comfort and restraint back home of knowing everything around me. As much as I could I tried to travel around and see our country. When I traveled, in country or out, I got my first tastes of a world that had more; a world that was waiting to be experienced, a world that needed to be experienced. But if I traveled in country, eventually, no matter where I was, the differences quickly leveled back into the ordinary. Sure, there was always different people, different scenery, and different stories created. But in the end, I was able to gain comfort fairly quickly with my surroundings.

So far here, I have gained levels of comfort in different aspects to my life; but as a whole, I am far from feeling like I know what is going on around me and far from understanding the world I live in. My troubles back home may have been partially due to a short-coming within me to be able to challenge myself internally, but that is who I am. I love reading books, but always feel like my mind is most stimulated when my book becomes the scene in front of me. I love exploring the depths of my mind, but have always had a tough time searching without something to spark the exploration.

This is where my life here has come into play. Everyday that I wake up and start walking through my village, teach an English class, or have dinner with my host family my assumptions, my thoughts, my passions, and my background is being challenged. Everything I have ever known is open to scrutiny here. The world I have always known is challenged daily. From the moment I set my feet on the ground in the morning to the second they raise back-up into the bed, my inner-world is spun through a dry-cycle. Then comes my next new wonder of life: dreams. This is an entirely different discussion; the time will come.

For now, I am loving the “honeymoon” stage and do hope that in one way or another this stays a part of my life for the next two years. I’ll keep you updated.


December 14, 2006

7:30 AM

'The Actual'

I don’t want to know.
I like the mystery,
The distance,
The blurry images.

The joy of searching,
Wondering and thinking
About the answer
Now outweighs

The actual answer.

Empirical and factual
Is a need for some.
I respect the collections
Of possible answers.

At the end of the day
We don’t really know.
I prefer that, I prefer
Not knowing

The actual answers.



December 15, 2006

6:00 AM

Why am I awake at 6:00 AM!?!?

I’ve become my father (not a bad thing, but it has come a little early). Let me cite some examples:

I have come fairly close to just accepting that for the rest of my life I will have a beard. I prefer the facial party over the ice rink.
My normal sleeping pattern has become: asleep by 9:30 PM and awake by 5:30. Within five minutes of being awake I am doing something.
I still cry while watching Lion King. I grew up watching my father cry to movies like “Forest Gump” and “Sound of Music.” The trait has been passed on.
I love Bing Crosby (‘White Christmas’ to be specific). Enough said.

While I am at, I may as well explain how I have become my mother also:

I am five feet, nine inches tall. My little brother passed me when he was a Freshman/Sophomore in high school. Suffice to say, my mama is short.
If I don’t have my morning coffee there are demons that will escape. I long ago learned the potion to keep them at bay is a mug of coffee.
I have gained the ability to make an impressive dinner out of what ever is within five feet of me in the kitchen. My father is also a good cook, but my mother has perfected the art of creating meals in minutes from the most random of selections.
I don’t feel normal unless I am reading. Enough said.



December 16, 2006

6:45 AM

I awoke this morning to an oddly vivid memory of my dreams.

I have done this a lot since being in Kyrgyzstan; it must be something with the mountain air. Whatever brings it on (mountain air or Fiona), I love being able to remember what happened in my head while I slept. There are some mornings which I wonder if it was really in head. These are the best mornings.

“Where was I last night?”

I love the feeling of waking up to the tangible world knowing that the intangible was keeping me in comfort as I laid resting. In this world that cannot be seen with eyes, I have met many wonderful characters and people of my past.

Last night was no different. I awoke this morning to images of friends from elementary school, junior high, and high school, my brothers, and my parents and many of their friends in my head. At some point in the evening cinema a large group of friends of mine and I had committed a crime. We had gotten in an argument with a police officer over something (it was never entirely clear). The argument ended with Jack Bauer of all sudden arriving to take out the officer and then lead us to his suburban where we took off. I remember spending a good amount of time running until we ended up in a hotel to hide out. The whole time we were running the word was spreading, throughout whatever town we were in, that we were wanted by the authorities. As we were driving/running through the town, people from my past started to appear and play the role of villagers who recognized me from the ‘Wanted’ posters.

By the time my group eventually made it to the hotel we were wanted criminals. Jack had faded away and then my brother, Casey, and I were talking in a hotel room. He had decided that he was going to gather the entire group’s parents at the hotel. The parents arrived and we had a discussion for the next plan of action. We discussed running, turning ourselves in, and the cheapest way to get an oil change in Des Plaines (huh?). Then right before I woke up, one parent suggested we accept that we were heroes, but needed to also remember that heroes can be villains. Her final statement before I woke up: turn yourselves in.

Ok, so that ends my dream recap. I have no idea what it means or where it came from. I love having dreams, but I don’t have much desire to analyze them. I just like the fact that I am living an exciting world in my sleep, as well as in my waking hours.



December 16, 2006

7:30 AM

Yesterday was a very long day, but one that I would repeat over and over again.

My morning began with a 5:30 AM rise where I took part in my usual morning rituals: clothe myself for the cold, fill up the water heater and turn it on, take Canopka out to the bathroom, head to the bathroom myself, and then return to my room to write.

After the morning rituals were finished, I quickly got dressed (I am always rushing after I sit down to write, I always lose track of time) and brushed my teeth. After brushing my teeth I made my way over to the extended house where the rest of my family sleeps in the winter (I will get some pictures later). In this extra house there are three rooms: a mud room, a dining room, and a bedroom (where my entire family of five people sleeps in the winter because it is the warmest room and heated by a coal heater)

In the extended house I sat down for quick breakfast of freshly baked nan (bread) and creamy butter (which is basically just ghee for all you Indian food fans). Hot nan and ghee is a damn near a sexual experience. I knew I was late when I sat down for a quick breakfast, but I couldn’t leave the hot nan alone! I then proceeded to piss off my host mother by informing her that I was not going to have chai (tea) because I was in a hurry.

To the Kyrgyz, chai cures everything from the flu to a hang over and is loaded with all of the necessary vitamins to keep anyone healthy. To not have my morning chai to them is like Batman heading out to fight crime without his Batsuit. Sure, he may still be witty and intelligent, but without his suit he has no armor and is weaponless.

So I daringly left the house with my siblings to head off to school without my weapons and armor. I was a bit fearful, but I had Nurila and Mairambek with me, and they are super-heroes in their own right, so I knew they could protect me if needed (plus, they had their morning chai, so if all else were to fail, they had their weapons on them). On the way to school I became new friends with my nine year-old neighbor. We had a lively talk discussing how many horses I like to eat for breakfast, what kind of animals I kept my bag, and how today (Saturday) I am taking a short vacation to the moon to visit some friends for tea.

By the time we all arrived to school, I had made a new friend (if anything out of his curiosity for how my travels to the moon went and if he could possibly join me next time). Once at school I passed on good luck to two of my students who were heading off to a neighboring town for a rayon-wide (district-wide) competition. On Thursday and Friday this week there was competitions (large tests) in all subjects. The best two students from each subject at my school headed off to the rayon competition where they were competing for a chance to go to the oblast (state) competition. Naturally, after the oblast competition there is a national competition held in Bishkek.

This is pretty big competition (called the Olympiad), so I made sure to wish both of my students luck and gave one of them my English-Kyrgyz dictionary for any help she made need. I would have liked to go with them, but I had four classes yesterday morning and did not want to miss them. After passing on my blessings I made my way to my classroom for a challenging Friday schedule with my 8th and 9th form (grade) classes. We recently have been working on Present Continuous Tense combined with Adverbs (“Tomorrow I am going to Bishkek”). With the exception of one of the 9th form classes (and two students from an 8th form), this concept was proving very difficult to cement in their brains.

One reason is that I still have students who do not understand the concept of Present Continuous Tense, even after nearly three weeks of lessons and exercises revolved around P.C.T. Most of the students that don’t understand P.C.T. are the ones that once they leave school see no reason in opening a book or many times have so much work to do at their home that they have no time. It is very tough to watch, but some of my brightest students already have their fates decided for them through the family. I am not saying that becoming a farmer or a sheep herder lacks honor and talent. But it is tough to watch a student not try in school because he or she knows that no matter what they do, their future is already decided for them.

This is another part of the culture hung in the balance between the traditional roles of a villager and the future possibilities of a college education. College is not for everyone, both in Kyrgyzstan and America; and not all people have the choice to go to college in both Kyrgyzstan and America. Even so, it is difficult to see natural wit within a child and to see them not care about it because they have no other choice but to learn the family trade.

Back to my classes; the day went fairly smoothly and was basically another review, done slightly differently with the hope the something sticks within the students’ minds. After classes I headed to the teachers lounge and had very lively discussion with the director of my school. She can really talk; she is a very intelligent woman, so talking with her is always fun. Plus, it is has become a game for me to sit down and try and tame the pace of her speech so that I can do more than just concentrate as hard as I can to understand everything she is saying. Slowly but surely, I am gaining the ability to respond to her before she moves onto another topic (which is tough if my mind is still processing what she said, and then trying to process a response).

After my discussion with her I ran into a fellow teacher who I have become fairly decent friends with. He invited me to Friday prayer at the local Mosque (Mecheit), which I glady accepted. I quickly ran home, grabbed some quick lunch, my computer (for teacher’s club later on in the afternoon), and journeyed off to the Mosque. The last time I went to the Mosque was a great experience, but I felt slightly out of place. My Kyrgyz was still fairly poor and my knowledge of Islam was minimal at best. Since then (about a month ago), I have greatly improved my Kyrgyz and done a good amount of reading about Islam. So this time I felt a little more prepared to participate in the events at the Mosque.

The prayer was incredibly relaxing and was a great way to be able to take a few breaths and just reflect. Namas (prayer, also known as Salat) has some very specific actions and prayers to be performed (both physically and mentally). I have done a fairly good job at learning the physical aspect to Namas, but I am still working on the Arabic prayers that are to be recited during the physical part of prayer. For now, I take part in the physical part of prayer and then use the moments of silence (while everyone in the Mosque does their own individual Namas) to have a few conversations with the world beyond. It is very relaxing to reflect and react to the thoughts the sputter through my head during Namas.

Following the prayer, I had a great deal of conversations with many of the men at the Mosque. They loved the fact that I was there, and many of them were men that I have become friends with throughout the village (the local animal doctor was one of them and I love this guy. His name is Asanbek Bikay—Bikay translates as ‘brother’ and is used, as well as Aje—sister—following every adult-aged persons’ name here). Many of the men were glad to finally meet the American in the village who was teaching English at their school. I even had the chance to meet some younger men (twenty-five years old). I have had a hard time finding people my age (men and women alike) to talk to in my village, so it was nice to be able to have some lengthy conversation with them. They were really interested in what I am doing here and also seemed excited to be able to have conversation with someone new who is their age.

After some great conversations I made my way back to school for my Friday computer club for teachers. The club has basically become a three person club (which is fine with me, it could be tough to teach more three people how to use at computer at once): my counterpart, the other English teacher at school, and the daughter of the vice-principal (Zavooch), who is a part-time college student. Yesterday was the first real assignment I gave them all: create your resume. I needed something that could give them practice with typing, different keys on the keyboard (Tab, Shift, etc.), and MS Word tools (Center alignment, Bold, Save). The resume offered a chance to use all of these; plus it also gave them a chance to create something that they might need or would like to have in the future.

The computer club went well, and they really seemed to enjoy being able to create something of their own; something that was theirs and unique to them. After the resume session, I then succumbed to their requests to show them more pictures on my computer. They love looking at pictures, and I have a ton; we move around from Kyrgyzstan pictures to pictures from Semester at Sea, to pictures from home. It really doesn’t matter which pictures I choose, they love watching them and always have a million questions about pictures (that are not from Kyrgyzstan).

By time I made it home it was around 6:00 PM and I was feeling slightly tired. But like is usually the case, I was greeted by Sezim at the doorway when I arrived home. She is like a shot of espresso when I am tired or stressed; Sezim has the magic ability to cure fatigue in all forms. So with a new kick of energy I sat down with her and my other siblings for some relaxing and goofing around. After a few minutes of sitting down a very popular cartoon named “Keremet” came on TV. I love this cartoon, honestly; this is a Kyrgyz cartoon for kids, but with my mental state and language level, I seem to fit in well with the kids when we all watch the show. The show is about a Kyrgyz boy and girl that travel across Kyrgyzstan teaching morality, safety, and life lessons to a very clumsy set of friends they have. It is such a fun show to watch and cleverly made. Sometimes I have to laugh out loud at how cute the show is; it is a fifteen minute entourage of cuteness and much needed lessons for children.

After the show, I sat down with my family for a nice dinner of steamed rice, carrots, and tiny bits of sheep meat. At the dinner table we had a lively discussion about what my parents ‘actually’ do. My host parents know that my father is a businessman and my mother is a secretary, but they wanted to know what those actually entailed. So I broke down that my dad is a salesman who travels a lot to talk to different clients (a Russian cognate, thank god) in the Chicagoland area. I then discussed how my mother works on the phone a lot with clients and helps her company by collecting information from clients around the country. Now keep in mind that all of this was done in Kyrgyz, which I still have many limits with. So as best I could, I explained minimally what my parents do; which is where the description from above comes into play.

Overall this was a very long day and I eventually made it into bed around 11:30 PM (after writing some emails and doing some reading). But no matter how long the days are, if they involve as much excitement as yesterday did, I will take the same every day I am here.

It just doesn’t stop. I love it.





I end with a quote from Huston Smith:

“Where we go wrong is in mistaking our presently assigned part for what we truly are...We live in a world which there is no chance or accident. Those are simply covers for ignorance.”

Thank you Mr. Smith.