Mistakes are the Guiding Lights in the Lost Galaxy where My Ship sails

I guess I was supposed to keep up with this blog throughout my time abroad, the end of my studies, and my early professional life (i.e. first job). Here I am, 2 years later, sleep-deprived for no justifiable reason, completely disorganized, creatively confused and geopolitically doubtful... and I have ceased to write in this blog.

I suppose writing out my thoughts just did not seem appropriate when my thoughts were in a jumble coated with worry and insecurities; but now I have untangled a little bit of it all and am grasping at some solid strings. And one of them is that my poetry is a big part of my life, however mediocre or bad it may be. It is in Russian, and thus a testament to my cultural heritage and my perception of myself and my emotional output. I think a good way to begin the path to a proper life is by putting some of myself out in the open. Knowing no one will probably read this certainly helps a shy soul!

But here they are, a couple of poems from last year (around college graduation time, to be precise):

***

Нам не всем суждено раскрыться

За назначеный юностью срок...

Ночь не терпит; она искрится,

Призывая всех нас забыться,

В сердце взращивая порок.

Тот, кто пишет, уже не узнает,

Как он прожил бы эти часы:

На пергаменте он гадает,

На салфетках он вычитает

Жизнь, выравнивая весы.

Мы пошутим, споём, станцуем

Пусть другие напишут о нас!

Мы не злимся, и зря не тоскуем;

На прощание юность целуем

Горячо, как в последний раз.

Нам не раз предстоит столкнуться,

И мы вряд ли прощаемся тут.

Но те ночи уже не вернутся,

И те чувства уже не очнутся,

Даже если их позовут.

April 2011

***

Здесь начерчена тропа

Чем-то белым, чьим-то мелом;

И исчерпана строка –

Не находчиво, но смело!

Здесь затихла в сердце боль:

Умерла, где и родилась!

Каждый шаг, как новый ноль,

И в нём прошлое топилось.

Спят здесь старые мечты

На перине ожиданий;

Падают на них цветы

После ветра повеваний.

И друзья пивных затей

Бродят призраками в тенях

Среди греческих идей

И химических творений.

Здесь всё в прошлом, даже мы –

Лишь страница альманаха.

Разлохмачены холмы,

Как зелёная альпака!

Там пройтись в последний раз

Просят сбившиеся ноги...

Ради утешенья глаз

И протоптаны дороги.

Всем по ним в какой-то путь:

Плакать, радоваться, верить,

Жаждать, думать, видеть суть,

Жить, и жизнь свою не мерять!

April 2011

The intellectuals are drinking their coffee at home... Part II

Hey,

been gone again!

After plane and bus hopping for 6 days, I was back in the comfort of my dorm room at Colby College on Tuesday night, utterly exhausted.

But the trip - mostly done inside an airplane - across Europe has prompted some thoughts.

1. Europe is a very diverse continent; it is internally diverse, form a historical perspective, as it includes a plethora of ethno-linguistic groups, and has been the cradle of many religious movements. Europe is also extremely diverse as a result of immigration during the post-World War II era, which continues today, despite efforts to curb it. This diversity is beautiful, and I have a difficult time accepting statements as to the more homogenous nature of European societies: this is no longer applicable. Having said that, the image European media projects is a lot less diverse than the societies it ought to reflect. For example, take an airline like Lufthansa: in their advertisements, it is rare to see a non-aryan looking face, although their staff and your average German citizen walking down the street in Frankfurt or Berlin is far more likely to be of mixed or Turkish, or African (and so on) descent than Lufthansa's promotional campaign would have you guess. So why not put the different faces of Germany, France (doing better on this point), Italy, Austria, the Netherlands, and others on the front pages of magazines and bring the public's attention to the success stories - and the typical struggles - of the immigrants living there? I hardly think such a project would create a backlash, as it doesn't change policy, only attitudes. Then, in turn, 'integration' policies would be easier to create, accept, and enact.
2. French unions need to stop protesting. The inevitability of this set of reforms, in one packaging or another, has to be evident to French citizens. Just across the channel, the British government is introducing a budget that, for better or worse, is quite revolutionary for its epoch, from a fiscal austerity point of view - it is seeking to reduce Britain's debt and in order to do so, is slicing chunks off budgets of various ministries and social services, under the umbrella of reducing overall government spending. There will also be a sooner introduction of the new retirement age, 66 for both men and women, as well as some pension reform. There is a risk of stifling Britain's recovery, but in my personal opinion, I think the UK had always managed to use little to achieve a lot, so I'm holding my fingers crossed for their calculated gamble. So this leaves France, with its retirement age still at 60 and generous pensions, seeming like a spoiled, crying child throwing its final tantrum. Yes, it is easy to understand why the French are so protective of their social welfare benefits and their readiness to spill out into the street is admirable, but there comes a point when reflection has to happen. Is it fair for the British, the Germans, and even the Italians and the Spanish to tighten their belts and to work longer (years) in order to give the French citizens the privilege of holding on to an older system of social benefits no longer viable in the world they live in? Not to mention, the French reforms are timid in comparison to reforms taken on by Spain and Greece (and again, Britain) - but then again, let's reflect on what brought the first tow countries to such a desperate situation? I doubt the French people would like to be seen in the same position in a decade's time.
3. The wave of nationalism sweeping through Europe is alarming (to go back to the diversity point made above), and it is not even so much nationalism as it is Islamophobia. There is no reason to be afraid of Islam, of Muslims and especially of terrorism on the home turf. Security services and intelligence agencies will, in sha'allah, do their job, and citizens' vigilance will not be the sole source of protection for Western societies. But the irrational association of Muslim to dangerous or hostile or foreign should end, really, because the new diverse Europe is as much Muslim as it is Christian and atheist, and it is better for that; this will become evident when European governments will stop their obsession with integration, but instead become open to intra-state cultural exchange, fostering an awareness and an understanding of 'foreigners' problems' and by extension of issues facing foreign governments of immigrants' countries of origin - all this will equip the EU citizens to better deal with the challenges of the 21st century.

Espousing the ideals of the Fifth Republic and the pillars of French society, or vice versa, floating above the gritty realities of daily life of the 'les gens désabusés des banlieux', French intellectuals of the old mould may just have to confine themselves to drinking their coffee at home.

The intellectuals are drinking their coffee at home... Part I

Hey,

been gone a while.

But having read some recent Economist articles, I would like to ponder the fate of Old Europe. What came to my attention when I was studying in France was the utter inefficiency of the French workforce and their economic system on a larger scale. This was particularly apparent after a 3-day trip across the border to Germany, where stores were open on Sunday, and lunch was always easy to find, even at 3 pm.

Upon our return, we continuously berated the French system, pointing out the need to change, only to hear out French peers expound on the importance of family time together, sitting down for meals, counting on job security, free health care, free education, affordability of 'healthy' food, etc. On the last point, which involves state subsidies to French farmers of all sorts, I can only say that while French food and drink look amazing and taste no worse, Germans across the border, who buy 45 % of their groceries in generic packaging at discount supermarkets like Lidl, look healthier than many a French(wo)man.

Unions

The pervasiveness and unreasonable power of unions in France is devastating to the country; we are now past the age of worker exploitation during the Industrialization era, when work days could range from 12 to 18 hours, health insurance was not a term in use, and the abolition of child labor was just becoming a hot topic of debate. There is now equal pay for equal work, albeit some women and certain minorities continue to face discrimination in the workplace - but as long as there is discrimination (and no utopia in sight), it will manifest itself wherever humans act out their lives. In France, unions of workers who I did not know had the need to unionize (farmers or teachers is one thing, air traffic controllers is another) wreak havoc on a daily basis by disrupting traffic, altering academic calendars by strikes, to name a few. In the US, the few unions that remain - and it is not so few, according to statistics - are largely powerless and ineffective, poster-perfect examples of bureaucracies that perpetuate themselves and do so frequently at the expense of unwilling average union members.

Let's think what abolishing unions would do to society? Young employees would undoubtedly gain the edge, as they would be more competitive in both their skill set (technologically savvy, more globalized) and more willing to put in extra effort and extra hours to impress their leadership and to advance themselves in the company or career. Older (trusted, merited) employees would suffer, and that is when everyone talks about job security. Not to mention that so many jobs can nowadays be taken away from the American citizen (or a western European citizen) by immigrants, either from a distant country like India or China or Turkey, or just from across the border (Mexico, Romania, Serbia). Would getting rid of unions mean that the foreigners and not the country's young would get jobs previously securely held by citizens, as private companies greedily seek to slash production costs by employing cheaper labor - or worse, outsourcing?

These are difficult questions to answer, but ultimately the EU's public will have to throw some confidence behind the idea of corporate social responsibility. Regulating companies creates an less friendly business and investment climate. However, having well-known public expectations of companies' contributions to the betterment of local communities (including those within the EU) has been proven to give results.

Personally, I believe that if it is economically reasonable fro me to be fired, or laid off, or conversely be hired to replace a less efficient, more expensive employee, then I have no problem with that. Ultimately, if you are involved in an industry that is inefficient, then you cannot depend on job security to keep you afloat until you are set to retire at the ripe age of 60 (though, admittedly, that would be nice). One must be ready to go down with the sinking ship - or jump overboard, try to find a new career path in the current job market, which is unbelievable open to people with the most varied skill sets and past experiences. Harder to do at 55 than at 25, but if we enjoy the fast pace of change that lets us watch streaming soccer from half-way across the world on our laptop while we are at work, there is no excuse for not taking the bad along with the good. The reality is, to be a competitive employee today, one must be very versatile and familiar with many things technological, social, professional, global - the adjectives can keep on rolling! It is those workers the workplace should seek out and cater to, if companies, which in the EU as anywhere else, make up portions of countries' GDPs are not to linger in danger of going under and remain in need of government bail-outs. I agree with populists on one thing: the bail out money would be more needed in hospitals and schools - next time, if the lessons of these 3 years go right over Europeans' heads. I do think that the rising generation - my generation - is fully aware of what needs to be done, and they are ready to hold on as the reforms turn Old Europe upside down. Only their readiness may go unwanted, because according to the EU age pyramid - a scary thing! - the majority of EU voters in the next decade will be in their 50's or older; too old to be re-trained if they become victims of modernizing reforms and to attached to the old socio-economic order to see it thrown away in favor of competitive capitalism as the EU wheezes in the race to new global markets.

Cultural Adjustment

Stages...

...Yes, they exist. Stages of in-country adjustment vary from place to place, I’d imagine; but they definitely exist. The first stage is the honeymoon period, when all new things are fascinating and even getting a cab on your own is a joy and an achievement, even though you are being mercilessly ripped off and hardly know where you’re going. Or, to use an analogy I can follow through to the end stages: going into a French cafe, where you know that real French people sit and sip their coffee while discussing politics is unreasonably exciting, and you may even make special plans to live out this experience in a carefully (or randomly) selected cafe, at which point you would order an espresso and enjoy the porcelain cup and plate with two sugar cubes and coffee spoon on the side, served to you by a lanky French waiter who speaks no English. You will be eager to tip - and if you do not know that tipping is not practiced (and the tax is included in the price of the order), you will leave an extra euro on the table - and decide that you simply must come back to this place again. In the worst of cases, due to extraneous unpleasant experiences, you may choose another coffee time mecca to frequent over lunch or on a late afternoon.

This stage slowly and subtly morphs into the adjustment period, called such (by me) due to the apparent need for major adjustments in your lifestyle, attitudes, and even thought processes. This period is hard, and most consider this to be the beginning of culture shock; personally, it is always a welcome time for me, because (speaking from 3 experiences) it is still an enthusiastic moment when I realize that I have learning to do, and I am finally aware of the extent of my novice ways in a foreign society. Almost everything is going wrong or could be going better, but it is still possible to laugh about it, and doing so will buy you valuable time.

During this period, the cafe visits will gradually lose their luster. You will begin to notice that the people in the cafe are not discussing, but arguing about politics, and in addition to being very loud speakers, they are harshly critical of all things; you may begin to fear being criticized by them in their flying spit conversations. To further the point for the female observer, the garcon (waiter) is really not attractive (not compared to the barman in the ‘boite’ (night club) you and your friends/co-workers checked out a few nights ago as a result of boredom) and the owner is not the quaint French monsieur with small town charm, but a shrewd businessman. The coffee itself is actually pricy. By now, you know better than to tip, or even want to tip, because you’ve realized that your money, of which there is a limited amount, is wanted elsewhere. In fact, you begin to wonder why you are paying 1.5 euro for a cup of coffee the size of your thumb, when you could be having an ‘Americano’ that would last all of the half hour you intend to spend in the cafe chatting about the news and where to buy the cheapest groceries.

On the flip side, you don’t really mind the absence of American coffee, because (beware, this is total rationalizing to prevent reality from seeping through the cracks):

1) the idea of sitting down for a coffee with friends is cool - it’s a break from the rut and the fast pace of the day

2) you think you’re drinking less coffee

1. you still hope to meet new people, and this is just the way to do it
2. the owner of the establishment is starting to recognize you and be friendly
3. you have finally established a place that is markedly ‘yours’, and it is a consistent preferred meeting ground for your little group of expats, which may or may not include some nationals

Finally - though this is really only the beginning - things hit rock bottom. But not really...it will still get worse before it gets better. To my knowledge, most of my acquaintances and friends think that they are at the pinnacle (or more accurately, bottom) of the culture shock curve, only to hit the same point two weeks down the road. It’s an ugly time, when nothing seems right, nothing is right, and there really appears to be no end to the madness. When you habitually note to yourself that this ridiculously overpriced 1.5 euro French espresso cup is the size of a thumb (with even less coffee in it), you are dangerously close to sticking your thumb into the coffee cup to prove it is really that small. And when finished (which takes all of two sips), you have an urge to smash the cup against the floor, because, after all, it is porcelain.

Two weeks later, you may also start dumping the two sugar cubes into the coffee, only to prove to yourself that this country is full of absurdities, and then bitterly regretting your rash action as the sweetness will irritate your throat and mouth long afterwards. But you will keep doing it. You may also start ignoring the owner of the establishment, and even go there as little as possible, because your consistency is only making him a profit and causing you angst. And why is there no Starbucks in this town, like in all of the civilized world? Coffee to go has never been as necessary as it is now. Simultaneously, your irrational craving for something gastronomically awful will haunt you on a 24-hour basis. Basically, you will lurk behind the corner by some place reminiscent of a neighborhood McDonald’s, feeling stupid should you even dare to touch the door, but desperately needing a taste - or a feel - of the worst your home culture has to offer. Yes, you start to appreciate the bad; this is an ultimate symptom of culture shock. Reportedly, at this point people turn to alcohol and seek sex with random partners (the likelihood of which increases if you go out and drink), neither of which helps.

One one of those days you will, hopefully, snap. It may involve tears, or it may involve a particularly anticlimactic sexual encounter with a random partner that prods you towards in-depth reflection and self-assessment. Yet at some point, you will stop in at the cafe, letting the stress drip off your shoulders like the rainwater of a stormy afternoon, call or text your expatriate friend and ask him/her to join you for a glass of wine/juice or a cup of coffee. When the waiter comes to take your order and asks you how you’re doing, you will not perkily tell him you’re great, but sigh and say that you’re getting by, little by little, to which he will respond: just like everyone else! And when your friend finally shows up, and you think you’re about to set off on a rant about your misery, he/she will beat you to it, and you will spend the entire afternoon knowledgeably consoling your comrade abroad.

Thankfully, it only gets better from here. You have, at this point, become the regulars of the cafe/restaurant/bar that you initially chose as your watering hole. You joke about it, and you joke with the waiter(s) and the owner. Moreover, you know everyone’s names, including those of other regulars. If the last bit applies to you, and you are in a bar, you should maybe reconsider going there every night. But all in all, money is no longer the problem, though you have a diminishing supply, because you have figured out how to order the good stuff (food and drinks) without paying too much; probably, your local friends had some good advice to share on this account. The owner of the place has also started doing unheard-of things, like putting down a bottle on your table instead of charging you all for individual drinks, or he has begun to serve your clique of (mostly) foreign regulars complimentary cups of espresso on the occasional long evening.

You don’t want to leave. But it’s time to go home. And when you’ve gone, you’ll understand that you were not the only one going through adjustments, and to an even greater extent, you were not alone in the process - these are two different things. The friends you made in this place are as much changed by knowing you as you were by knowing them. The owner and the staff of whatever place you had frequented were observing you, and may even remember you for a long time thereafter, as the foreigner(s) who stuck. They admire you now, and they’ll miss you too, even though no letters, e-mails, or phone calls will be exchanged between you. But on your last night, a round of drinks was on the house, or the shawarma sandwiches or steak with fries were especially well-made, and you got a free treat (of a varying nature) from your local friends that caused a melting sensation in your chest. You don’t even know how “home” could measure up to the high standards set by this new yet familiar culture, community, and lifestyle. What you missed seems not so vital anymore, and return can be delayed by another couple of months. But really, it’s time to go home. And though leaving is never opportune enough, it should happen when intended, otherwise you’re just putting off a whole new wave of (reverse) culture shock and re-adjustment and possibly souring your near-perfect memory of this adventure abroad.

Going Native, Part I

Hello!

Today, finally some time to blog, because school has been cancelled. It’s a rain day! I never thought I’d live to hear these words, especially given the circumstances: it rained for no more than half an hour (albeit with some sizable hail) and now the sky is turning blue again and the weather seems beautiful. It is almost a pity we have to miss out on school and do the catching up later on when it is so nice out.

The students have just returned from a trip to Salala, and we are all thoroughly exhausted, some of us even sun-burnt. The heat is starting to manifest itself, and I personally am enjoying daily nosebleeds as a result of high BP and heat. To be fair, nobody is complaining yet, though it is tangibly warmer outside, and during group hikes, the girls are having a hard time, always dripping in sweat. The hijab and the abaya are almost a must in most situations and even on excursions, especially anywhere in the south and the interior, or off the beaten tourist track. It is tiring and unpleasant to walk in them due to their impermeability: they let in no air and let out no moisture or heat. Additionally, abayas are too long and always black, so you can imagine the heat that girls have to put up with when out in the open. The hijabs are never light enough, no matter how thin the fabric is and how much it ‘breathes’.

Yet there are advantages: because the hijab covers the neck and hair, the head is never warmed by the sun’s rays, and the headscarf absorbs the sweat on the neck. In short, there is little to worry about, in terms of over-heating or dehydration due to loss of moisture. Although drinking lots of water is still highly recommended. And the abaya lets you relax and just be you (whenever you’re not tripping on it). You can sit in it in a myriad of ways, and do just about anything, short of swimming. The garment is not see-through and you can wear almost anything (or nothing) underneath. But believe me, you would want to have short sleeves and long pants (or loose maxis) under the abaya. When you walk up/down stairs and have to lift it up, it is just rude to flash everyone with your bare ankles and calves. Additionally, having sleeves helps absorb sweat in the underarms, which, if it comes in contact with the abaya, will stain it and feel genuinely disgusting. That having been said, I still envy the [appropriately dressed] Western tourists, from time to time. Their cool cotton blouses and shorts make me reflect on why I am baking in destruction-proof, solid black abaya fabric with a massive headscarf around my head and shoulders. And then I remember: immersion. Knowing how they feel, how they think, what it is they care about, and what makes them tick. And when I say ‘they’, I am not designating ‘the Other’, but simply generalizing about a large population that is too diverse to blog about its differences. But maybe I will some day, after another month or so of walking in their clothes.