I creep around the house trying not to be noticed. A creak here, a creak there and I think the vibrations begin earthquakes. I slink up the stairs from my dark, dank cellar. One, two flights then safety amongst the masticated dolls and toys who have fallen victim to the monster...
And there is a monster that lives here. No one will believe me, I doubt even you, faithful reader, but she does. She's small, yes. Beautiful, of course. Deadly, undoubtedly! She'll mame you for putting her shoe out of place, put you in iron grips for not agreeing to her capricious whims, and kill you with her mommy death-blows for making her the littlest bit angry. She is one to be watched and I am her watcher!
During the day, while mommy is away, she is demanding but fair. She rules her lair with that of the Queen of Hearts, taking those whom she trusts into her care and attacking those whom she deems traitors of the day. The hard part? She changes her mind like a deranged ferret, hopping back and forth between "feelings" and "impulses" like a mad woman. Those who try to please her fall into teddy bear prison, a not so bad place made up of derelict teddies who've found their crimes paid for and are a sign for you to keep your place with kisses and chocolate. Then there are those who fall into disaster mayhem where spitting and pinching are not uncommon and screaming and yelling are frequent on the eardrums. They're jobs are made tougher and longer, and after they're finished, and who knows when that will be, they are sent to the dungeon to pay for their impudence.
And that, that stuffy, hot cavern of a cell is where I live. I, Gollum, have taken board in the place where no other wishes to be. I've found a home in the dark, in the night. Because I, I alone, stand up to the monster! I am a new Gollum! I fight for my esteem, though I have none. I fight for respect, though the term is archaic. I fight...I fight...
But then I don't. Then I stumble down after fighting all day. Down, down to my dank coffin of a room and stealthily pull, very tenderly grab My Precious... She's one of a kind, white as new snow or my father's aging hair. She's crisp, too, delicate. One fall and she'd break into bits, leaving me more alone than ever before. She tells me stories, you see, of a world not here. She explains events that end with good over evil, and righteousness over malice. She knows me, understands me. She's named "Kindle" because she lights a fire in the darkness, but to me she is only "My Precious", and My Precious is the secret of my dwelling. Without her, I'd have rotted a long, long time ago. She's my savior and I am her faithful, loving Gollum. Together, My Precious and I, we shall fight the terrible, impenetrable monster! The end is coming!
Thursday, July 28, 2011
Monday, July 11, 2011
Not a nanny
It's only taken me six weeks, but I've finally realized that I'm not cut-out to be a nanny. Through conversations with both Brendan and my parents (though sadly rare while working here) I was reminded time and again that there's more to life than this, and that I don't have to be here if I'm miserable- FREEDOM and HAPPINESS are always options.
What's funny is that since I can remember, it has always been my prerogative to tell others that they have escape, that if they're unhappy to change it and follow something that makes them happier and more fulfilled. And now, when the shoe is on the other foot, that it takes me a long time to listen and activate the changes needed.
And yet, I did finally listen and am now activating the following:
1) Quit job as live-in nanny (has one month notice - so end date is Aug. 11/12)
2) Move out of "home" and into REAL home with Brendan
3) Find other work that allows me to be there and have some down time.
4) Study away for the GRE, apply to grad schools and get recommendations before November.
5) In the meantime, and there should be a lot more than I have now, talk with my friends and family, play music and write new songs on my guitar, draw, run, dance, travel, eat and eat and eat and read!
What's most obvious about my ineptitude for this position is that I've known freedom since I can remember, I grew up free and believing everyone is equal. No matter the changes that have come so far, that is one characteristic that is unbreakable. In this position, it has been a challenge everyday to assert my equality and to find some chance for self-expression. Not only does the girl not listen to anything I say, she also treats me like a dog, expecting me to come whenever she wants me (not needs, but wants) and to do whatever she asks. Something I have tried to break her of but have only met worse rage and anger. I'm so exhausted from the day before that I don't have any energy to continue my protest. I end up doing the things just because I'm tired of fighting.
Perhaps that's how despotism works? It's just easier to roll over and be bossed around than it is to fight everyday for what's good. I'm still going to fight (when I can and have the energy), but I now know that my battle is not in this household, not with this child and not as a nanny. It's definitely a lot bigger and more important, and it's definitely worth the fight, and that is my life, my family, my friends. (I know that's a lot of possessive usage, but it now means a lot to say that somethings don't belong to the six year-old and that somethings are MINE and all MINE!
What's funny is that since I can remember, it has always been my prerogative to tell others that they have escape, that if they're unhappy to change it and follow something that makes them happier and more fulfilled. And now, when the shoe is on the other foot, that it takes me a long time to listen and activate the changes needed.
And yet, I did finally listen and am now activating the following:
1) Quit job as live-in nanny (has one month notice - so end date is Aug. 11/12)
2) Move out of "home" and into REAL home with Brendan
3) Find other work that allows me to be there and have some down time.
4) Study away for the GRE, apply to grad schools and get recommendations before November.
5) In the meantime, and there should be a lot more than I have now, talk with my friends and family, play music and write new songs on my guitar, draw, run, dance, travel, eat and eat and eat and read!
What's most obvious about my ineptitude for this position is that I've known freedom since I can remember, I grew up free and believing everyone is equal. No matter the changes that have come so far, that is one characteristic that is unbreakable. In this position, it has been a challenge everyday to assert my equality and to find some chance for self-expression. Not only does the girl not listen to anything I say, she also treats me like a dog, expecting me to come whenever she wants me (not needs, but wants) and to do whatever she asks. Something I have tried to break her of but have only met worse rage and anger. I'm so exhausted from the day before that I don't have any energy to continue my protest. I end up doing the things just because I'm tired of fighting.
Perhaps that's how despotism works? It's just easier to roll over and be bossed around than it is to fight everyday for what's good. I'm still going to fight (when I can and have the energy), but I now know that my battle is not in this household, not with this child and not as a nanny. It's definitely a lot bigger and more important, and it's definitely worth the fight, and that is my life, my family, my friends. (I know that's a lot of possessive usage, but it now means a lot to say that somethings don't belong to the six year-old and that somethings are MINE and all MINE!
Monday, June 27, 2011
If you give a 6 year old...
So do you know that book? The one that's titled, "If you give a mouse a cookie"? If you do, then you know my current life inside and out. If you don't, well then I'll tell you - it's kind of like this: (if you replace the mouse with a 6 year old girl)
If you give a 6 year old a choice, she's going to choose the one you didn't want her to choose.
So say it's between having her breakfast in bed or downstairs. She'll choose in bed, every time.
If she eats it in bed, she'll want to watch a video while she eats. She'll pick one and then change her mind as soon as you've put it in. It's best to tell her she must watch whatever one she chooses, so she best choose carefully the first time!
If you put in a video, she'll want to watch the whole thing AND draw while she watches. So you must get out blank white paper and markers so she can color away.
If she's like most 6 year olds, her attention span will not be long. So about half way through the film, she'll decide she wants to play house AND keep watching the film. So you play house, and you're ALWAYS the mom or the dog.
When the movie finishes, she'll probably want to keep playing. But this time, she wants her dolls to have houses and beds. She'll ask YOU to make them for her. And because it's fun, you'll make a house with red walls, a pink roof and a green door. It will have yellow trimming and grass growing around it. She'll want the beds to match, so you make one of every color.
Now it's lunch time, and she'll want something you've never made before. So you must go down to the kitchen, and not be long, and make whatever it is that she wanted. You end up asking the cook to help.
Again, while she eats, she'll want to watch ANOTHER video. You put ANOTHER video in and watch the WHOLE thing. Again, she'll get anxious and want to draw again, but this time - on your hands. By the end of the movie, you have flower doodles all over you paws and paper chips in your hair. She's still running around you while you try and scrub them all off - which they never do!
Finally, after you chase her around the room, she gets a bath. But in the bath she'll want you to read to her. So you'll read her almost three books before her 30 minutes are up, and then take on the task of drying her two and a half feet long golden locks.
While you're drying her head she'll want to sing and maybe cut up some shimmery pompoms so she can use them as confetti in her next game which is shower time! You lay on the bed and she showers you in little shimmery pieces of chopped up bows. It takes you another half hour just to clean them all up.
Lsatly, you send her off to supper which is hopefully followed by TV time with her mom and dad, which is then hopefully followed by bedtime and two books.
You'll go to bed after her, flop on your pillows and close your eyes for a minute only to find the next day has come, and you get to do it ALL over again. THE END.
Typing this, and knowing that I was once a six year old like this, too, makes me want to write a special thank you to my own mom and dad: THANK YOU FOR NOT SELLING ME SO YOU COULD HAVE FREE TIME! IT TRULY IS GREATLY APPRECIATED!
I on the other hand, may sell this girl back to her family. There's only so much tinsel in your face, ears and arm pits that one can take!
If you give a 6 year old a choice, she's going to choose the one you didn't want her to choose.
So say it's between having her breakfast in bed or downstairs. She'll choose in bed, every time.
If she eats it in bed, she'll want to watch a video while she eats. She'll pick one and then change her mind as soon as you've put it in. It's best to tell her she must watch whatever one she chooses, so she best choose carefully the first time!
If you put in a video, she'll want to watch the whole thing AND draw while she watches. So you must get out blank white paper and markers so she can color away.
If she's like most 6 year olds, her attention span will not be long. So about half way through the film, she'll decide she wants to play house AND keep watching the film. So you play house, and you're ALWAYS the mom or the dog.
When the movie finishes, she'll probably want to keep playing. But this time, she wants her dolls to have houses and beds. She'll ask YOU to make them for her. And because it's fun, you'll make a house with red walls, a pink roof and a green door. It will have yellow trimming and grass growing around it. She'll want the beds to match, so you make one of every color.
Now it's lunch time, and she'll want something you've never made before. So you must go down to the kitchen, and not be long, and make whatever it is that she wanted. You end up asking the cook to help.
Again, while she eats, she'll want to watch ANOTHER video. You put ANOTHER video in and watch the WHOLE thing. Again, she'll get anxious and want to draw again, but this time - on your hands. By the end of the movie, you have flower doodles all over you paws and paper chips in your hair. She's still running around you while you try and scrub them all off - which they never do!
Finally, after you chase her around the room, she gets a bath. But in the bath she'll want you to read to her. So you'll read her almost three books before her 30 minutes are up, and then take on the task of drying her two and a half feet long golden locks.
While you're drying her head she'll want to sing and maybe cut up some shimmery pompoms so she can use them as confetti in her next game which is shower time! You lay on the bed and she showers you in little shimmery pieces of chopped up bows. It takes you another half hour just to clean them all up.
Lsatly, you send her off to supper which is hopefully followed by TV time with her mom and dad, which is then hopefully followed by bedtime and two books.
You'll go to bed after her, flop on your pillows and close your eyes for a minute only to find the next day has come, and you get to do it ALL over again. THE END.
Typing this, and knowing that I was once a six year old like this, too, makes me want to write a special thank you to my own mom and dad: THANK YOU FOR NOT SELLING ME SO YOU COULD HAVE FREE TIME! IT TRULY IS GREATLY APPRECIATED!
I on the other hand, may sell this girl back to her family. There's only so much tinsel in your face, ears and arm pits that one can take!
Monday, June 13, 2011
Bars of Gold
Hi, my name is Jenna. I live in a place made of reenforced steel and specialty woods from Europe. There is a food store that never runs out and a clean water tap that never runs dry.
A piano sits adjunct to a panorama of the Bosphorus. I can play it whenever if there is no one sleeping in the house.
Outside there is a pool which is cleaned weekly by someone else. There is also a garden where fresh strawberries grow and beat like petit hearts. I can stroll by them day or night, pick them if I wish to fill my belly or make a pie for all to enjoy.
Contiguous to the house is a winter garden where I can read my books, study my Turkish and play with the baby of the house if I'd like a break from thinking. My favorite place is there as it overlooks the Bosphorus as well, and Rumeli Castle and the second of the two bridges that connect Asia and Europe. A walnut tree is there, too. I'm grateful for it as its leaves shade me while I read and study. Without it, I'd be open and vulnerable to the sun because the winter garden is made of glass. Sometimes the light finds its way through the branches to my face and blinds me. Other times it warms my back and legs, giving me energy to continue my reading. I love the winter garden.
Then there is a girl who lives here, too. She is young, only six. She has golden hair down to her tush and a presence which demands attention. Her room is from a JC Penny catalogue with pink and purple and white and princesses decorating every inch of the space. Toys are stuffed into every niche and sometimes, so am I. She acts and plays like a princess, and if I were her, I would also be confused whether I was one or not. She asks and receives at a speed near the transfer rate of a fiber optic cable. There is no such thing as "no". And I am but another toy in her house of glass and gold.
Gold because though all is perfection and bounty and beauty, there is a price in gold bars. They define the space as Eden and all else as not. Outside them is a reminder of the city I came to see. Loud cars, cramped buses, ferries coming and going like bees at their hive. Just over the hill is a space where women dress in long trench coats with long skirts and head scarves. They are always walking, I never see them sit. The men are the opposite. They sit but not walk. They drink a lot of tea and smoke a lot of cigarettes. I shouldn't, but I like the style of the men more. They at least know how to relax. I don't think the women are allowed.
Across the Bosphorus there is another scene which plays to my imagination more so than my reality these days. That is of a monkey-Brendan at home in a world of stress and loneliness. I worry that he may be going mad without me to make him take a break and play. I worry that I may be going mad worrying.
Thus, my job is in its inchoate stage. It's fresh and new and beautiful. I am lucky. I have bars of gold that keep me safe and pay me well. Not many can say such things. Yet, I miss a bit the world of chaos and insecurity. It was fun because it was uncertain, and I thrive in the uncertain. I'm ironically unhappy that I'm not certain as to how I'll thrive here, behind bars of gold.
A piano sits adjunct to a panorama of the Bosphorus. I can play it whenever if there is no one sleeping in the house.
Outside there is a pool which is cleaned weekly by someone else. There is also a garden where fresh strawberries grow and beat like petit hearts. I can stroll by them day or night, pick them if I wish to fill my belly or make a pie for all to enjoy.
Contiguous to the house is a winter garden where I can read my books, study my Turkish and play with the baby of the house if I'd like a break from thinking. My favorite place is there as it overlooks the Bosphorus as well, and Rumeli Castle and the second of the two bridges that connect Asia and Europe. A walnut tree is there, too. I'm grateful for it as its leaves shade me while I read and study. Without it, I'd be open and vulnerable to the sun because the winter garden is made of glass. Sometimes the light finds its way through the branches to my face and blinds me. Other times it warms my back and legs, giving me energy to continue my reading. I love the winter garden.
Then there is a girl who lives here, too. She is young, only six. She has golden hair down to her tush and a presence which demands attention. Her room is from a JC Penny catalogue with pink and purple and white and princesses decorating every inch of the space. Toys are stuffed into every niche and sometimes, so am I. She acts and plays like a princess, and if I were her, I would also be confused whether I was one or not. She asks and receives at a speed near the transfer rate of a fiber optic cable. There is no such thing as "no". And I am but another toy in her house of glass and gold.
Gold because though all is perfection and bounty and beauty, there is a price in gold bars. They define the space as Eden and all else as not. Outside them is a reminder of the city I came to see. Loud cars, cramped buses, ferries coming and going like bees at their hive. Just over the hill is a space where women dress in long trench coats with long skirts and head scarves. They are always walking, I never see them sit. The men are the opposite. They sit but not walk. They drink a lot of tea and smoke a lot of cigarettes. I shouldn't, but I like the style of the men more. They at least know how to relax. I don't think the women are allowed.
Across the Bosphorus there is another scene which plays to my imagination more so than my reality these days. That is of a monkey-Brendan at home in a world of stress and loneliness. I worry that he may be going mad without me to make him take a break and play. I worry that I may be going mad worrying.
Thus, my job is in its inchoate stage. It's fresh and new and beautiful. I am lucky. I have bars of gold that keep me safe and pay me well. Not many can say such things. Yet, I miss a bit the world of chaos and insecurity. It was fun because it was uncertain, and I thrive in the uncertain. I'm ironically unhappy that I'm not certain as to how I'll thrive here, behind bars of gold.
Tuesday, May 24, 2011
Pictures of the tortuous
Now, imagine you're an ant in a new world of weeds as tall as sycamores.
A glance up as i walk the tepe (hill) to Tarlebashe (the main, dodgy road).
The view from my abode. As you can see, the city resembles the character of an Energizer battery.
Can you tell? This is the same street as number 1. It's down the hill though. Follow it and you have many doors to chose from. The prizes may vary.
This is the magical Istikal street - The one with the lights and whistles I mention we find as our savior from the darkness of Tarlebashe. This a normal amount of people for Istikal.
Lastly, this should look familiar? It's the same street as 1 and 3, and the same direction as 1. Looking at the buildings with two different views is actually how I take in new surroundings. First, it is the up and then I look to the down. Where am I going? I ask myself. Then I look up again and remind myself that I don't care.
A glance up as i walk the tepe (hill) to Tarlebashe (the main, dodgy road).
The view from my abode. As you can see, the city resembles the character of an Energizer battery.
Can you tell? This is the same street as number 1. It's down the hill though. Follow it and you have many doors to chose from. The prizes may vary.
This is the magical Istikal street - The one with the lights and whistles I mention we find as our savior from the darkness of Tarlebashe. This a normal amount of people for Istikal.
Lastly, this should look familiar? It's the same street as 1 and 3, and the same direction as 1. Looking at the buildings with two different views is actually how I take in new surroundings. First, it is the up and then I look to the down. Where am I going? I ask myself. Then I look up again and remind myself that I don't care.
Tortuous
The best word to describe the streets of Istanbul is "tortuous". They are winding, twisting, maze-like squiggles that somehow get deemed names even if they're only a block long. Buildings make their homes on any square of open space and continue up because the outer perimeters are made up of other buildings and roads that are also trying to find sunlight. Their weed-like appearance palpably produces a belittled feeling, in which I play a determined ant and the world is my obstacle. Up and down, around and through fallen trees. I seem to climb and climb but find myself back where I started, or maybe a hill up from there. I stop and rest only to gobble up my little ant bites of grub, extract what energy I can from them, and then continue on my arduous adventure around the weeds of Istanbul.
Now that you see me as an ant, you can imagine me being dropped among the weeds on my first day with a load of all that I plan to own for the next year. In reality my luggage weighs about 100 (+) pounds, but in the ant world, I'm certain it would match the load of a dead fly. A little big, a lot awkward, and very important only to me, really. Though, I do catch the other bugs eyeing up my load every so often, and it makes my little ant legs start to tread with the fervor of the great hummingbird's wings. I don't like the thought of losing my dead fly to a slug gang, or a cross-dressing cricket. It would be very unfair as I've worked very hard to earn the dead fly.
The beetle I rode in on from the airport got confused, as beetles often do. He got turned around when he flipped on his back and read the map. Very unfortunate for me and my fellow ant friend. We didn't know that beetles had this tendency. So, we got out where the beetle told us to get out, near a large open space known as Taksim Square. I believe it's a common location for insect rallies against the government of weeds. This would have been helpful had we known what it was, but as we were new ants on a new hill, we could only really look at one grain of sand at a time. Trying to piece all of those sand grains at once would have been like piecing the moon together by looking at all of its craters. Simply impossible.
My first impression from the sand grains and weeds I explored was that they all looked too alike to tell the difference. I could make out the main bug paths from the flattened reeds or lack thereof, but couldn't juxtapose myself next to any one thing that was on the map I had. We could make out one street and that was Tarlebashe, or what I now know as the street of doom for weak ants at night. The sun was setting and we began to meander down the street, using our antennae for information on our progress.
We bumped into logs and trees and many, many weeds. We wandered around them in circles to no avail. Finally, I told my ant friend to sit with our load of dead flies and wait near a Tarlebashe dragonfly bus stop while I wandered the streets. I figured it would be much quicker and more efficient for me, the less tired and better navigating ant to go off alone than the other, more sporadic and worrisome ant.
I walked in more circles and up and down more hills than I could remember. We had already wandered with our loads for an hour, so I was very tuckered and very much hoping to see something that resembled an ant nest. A few more twists and wicked turns and WHOOSH! Like the wind of a swooping swallow I was overcome with the gusts of Istikal, the shopping area for hip ants looking for a good time with the crickets and grasshoppers.
Wait, now. Though this may sound like a good thing (it was but...), but it wasn't on the map I had. I couldn't see it anywhere. Still, I trekked back to my fellow ant and let my antennae go wild with his and told him to follow me to the street of lights and safety! He let out a signal of pure glee as he told me that while he was waiting he had been affronted by two different cross-dressing crickets, and that he was certain he was standing on their corner. I smelled the air, nodded my head and quickly loaded our dead flies that were still being ogled by the slugs on the other corner. YIKES.
So he followed, and I led. On the way we decided that maybe we should just stay at a slug inn for the night, just so we're not wandering around entertainment central with everything we own, weak and vulnerable and ready for the taking.
By the time we found a slug inn among the weeds, we both were ready to collapse. Our load was tattered and wet, and we were in a state of delusion. A night of nestling on a bed made of reeds (not the best either), and a breakfast smelling of ground coffee beans and steamed milk, and we knew we'd be much more durable in the morning.
A gander at the international spider web was all that was needed to set us right. We perked up, loaded our stores and headed out in the direction opposite to where we had been headed the night before. Just 30 minutes and a few wrong turns then right turns then a hill or two later, we found our cricket landlord who would lead us just 5 minutes to our new ant hill's door.
I don't know if it sounds more or less difficult when I tell it from the view of an ant. But I think if I say that it only took us 14 hours, a good rest and a coffee to be little ant superstars, when it should have taken us 20 minutes had the beetle not been upside down, Tarlebashe not so dark and creepy, and the weeds so tall or the roads so tortuous. Not to mention our outlandish amount of baggage stessing our ant legs and mind the whole time.
It really is good to know where we are now, but recounting this first day of Istanbul confounds me as how we weren't picked off by the crickets or grasshoppers or slug gangs that were eyeing us newbies up. Perhaps they took pity on the frightened and lost little ants, or perhaps our dead flies didn't look as appetizing as I thought they looked. If that's the case, I'm going to start trying to look like a dead fly more often. Maybe I'll feel safer walking the Tarlebashe tortuous streets at night.
Now that you see me as an ant, you can imagine me being dropped among the weeds on my first day with a load of all that I plan to own for the next year. In reality my luggage weighs about 100 (+) pounds, but in the ant world, I'm certain it would match the load of a dead fly. A little big, a lot awkward, and very important only to me, really. Though, I do catch the other bugs eyeing up my load every so often, and it makes my little ant legs start to tread with the fervor of the great hummingbird's wings. I don't like the thought of losing my dead fly to a slug gang, or a cross-dressing cricket. It would be very unfair as I've worked very hard to earn the dead fly.
The beetle I rode in on from the airport got confused, as beetles often do. He got turned around when he flipped on his back and read the map. Very unfortunate for me and my fellow ant friend. We didn't know that beetles had this tendency. So, we got out where the beetle told us to get out, near a large open space known as Taksim Square. I believe it's a common location for insect rallies against the government of weeds. This would have been helpful had we known what it was, but as we were new ants on a new hill, we could only really look at one grain of sand at a time. Trying to piece all of those sand grains at once would have been like piecing the moon together by looking at all of its craters. Simply impossible.
My first impression from the sand grains and weeds I explored was that they all looked too alike to tell the difference. I could make out the main bug paths from the flattened reeds or lack thereof, but couldn't juxtapose myself next to any one thing that was on the map I had. We could make out one street and that was Tarlebashe, or what I now know as the street of doom for weak ants at night. The sun was setting and we began to meander down the street, using our antennae for information on our progress.
We bumped into logs and trees and many, many weeds. We wandered around them in circles to no avail. Finally, I told my ant friend to sit with our load of dead flies and wait near a Tarlebashe dragonfly bus stop while I wandered the streets. I figured it would be much quicker and more efficient for me, the less tired and better navigating ant to go off alone than the other, more sporadic and worrisome ant.
I walked in more circles and up and down more hills than I could remember. We had already wandered with our loads for an hour, so I was very tuckered and very much hoping to see something that resembled an ant nest. A few more twists and wicked turns and WHOOSH! Like the wind of a swooping swallow I was overcome with the gusts of Istikal, the shopping area for hip ants looking for a good time with the crickets and grasshoppers.
Wait, now. Though this may sound like a good thing (it was but...), but it wasn't on the map I had. I couldn't see it anywhere. Still, I trekked back to my fellow ant and let my antennae go wild with his and told him to follow me to the street of lights and safety! He let out a signal of pure glee as he told me that while he was waiting he had been affronted by two different cross-dressing crickets, and that he was certain he was standing on their corner. I smelled the air, nodded my head and quickly loaded our dead flies that were still being ogled by the slugs on the other corner. YIKES.
So he followed, and I led. On the way we decided that maybe we should just stay at a slug inn for the night, just so we're not wandering around entertainment central with everything we own, weak and vulnerable and ready for the taking.
By the time we found a slug inn among the weeds, we both were ready to collapse. Our load was tattered and wet, and we were in a state of delusion. A night of nestling on a bed made of reeds (not the best either), and a breakfast smelling of ground coffee beans and steamed milk, and we knew we'd be much more durable in the morning.
A gander at the international spider web was all that was needed to set us right. We perked up, loaded our stores and headed out in the direction opposite to where we had been headed the night before. Just 30 minutes and a few wrong turns then right turns then a hill or two later, we found our cricket landlord who would lead us just 5 minutes to our new ant hill's door.
I don't know if it sounds more or less difficult when I tell it from the view of an ant. But I think if I say that it only took us 14 hours, a good rest and a coffee to be little ant superstars, when it should have taken us 20 minutes had the beetle not been upside down, Tarlebashe not so dark and creepy, and the weeds so tall or the roads so tortuous. Not to mention our outlandish amount of baggage stessing our ant legs and mind the whole time.
It really is good to know where we are now, but recounting this first day of Istanbul confounds me as how we weren't picked off by the crickets or grasshoppers or slug gangs that were eyeing us newbies up. Perhaps they took pity on the frightened and lost little ants, or perhaps our dead flies didn't look as appetizing as I thought they looked. If that's the case, I'm going to start trying to look like a dead fly more often. Maybe I'll feel safer walking the Tarlebashe tortuous streets at night.
Monday, May 23, 2011
Not Constantinople Newbie
Merhaba, new blog! (And new blog readers!)
Finally commencing an online "memoir"/journal for myself, and newsfeed of sorts for my family and friends back in the States. As you most likely know, I flew off to Istanbul mid-April this year. Prior to then I was living in South Korea teaching little spunk-meisters how to curse in English. I came home for about three weeks in March/April and then headed off for a new adventure a la Istanbul.
I've been here about a month now and therefore think I can make a bit more sense out of everything that's come my way. For instance, the police en mass with their gas masks and batons don't seem as daunting as they were the first week. The angry protests down Istikal (the main shopping/entertainment street near my apartment) are not so overwhelming as they are daily and innocuous. There is also the hurdle of language, one of the more furtive though mundane obstacles of living abroad. I'd like to believe I'm capable most days, but then find my ego as quickly knocked over as the cup of coffee I try to apologize for, but embarrassingly can't. One would think I should just learn how to speak the darn language, I mean I think I should just learn to speak the darn language, but I think I've gradually morphed out of the traveler's alacrity for the new and into the expatriate's endurance for the everyday. In other words, I find myself gravitating more and more towards the everyday needs versus the outrageous, exciting and enigmatic experiences. I actually think this tendency may be the same equation as that for getting older. Is that not what the wise and sapient do? And isn't there that saying, "Travels are for the young." Or is that just what my friends and family have said to me? No, they/you said, "Best to do it (travel abroad) while you're young." I'm saying here that I'm beginning to understand what they/you mean. -I'm feeling older with each new experience. Language is but one example. Not only is my English ephemeral, but so are my memories of the new languages I've recently learned or am trying to learn. I'll acquire one word in Turkish one day, but then lose five words of Korean and forget how to use my English modals the next day. Most of the time I feel I'm in retrograde and therefore am frustrated with every "one step forward, two steps back" occurrence. I don't mind losing my Korean, but I do mind feeling old and slow. A smart person would combat this tendency with brain sharpening quizzes and puzzles, but the layman, i.e. moi, sticks to her obdurate limited communication and continually orders a similarly insipid/disgusting dish at every meal. *It did not happen this quickly in Korea. I studied Korean everyday and tried to speak with my fellow teachers. I had to learn it because not many people spoke English. After about a year I realized I didn't have to speak as much Korean as I thought, and let my studies and ambition taper to near nothing. The problem I'm seeing in myself in Turkey is that I've been here just a month and have already become ambivalent towards Turkish. On one hand, I feel incredibly lazy and angry at myself for being so, but on the other hand, ignoring that one stress (and a big stress, at that) assuages my mind to a relatively agreeable comfort level. Meaning, I ironically feel more capable when I am unable to speak the local language. Don't ask me why, but I think it has something to do with ego and the familiar being a large bolster to it. Like if you live under a rock, at least you know that one rock inside and out. But if you go outside of the rock, you have a whole headache of crap to learn! I enjoy the learning crap on most days, but when it's everyday, I very much miss my rock.
Time is another issue for the nascent citizen, and I have more time now because I'm not so worried about seeing EVERYTHING there is to see in the city. For the first couple of weeks there was nothing but a large stress bubble engulfing both my and my boyfriend's worlds. We worried about jobs, money, traveling, people, food, language and rent on loop. We wanted to see a lot of Istanbul but also felt insecure about our wallet size and therefore job searched for most of the time, ate for a quarter of the time and finally did our part as newbies to Istanbul, seeing a bulk of the sights within a couple days we took off each week (and those were the cheap/free sights - no 20 Lira Topkapi Palace kind of thing.) I'm fairly certain that this is a normal stress for most new expatriates, especially those without a steady income. That stress coupled with the newness of everything really brings your patience down to near nothing, and your annoyance level up to the back of your throat. Thankfully, we had each other to lean on, to bicker with, to commiserate and laugh with. If it wasn't for the Brendan and our few new friends here who have helped us with finding employment, I'm not certain how well I would have foundered here. Istanbul a likable city and I already have an affinity for it, but my comfort level is tested daily when I walk out my front door, and thank Whatever, there's a Brendan to escort me home when my patience has cracked and my mouth is spouting warnings of my internal combustion. Now that we're kind of finding our groove here, my combustion has lessened since. Yet, if there's one thing I've learn about allaying time stress (and all those things that fall into it), is that it's not a crime to take a day off. And that most of the time, those things that seem so stressful now are most likely hugely overrated in your head. Accepting that thought, I've been a lot less combustible and a lot more likable (by people and by myself.)
So, in all, I'm glad to say that life is a bit slower now and the city a lot smaller since we've both got a stable source of Lira these past couple of weeks. I will be doing a Governess position, which will be live-in as of June 1st, and Brendan will be doing a lot of tutoring and copy-editing until September, when he'll start full-time for an academy-like institution. Yes, this means we won't get to live together for the next year, but I think that may be okay as the most stressful part of moving halfway across the world is largely over. Now we just have to go with the flow and stop trying to tread so hard.
Finally commencing an online "memoir"/journal for myself, and newsfeed of sorts for my family and friends back in the States. As you most likely know, I flew off to Istanbul mid-April this year. Prior to then I was living in South Korea teaching little spunk-meisters how to curse in English. I came home for about three weeks in March/April and then headed off for a new adventure a la Istanbul.
I've been here about a month now and therefore think I can make a bit more sense out of everything that's come my way. For instance, the police en mass with their gas masks and batons don't seem as daunting as they were the first week. The angry protests down Istikal (the main shopping/entertainment street near my apartment) are not so overwhelming as they are daily and innocuous. There is also the hurdle of language, one of the more furtive though mundane obstacles of living abroad. I'd like to believe I'm capable most days, but then find my ego as quickly knocked over as the cup of coffee I try to apologize for, but embarrassingly can't. One would think I should just learn how to speak the darn language, I mean I think I should just learn to speak the darn language, but I think I've gradually morphed out of the traveler's alacrity for the new and into the expatriate's endurance for the everyday. In other words, I find myself gravitating more and more towards the everyday needs versus the outrageous, exciting and enigmatic experiences. I actually think this tendency may be the same equation as that for getting older. Is that not what the wise and sapient do? And isn't there that saying, "Travels are for the young." Or is that just what my friends and family have said to me? No, they/you said, "Best to do it (travel abroad) while you're young." I'm saying here that I'm beginning to understand what they/you mean. -I'm feeling older with each new experience. Language is but one example. Not only is my English ephemeral, but so are my memories of the new languages I've recently learned or am trying to learn. I'll acquire one word in Turkish one day, but then lose five words of Korean and forget how to use my English modals the next day. Most of the time I feel I'm in retrograde and therefore am frustrated with every "one step forward, two steps back" occurrence. I don't mind losing my Korean, but I do mind feeling old and slow. A smart person would combat this tendency with brain sharpening quizzes and puzzles, but the layman, i.e. moi, sticks to her obdurate limited communication and continually orders a similarly insipid/disgusting dish at every meal. *It did not happen this quickly in Korea. I studied Korean everyday and tried to speak with my fellow teachers. I had to learn it because not many people spoke English. After about a year I realized I didn't have to speak as much Korean as I thought, and let my studies and ambition taper to near nothing. The problem I'm seeing in myself in Turkey is that I've been here just a month and have already become ambivalent towards Turkish. On one hand, I feel incredibly lazy and angry at myself for being so, but on the other hand, ignoring that one stress (and a big stress, at that) assuages my mind to a relatively agreeable comfort level. Meaning, I ironically feel more capable when I am unable to speak the local language. Don't ask me why, but I think it has something to do with ego and the familiar being a large bolster to it. Like if you live under a rock, at least you know that one rock inside and out. But if you go outside of the rock, you have a whole headache of crap to learn! I enjoy the learning crap on most days, but when it's everyday, I very much miss my rock.
Time is another issue for the nascent citizen, and I have more time now because I'm not so worried about seeing EVERYTHING there is to see in the city. For the first couple of weeks there was nothing but a large stress bubble engulfing both my and my boyfriend's worlds. We worried about jobs, money, traveling, people, food, language and rent on loop. We wanted to see a lot of Istanbul but also felt insecure about our wallet size and therefore job searched for most of the time, ate for a quarter of the time and finally did our part as newbies to Istanbul, seeing a bulk of the sights within a couple days we took off each week (and those were the cheap/free sights - no 20 Lira Topkapi Palace kind of thing.) I'm fairly certain that this is a normal stress for most new expatriates, especially those without a steady income. That stress coupled with the newness of everything really brings your patience down to near nothing, and your annoyance level up to the back of your throat. Thankfully, we had each other to lean on, to bicker with, to commiserate and laugh with. If it wasn't for the Brendan and our few new friends here who have helped us with finding employment, I'm not certain how well I would have foundered here. Istanbul a likable city and I already have an affinity for it, but my comfort level is tested daily when I walk out my front door, and thank Whatever, there's a Brendan to escort me home when my patience has cracked and my mouth is spouting warnings of my internal combustion. Now that we're kind of finding our groove here, my combustion has lessened since. Yet, if there's one thing I've learn about allaying time stress (and all those things that fall into it), is that it's not a crime to take a day off. And that most of the time, those things that seem so stressful now are most likely hugely overrated in your head. Accepting that thought, I've been a lot less combustible and a lot more likable (by people and by myself.)
So, in all, I'm glad to say that life is a bit slower now and the city a lot smaller since we've both got a stable source of Lira these past couple of weeks. I will be doing a Governess position, which will be live-in as of June 1st, and Brendan will be doing a lot of tutoring and copy-editing until September, when he'll start full-time for an academy-like institution. Yes, this means we won't get to live together for the next year, but I think that may be okay as the most stressful part of moving halfway across the world is largely over. Now we just have to go with the flow and stop trying to tread so hard.
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