Hey, look who accidentally took a break from
blogging for the winter… So, I’ve come to the conclusion that I’d horrible at
blogging. Utterly terrible. In truth, I just don’t get it. I don’t quite get
why someone wants to sit at their computer and read about my life. Even if that
life is currently being lived in the middle of the Gobi desert. But, I do understand
that I have friends and family that want to keep tabs on me so, I’m going to
start treating this like a digital journal instead of a blog. I’m sure there
are some of you out there who are just itching to yell at me about semantics
but what can I say? I’m an odd creature, at times. So, a quick review of the
winter before we head into the spring journal.
It was cold. Seriously. That’s what I’ve got. It
was really, really cold. Like, too cold to snow. Too cold to go outside without
three or four layers on. So cold that the refuse in the outhouse froze solid.
My home went from Tattooine to Hoth in less than in month. Except, it snows on
Hoth, so I bet Hoth is warmer than Mongolia in the winter. That being said, I
survived. I kept my fire going as much as possible, I kept at least two layers
on almost 24/7 and I drank enough hot tea and coffee to fill a small lake.
School has continued with the ups-and-downs that every teacher faces. Some
students love your subject; some students would rather be anywhere else. At
least most students like me enough not to be completely unbearable. I’ve only
had to get really terse with my classes a few times. My younger classes learned
the lesson immediately and have been remarkably well behaved since. My older
classes, not so much. But, they’re almost done with this school. They’ll be
going to the larger town to finish out their scholastic careers and in about a
month, they’ll be done with me and they know it.
As far as the holiday season, I’ve survived both
Shine Jil (New Year) and Tsagaan Sar (White Month) without too much difficulty.
Many PCVs dedicate entire posts to their experiences with these major Mongolian
holidays but I’ve never been much for holidays and, quite frankly, I’m still so
relieved that they’re over that I don’t want to dwell on them. Maybe later I’ll
put something up about them. In all likelihood, it’s be next year when they
roll around again. I received some truly marvelous care packages from friends
and family. I really can’t over state how much those mean to me. The goodies
are wonderful, of course, but it’s the reminder of home that makes them truly marvelous.
The affirmation that there are still people back there who love me and who
think about me is an astounding source of comfort and courage when the truth of
my situation becomes a little too much.
And I’ll be honest, there are times when the
realization of what I’ve gotten myself into is daunting. Feeling like the “odd-man-out”
is not an entirely new feeling for me but I have never experienced it as
acutely as I have since coming to live in my little soum (village). I’m the
only foreigner for miles. In some cases, I’m the only foreigner the people
living here have ever seen in person. Because of this, I literally can’t walk
from my ger to the store (a five minute walk) without being stared at and
called out to. Fortunately, 99% of those calls have been friendly but even so,
the complete inability to be anonymous is exhausting. I can’t do anything
without half my soum knowing about it 30 minutes later. If there’s an event and
I’m not there, everyone knows and wants to know why. If there’s an event and I
go, I’m immediately on everyone’s radar and they all want me to participate
somehow. As someone who walks the line between extrovert and introvert very
carefully, I can’t overstate how distressing this can be. And yet, despite all
the attention I get there are moments when I’m just so lonely. No amount of “Сайн
уу! Амьдрал ямар байна?” (Hi! How’s life?) can make up for a conversation
between two people who understand each other explicitly; without the need to
translate or explain cultural norms or idioms. I am liked here, people care
about me and about my well-being but there are times when I might as well be
from another planet.
Despite this, however, I am mostly happy. I like
teaching, I like the people I work with and my family, I like my students. I
have friends, we make jokes and laugh, they try to speak English, I try to
speak Mongolian, and the woman who runs the store closest to me gives me little
cookies or candies every time I come to buy yogurt. Life is, for the most part,
good.
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