tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-71341166328158075072024-03-21T01:28:55.257-05:00A Romanian Teaching ExperienceAn attempt to live, laugh, and love as an American English teacher in RomaniaStephaniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11014642880417525621noreply@blogger.comBlogger163125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7134116632815807507.post-63216807352922721182011-08-13T23:04:00.002-05:002011-08-13T23:14:38.875-05:00Final PostThis will be my last post. I've been thinking for a long time about what to do with this blog, because I am no longer teaching in Romania. I wanted to keep writing but I didn't think it was appropriate to keep using the same "venue," of sorts.
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<br />For a long time this summer, I've been stuck in the middle. Stuck between a land I miss and a home I love, stuck between jobs, stuck without direction. And last week it all came together. And after some thought, I realized that I can finally let go of the last part of Romania I was clinging to: this blog.
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<br />So friends, visit me and my new home and my new job at this address:
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<br />http://breadplusroses.blogspot.com/
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<br />I'll be moving to Chicago shortly and starting a job with a social-service agency in Uptown. I'm going to be living in Hyde Park (land that I love) and working on building a life and making a difference in the lives of 20 little friends, their families, and the rest of the population served by the agency. I'm so excited to begin this next chapter.
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<br />Unlike every other period of time in my life, there is no prescribed end date. There is no graduation or contract termination date. I don't have a set destination. I do expect to grow and change, and I'm hoping my new blog will chronicle that journey. Thank you for your love, your support, and your comments. It has meant so much to me. I would love to "see" everyone again as life moves on here!
<br />Stephaniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11014642880417525621noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7134116632815807507.post-52396900098257386512011-07-28T00:47:00.002-05:002011-07-28T00:53:41.275-05:00ThoughtsThere are good people in the world. People who are life-giving and restorative and affirming. There are good people in my world. <br /><br />So why am I struggling with so much? <br /><br />Do you ever get the feeling that you've done something so terrible that life is (not)working exactly the way you deserve?Stephaniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11014642880417525621noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7134116632815807507.post-58721737696817032072011-07-21T08:35:00.002-05:002011-07-21T08:46:03.427-05:00AirportsI am currently sitting in an airport, a location I didn't think I would find myself in for quite some time. Alas, here I am- headed to Connecticut for a job interview (!) and a fantastic weekend with great friends. <br /><br />I'm bored, which is something I almost never experience. This trip will add three more airports to my list. And because I like lists, I will now commence listing all the airports I've experienced. Yeah, fun post for me... not so much for you.<br /><br />Detroit, Michigan<br />Las Vegas, Nevada<br />Denver, Colorado<br />Durango, Colorado<br />Albuquerque, New Mexico (it took me about 60 seconds to spell that...)<br />Tampa, Florida<br />Chicago Midway, Chicago, Illinois<br />Chicago O'Hare, Chicago, Illinois<br />Baltimore, Maryland<br />Indianapolis, Indiana<br />Charlotte, North Carolina<br />Atlanta, Georgia<br />Marquette, Michigan<br />Toledo, Ohio<br />Dusseldorf, Germany<br />Budapest, Hungary<br />Frankfurt, Germany<br />Florence, Italy<br />Rome, Italy<br />Athens, Greece<br />Bratislava, Slovakia<br />Vienna, Austria<br />Zurich, Switzerland<br />Paris, France<br />Bucharest, Romania<br />Amsterdam, Netherlands <br />Dublin, Ireland<br />Philadelphia, Pennsylvania<br /><br />I'll be adding Hartford CT and Washington DC to this list by Monday. <br /><br />Dude, I love flying. AND I love even numbers. AND I love the five pattern. An even number of airports with the five pattern (30)... this is clearly a sign.Stephaniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11014642880417525621noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7134116632815807507.post-36735752347225720792011-07-13T23:24:00.002-05:002011-07-13T23:34:31.470-05:00New LowYou know you've hit a new low when the first six hours of your day looks like this:<br /><br />Wake up when father comes home on lunch break and tells you that you will be joining him on a trip to return recyclable cans and bottles. <br /><br />Sleep a little longer.<br /><br />Wake up a little later with an insane craving for Kraft Macaroni and Cheese.<br /><br />Nearly collapse when there is no butter. <br /><br />Make Macaroni and Cheese anyway with cream cheese. <br /><br />Eat (almost) entire box of Macaroni and Cheese- save the three remaining bites in a small container so you don't feel like a total pig. <br /><br />Learn about the special surprise after returning bottles and cans. <br /><br />Return bottles and cans. <br /><br />Look at scooters and motorcycles at Dexters, the special surprise. <br /><br />Realize that the special surprise was the best part of the day. And I don't even like motorcycles or scooters. <br /><br />In other news, I didn't get the job in Camden. Life is just painful right now.Stephaniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11014642880417525621noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7134116632815807507.post-18509484349807075642011-07-06T14:45:00.003-05:002011-07-06T15:01:27.317-05:00Chutes and LaddersI will work to find blessings in every troubling situation I have found or do find myself in. <br /><br />I nearly lost my position in Romania, and had to work rather hard to get it back. This could be considered a problem, and it was certainly an emotionally charged and difficult situation. The blessing? I found out that I can stand up for myself when the situation calls for it, and it is not just the needs of others that I can care for.<br /><br />I broke my ankle in Romania, and spent the next 10 days in almost constant agonizing pain, all while working a full time plus schedule. The blessing? I had people to help me in Romania, and I have a family with health insurance. I am covered under my father's policy, and I was able to see an orthopedic specialist. I am able to recover under the professional care of a physical therapist, and all of this comes at little or no cost to me. <br /><br />I lost my summer position in Connecticut, the job I have most looked forward to of any in my life. The blessing? I can fully recover from my ankle injury, I can live at home and spend time where I grew up, and I can enjoy my family. I didn't have the stress of moving just 6 days after getting back to the States, and it allows me more time to look for a position in the fall. <br /><br />I moved home from Romania. I know many of you will see this as a blessing, but it is a difficult situation right now. I miss my adopted home, and I don't have another place to really belong yet. The "reverse-culture shock" is hitting harder than I expected it to, especially when I let myself think about it. The blessing? I had a chance to live for nearly 10 months in an incredible place, experiencing things I will remember for a lifetime. I am so lucky to have had that opportunity. <br /><br />I lost the use of my car, due to a minor accident. It wasn't really his fault and anyone could have made that mistake, but it's frustrating regardless. The blessing? I don't have a summer job and I don't really need a car. Also, my brother's "fleet" of vehicles means that if I really need to get somewhere, I can. <br /><br />I don't have a job for the fall. The blessing? Update to come... we hope.Stephaniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11014642880417525621noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7134116632815807507.post-9125068384878817332011-07-06T14:23:00.002-05:002011-07-06T14:40:09.053-05:00Life is ColdI would say that I'm experiencing some pretty severe mood swings lately, but that isn't a great analogy. Neither is that of a rollercoaster- it is not nearly as unpredictable as a thrill ride. Rather, it is a lot like a bungee jump with an initial fall and slow bounces, decreasing to a constant state. Except that the eventual constant state involves hanging upside down, and bungee jumping is an adventure sport I swore I'd never try. <br /><br />I know that I shouldn't feel so incredibly discouraged. I know that I have an incredible store of blessings and experiences and opportunities and supportive people to call on. I know (well, I believe) that these things are happening with purpose and that there is a massive lesson I've just not learned yet... but I'm struggling. I'm struggling to recover from a place that drained me emotionally, and a place I still miss immensely. I'm struggling to find a job and turn off the negative thoughts that nearly had me applying at IHOP. I'm struggling to find physical healing for my ankle. I'm struggling to stay emotionally stable and healthy, to remain connected and engaged, to get out of bed in the morning. I'm struggling to express appropriate feelings towards people who want to help me, people who are trying to love me, and even people who do things that annoy me. I'm struggling. <br /><br />In the heat of everything yesterday (temperature and emotionally), my mom and I decided that life is cold. <br /><br />And the cup isn't half full anymore- but at least it is only three-quarters empty. I need someone to fill me up.Stephaniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11014642880417525621noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7134116632815807507.post-28800791467280027662011-06-28T14:12:00.003-05:002011-06-28T23:19:17.563-05:00This Post is For DanStop being worried about coming home. You have your incredible girlfriend and at least 90% of your efforts can be concentrated on helping her adjust to life in the States. <br /><br />That being said, you should know that I've said "mulţumesc" in at least 10 different situations. My family is really tired of me asking "ce" when I cannot hear them, and I had a dream in Romanian the other night. <br /><br />Get ready for the ridiculous amount of entertainment options, and be prepared to find very few of them interesting. The amount of English sinage is probably going to overwhelm you. You'll feel a little bit like Jim Carrey in "Bruce Almighty" when he can hear all the prayers- suddenly everything you hear is comprehensible. <br /><br />Prepare yourself for getting upset at the grocery store when you spend $20.00 and they try to send you out the door with 8 bags. Try to remember that non-Romanian stores do not accept Romanian currency of any kind, and you'll feel like an idiot when you do it for the third time. You might forget that you can call and text people now (btw... will your number be the same?) Also, they have ice in America and they'll give you water that doesn't come in a bottle without going three rounds with the wait staff. <br /><br />That's all the trivial stuff. I'll write the next part as if you didn't have your own Romanian throwback. You'll be sad. Depressed even. Everything at home looks good to you, but all in a Romanian light. You'll struggle with comparing everything to what you experienced there, what it's like there, what you saw there. You'll want to see everyone you can, and no one at all. You'll experience an insane desire to connect with people and a deep disappointment when you realize NO ONE knows what you are dealing with. They'll pretend to care while you pretend that you aren't thinking about the life you just left. You'll both try hard and fail. You'll scheme about going back even though you know you won't. You'll feel both alone and too close to everyone at the same time. If you are me, you'll cry when you see some of your best friends for the first time. You'll be happy and sad and confused and inexplicably angry at times. And you'll be tired. <br /><br />And then you'll call me. Because I'm in the middle of it too, and it's a lonely place.Stephaniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11014642880417525621noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7134116632815807507.post-4819335713066273302011-06-26T12:37:00.003-05:002011-06-26T13:12:34.514-05:00A WeekIt's been 167 hours since I landed at O'Hare Airport in Chicago after a rather harrowing experience. Let me tell you some of the things I've learned.<br /><br />1. No matter how much you give away, you will still have too much in your suitcase.<br /><br />2. Priorities make themselves abundently clear when you have 10 minutes to lose 7 kilograms of stuff. Goodbye, shoes, cosmetics, pillow, and blanket. I'll miss you.<br /><br />3. You could have spent more time carefully planning what to throw away, because the airline isn't sure that they should let you on the plane with that cast.<br /><br />4. People in an airport will ask anyone for advice... I'm quite clearly not an airline executive, but sitting behind a desk warrents all kinds of questions.<br /><br />5. They do NOT mess around with security in the Bucharest airport... Dublin is somewhat different. <br /><br />6. Every plane to ever depart from OTP will be delayed.<br /><br />7. If you are getting wheelchair assistance, you will be wheeled into the back of a semi trailer, and driven across the runway and then wheeled into the plane through the cargo entrance. <br /><br />8. The lovely Irish accent will make everything better. From the airline attendants to the wheelchair assistance lad Sean, it's difficult to get upset with the Irish.<br /><br />9. Americans are obnoxious the world over. I'm sorry, Mr. California. But just because you went to Germany instead of Amsterdam doesn't mean you are a world traveller. And sleeping on a park bench whilst drunk and high doesn't mean that you got a "real European experience." Stop trying to arm wrestle people and then talk about how you could "take" anyone you wanted in high school. Take your flipping sunglasses off, and don't brag about how you've not bathed in 3 weeks. And do you really travel with your own plasic wine glasses? Take it from someone who got the real European experience... you should be able to drink wine out of whatever is available. <br /><br />10. The Dublin airport is lovely, but those lights are BRIGHT at 4:30 in the morning.<br /><br />11. Someone is going to notice that you need help when you are standing on one leg with two bags, staring at the flight board for 20 minutes. Do they really have to put CANCELLED in big block letters? They could say it in a nicer way, I think.<br /><br />12. Having a broken ankle can work in your favor... pleading my case for why I should get onto the standby list first, getting escorted through security (totally could have blown that plane up... I barely got frisked) and customs by the lovely Irish Richard (who called me love, mhmm), and seated early on the plane... it worked out alright.<br /><br />13. Having a broken ankle can be ridiculously stupid on a plane, because it will HURT. You know how your legs swell anyway in flight? There is no comfortable postion, and you therefore will keep not sleeping. <br /><br />14. Ted from Ireland is a very nice man who will tolerate you crying (nearly) on his shoulder about four times in the course of a 9 hour point of contact.<br /><br />15. Arriving in the United States is beautiful, but hearing that your parents are not at the airport is kind of painful. Thank you, communication mixup- my fault entirely. <br /><br />16. Warm and friendly relatives are incredible... but visiting people you've only met a few times in your life after skipping DAYS of sleep and traveling for nearly 30 hours is a bit overwhelming. <br /><br />17. You will want to cry when you see your mom and dad for the first time. Because they will take care of you, and you can stop being so strong for a while.<br /><br />18. The I-80 stretch from Chicago to Michigan is still long.<br /><br />19. It might take a while to sleep normally again. <br /><br />20. Home people are wonderful, incredible really. But you will still miss belonging somewhere else.Stephaniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11014642880417525621noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7134116632815807507.post-32442924545941095712011-06-18T21:47:00.001-05:002011-06-18T21:47:47.523-05:00The Magic of JuxtapositionAs many challenges as the land of Romania has presented, I am still incredibly saddened to be leaving this place. This place of growth and discovery, chaos and change, and magic- it has infected me. There is a mystical sense of space, of time, of culture in Romania. It is a land of old superstition coupled with new developments, a location that looks forward to its place in the new world while still clinging to the tradition of old. <br /><br />For years, my favorite word has been juxtaposition. Meaning the bringing together of two unlike or different elements or objects, I like the word itself and the concept. I love the beauty often created by juxtaposition, the sharp contrasts that bring out the fine details of each part of the equation. Exploring the little differences inherent in each of the two unlike elements is fascinating, and it allows for a deeper and almost more meaningful understanding of each piece. <br /><br />I think part of my addiction, my fascination, and my love for Romania comes from the juxtaposition here. You can walk amongst lovely parks and still find crumbling concrete. The consumerism of the city slams so quickly up against the peasant life just outside the boundaries. A place that is producing some of the most technically skilled workers in the world still requires triplicate copies of everything, stamped and sealed and signed by everyone in the world except the person you know. You ride on two new busses and an extremely efficient underground metro train to wait in line at the post office for two hours. Romania is a land of juxtaposition, and it is rather fitting that I fell in love here.Stephaniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11014642880417525621noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7134116632815807507.post-33825749857267834282011-06-15T05:47:00.002-05:002011-06-15T05:54:48.034-05:00PackingI have quite the reputation as a terrible packer. Really really bad. I don't do anything until the last minute, and I get terribly overwhelmed, and then I do a very poor job. Usually I have help. This time, I not only don't have help... but I don't have one leg.<br /><br />I will be good this time. I will start packing and keep going until I finish. I will feel accomplished and productive. My brother and Jane will not be aggrevated with me, and a woman with the initials C.B. will not be snickering at me. <br /><br />Lots of stuff is getting left behind, I'm afraid. <br /><br />I will do this... just not right now.Stephaniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11014642880417525621noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7134116632815807507.post-88938326323070509172011-06-13T05:47:00.002-05:002011-06-13T05:52:39.217-05:00Party!I "attended" my brother Ean's graduation party last night via Skype. I basically sat in a corner and creeped on people for a while, but it was really nice. I found out a few things about myself:<br /><br />1. I am craving traditional American breakfast food more than I realized. I'm really glad that so many people showed up at the party... but my mom promised me some leftover bacon. Tragic. <br /><br />2. You can tell who just about everyone is by their hind end. Sorry, hope that doesn't make anyone uncomfortable... it did me for a while.<br /><br />3. I miss "home" people more than I realized. <br /><br />Congrats Ean.Stephaniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11014642880417525621noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7134116632815807507.post-85666527100062244262011-06-10T17:47:00.005-05:002011-06-10T17:52:24.187-05:00Hmmm...Maybe this is a sign. Maybe I am just supposed to sit and relax and be unemployed. I'm working really hard on finding the good things, finding the lesson. But I'm tired.<br /><br />I lost my summer job due to under-enrollment. My stability is just... gone. <br /><br /><iframe width="480" height="349" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/ThqottqgHD4" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen></iframe>Stephaniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11014642880417525621noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7134116632815807507.post-81804625413410903792011-06-07T08:21:00.002-05:002011-06-07T08:59:53.448-05:00Constanţa Cont.A lot has happened in the last few days. Most of it involved pain of some kind, but I think I'm on the upward track finally.<br /><br />I enjoyed exploring Constanţa on Saturday afternoon and evening, and slept incredibly well. You wouldn't think that to get good sleep you should go to a hostel, but all of my evidence points to the contrary. Sunday morning I got up and went out... and thus it began. <br /><br />I was in the old part of the city, in a place where the pavement is really broken up and there is loose stone and rock everywhere. Everything was going well- beautiful crisp morning, tons of sunshine, the sea to the east and incredible history and culture all around me. And then my friend the Dacia (circa 1271) passed by making a noise I have NEVER heard a car make. And I'm my father's child... I've heard cars make some weird noises. In my moment of distraction (and okay, amazement at the functionality of this car) I rolled my right ankle- the weak one- and fell pretty hard on the stone. I was in walking sandals and consequently hit the big toe of my left foot pretty hard on the broken pavement. <br /><br />I kind of realized the severity of the situation when I looked down to see the blood all over my leg from the loose stones. I have a habit of talking myself through stressful/traumatic conversations. Yes, I do this aloud... the presence of another voice helps.<br /><br />"You're okay. You're okay. Stephanie, you are okay. You are going to get up and start walking and you are going to figure out what to do. This is fine, no big deal. You are totally fine. OH my God I can't move my ankle. Okay, get to the shade. Get to the shade. Holy **** this hurts. Okay, we need a plan. We'll figure this out, no worries. It's okay, you can figure this out. Shade first- get into the shade. We can do this."<br /><br />And it continued. My (incredible) hostel host Dave rescued me in his van and drove me back, where I iced and cleaned and bandaged and realized I really was going to need to go to the hospital. Dave and Mada and I climbed into the van and went in search of a clinic, but ended up at the emergency room as it was a Sunday. Mada was there to help out with language issues, and the service was incredibly fast, if lacking a bit in tenderness. They took me right in and I got an injection (I freaked at first because I thought they were going to inject my knee), but it was just a tetnus booster. I then had my leg cleaned up... with rubbing alcohol. I've never sucked in such exclamations of pain in my life. Right after that I was headed to radiology, but not before I had to get undressed and into a (used and quite smelly) hosptial gown... in the middle of the hallway. No big deal, right? <br /><br />The emergency part of the hospital is very modern. The rest of the hospital is not. My personal wheelchair woman Laura pushed me down a ramp to the radiology hallway and ohhhhh buddy. It was like a time warp back to 1972. The walls were grey and bleak, the tiles that were left in the ceiling were not doing a very good job of stopping the gross drippings that we were swerving to avoid. They took something like 14 xrays- loads of my ankle, plenty of my toe, and then a few of my scraped knee. Just in case, I suppose.<br /><br />After the radiology room I was wheeled to an elevator (the old freight kind, with an attendant and the squeeky metal doors) and taken to the fifth floor. I counted, because I was trying to distract myself from the pain- it took 129 seconds to go from ground to 5. I should say that all of this, and I've not had any sort of pain medication at all- at all. So imagine my horror when I was wheeled into a creepy little doctor experiment room with a tiny little window at the top and instructed to lay on a couch. And then the most swarthy and giant Romanian man I have EVER seen picks up my leg and just like THAT he sets my ankle and then plasters it. Um, ouch. <br /><br />I was told to stay off of my ankle completely, but also that the hospital didn't have any crutches. Good plan... I just got them, nearly 48 hours and 2 trips to school and 14 classes later. The pain pills aren't exactly the most effective things... basically the equivalent of Ibuprofin. I don't have a residency permit here, so I had to pay right there for my treatment. Folks in the States are going to freak out about this... emergency room treatment, tetnus booster, 14 xrays, doctor consultation, plaster casting... 450 RON. Do the conversation (about a 3 to 1 ratio for those in the States)... it is going to blow your mind. I think they charge you more for diapers in American hospitals. <br /><br />There is a lot to complain about here... but also so so much to be thankful for.Stephaniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11014642880417525621noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7134116632815807507.post-84184178491730730952011-06-05T15:58:00.001-05:002011-06-05T16:00:31.523-05:00ConstanţaI almost took a mountain bike this morning. The only consolation that I am repeating again and again is that maybe instead of falling and fracturing my ankle I would have gotten hit by a car or something. And then I would be dead or in the hospital instead of writing this blog. But then again, my ankle wouldn’t be aching inside of this cast either. It’s a toss-up, really. But then of course, the whole trip started on a bit of an odd trajectory. I should have guessed. <br /><br />The city of Constanţa is really a lovely place. It’s a pretty big city (the third largest in Romania) and offers a very different landscape and culture than anywhere else I have traveled. It is located on the coast of the Black Sea, and is THE summer vacation destination for a lot of sea-going Romanians. The beaches are incredibly beautiful and the old part of the city is charming. The harbor is peaceful and there are a million little places around the city to visit. I love traveling to places that I can get to know in just a few hours. <br /><br />I didn’t sleep at all on Friday night because my train was scheduled to leave quite early and I didn’t want to sleep for a few hours and then be totally exhausted. My logic is a mess, I know- but it works for me. I got to the station on Saturday morning and got on the rather modern (by Romanian standards) train, looking forward to going to sleep and waking up in Constanta. This plan went swimmingly until about 30 minutes into the journey, when we stopped. Now, I’ve sat in a train before and I wasn’t really too concerned… until about 30 minutes later. And then 45 minutes, and then 60 minutes… we just kept sitting. A little bit odd, but at least I am comfortable and cool, right? Nope. This is the part of the story where they turn the air conditioning off and we all suffocate. Slight exaggeration… instead of suffocating people just started taking their clothing off.<br /><br />I'm too drugged (legit medicine from a doctor...) to continue this for now. More to come...Stephaniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11014642880417525621noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7134116632815807507.post-15767320248361985732011-06-03T14:42:00.002-05:002011-06-03T14:55:18.118-05:00Things I've Done Today6:45 am: Wake up. Twice. Two alarms. Stumble to the bathroom, use the toilet, look in the mirror and determine that I really don't need to wash my hair, thus affording me about 30 minutes more sleep. <br /><br />6:47 am: Reset alarms for 7:15 am and crash.<br /><br />7:30 am: Wake up in a start (thank goodness for half consciousness) and jump out of bed, throw clothing on, french braid my hair (dang, I really should have showered...) and grab my bag.<br /><br />7:35 am: Walk like a zombie to school. Pretty sure I saw one of my students walking with his mom, but I don't have a lot of recollection about the journey.<br /><br />8:00 am: Oh my goodness. I don't think I can do this. 1F will be the death of my spirit and creative potential and life force... twice today.<br /><br />8:45 am: Yeah, I'm taking a ten minute nap in the teacher's bathroom.<br /><br />8:55 am: Can 9:40 get here soon enough? Because having 1A once a week is difficult enough, let alone two days in a row. <br /><br />9:40 am: Back to the teacher's bathroom for nap time.<br /><br />10:00 am: Woops. I missed that bell. I should probably go to class. Except. Ugh... I have nothing to do with these students because there are only 2 classes left and I finished the unit yesterday. Bring on the 45 minutes (well, 40 :) of making crap up. Oh, and eating bread.<br /><br />10:40 am: Okay, I can hang in the teacher's lounge and pad a certain amount of grades in the catalog to ensure my 8th graders all get a 10, regardless of effort or quality of work performed this year.<br /><br />10:50 am: Well hello again, 1F. Please just... um... color. Please stop yelling. Okay, stop yelling now. You probably shouldn't swing between the chairs. Is there a reason you cannot stop running? Why is it that you aren't listening to a thing I say? Okay, just talk right over me. None of these songs are working. None of these tricks are working. Please just color. Don't mind me, I'll just be strangling myself with this scarf. No worries. <br /><br />11:31 am: Seriously. So. Close.<br /><br />11:32 am: No way has it only been one minute.<br /><br />11:34 am: Let's count really loudly. Really loudly. <br /><br />11:35 am: I am free. Freedom. What is this? Such a curious feeling. <br /><br />11:45 am: This chicken tastes really good. <br /><br />12:19 pm: Why isn't Vodaphone open? That isn't very nice, because I need more credit on my phone. Who takes a lunch break, seriously?<br /><br />12:35 pm: Sleep. It's rather glorious.<br /><br />And then the rest of the day happened.Stephaniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11014642880417525621noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7134116632815807507.post-47430762303762707062011-05-31T14:30:00.001-05:002011-06-02T15:26:19.980-05:00Reverse Culture ShockAccording to the internet, reverse culture shock is a very serious problem. <br /><br />Okay, according to everyone who has ever lived abroad, reverse culture shock is something to contend with upon arriving back in the country/culture of origin. <br /><br />Apparently there are four stages of reverse culture shock. <br /><br />1. Disengagement<br />2. Initial euphoria<br />3. Irribility and hostility<br />4. Readjustment and adaptation<br /><br />Can I just take a moment to note the language usage in these stages? Numbers one, two, and four are all pretty topic-centered, psychology-based words. They "fit" with the model and make the whole thing sound less awful. I think they just didn't have another way to define number three, which I have edited for accuracy below:<br /><br />3. Collosal b***ch mode<br /><br />Because that is what is going to happen. Just saying...<br /><br />I am already starting to go through this, so I know it is real. And I'm really worried about it.<br /><br />I do have one request for everyone in the States though. According to this "Safety Abroad" handbook for study abroad students that I read, these feelings come from the following:<br /><br />"Often students expect to be able to pick up exactly where they left off... the inconsistency between expectations and reality, plus the lack of interest on the part of family and friends (nobody seems to really care about all of your 'while I was abroad' stories) may result in: frustration, feelings of alienation..."<br /><br />So it is clearly not my fault for leaving the United States. It is not my fault that I will be crazy overwhelmed and "irritable and hostile" because I chose to immerse myself in another culture for 10 months. It is not my fault that it will take me a while not to feel weird in the States. It is your fault, dear family and friends, for not being interested enough in my stories. Right? <br /><br />Yeah, that is what I'm walking away with.Stephaniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11014642880417525621noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7134116632815807507.post-29789097130867207182011-05-31T08:06:00.002-05:002011-05-31T08:12:48.043-05:00Wrapping UpThere is something special about knowing exactly how many classes you have left to teach before the end of the school year. Those final weeks, days, and minutes tick away at a school in the States... but here I count classes. <br /><br />My regular full-load is 21 classes in a week... so with three weeks left, that should be fairly easy to figure out. <br /><br />I would like to pause and remind you that this is Romania. <br /><br />I have extra classes this week, extra classes next week, and extra classes the last week. However, I also have fewer classes this week (according to the latest update), fewer classes next week, and fewer classes the week after that. Apparently there are days off that not all the teachers know about, and my last two days of classes aren't really classes... but are they? I have absolutely NO way of knowing because, well, I don't know. At least I know that I have to ask now, but when you are literally told three different things, it gets a little complicated.<br /><br />Maybe this is just a way for me to stay focused on living in the moment. I literally cannot count down... because I have no idea. <br /><br />Ahh, Romania.Stephaniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11014642880417525621noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7134116632815807507.post-53531829127625315092011-05-30T14:59:00.006-05:002011-05-31T06:32:40.652-05:00CommencementThe Sablich family is approaching the end of an era. <br /><br />When you look at a family history within a community, the arc often covers a considerable span of time. I started school at the Blissfield Community School district in the fall of 1993, and my youngest brother in graduating in the spring of 2011. My family has been involved in this school system for 18 years... and I sometimes wonder why my parents are sad about the end of this age. Think about it- the majority of their MARRIAGE has been spent in some sort of affiliation with BCS. <br /><br />Regardless, it is striking to consider the changes that have taken place in the world while our family grew up. When I started school President Clinton was still in his first year. Welfare reform hadn't even appeared yet and the majority of households did not have personal computers. President Bush the second had not even appeared on the horizon as a national game-changer and policy maker (ugh...) and we lived in the security of a pre-September 11th world. The war and the other war and the other war hadn't started and the global economy hadn't tanked. This country had not yet elected a biracial (and possibly Socialist :) president. Things have certainly changed in the last eighteen years. <br /><br />And in my family... things have changed. We have gone through recreational league soccer and volleyball and softball and swimming and volleyball and baseball and basketball. We have traveled the country together and conquered the I-80 stretch from Ohio to Chicago- so many times. We have made good friends and said goodbye to dear family members. We have spent 18 years doing homework and attending parent-teacher conferences and fighting about bedtimes. We have attended spring recitals and band concerts and festivals and parades. We have watched endless baseball games and football games and basketball games and volleyball games. We have gone to church and on weekend retreats and attended revitalizing conferences. We have argued and struggled with the changing and fluid family dynamic as we grew together. We have become independent and dependent on stability at the same time, and we have watched our members come and go. We have changed. <br /><br />It's an interesting vantage point, from this side of 18 years. And if you know my mom, give her a hug and tell her it's okay to cry. Pat my dad on the back, and watch him smile with pride. And then find my baby brother and give him your best wishes on his incredible journey and his incredibly bright future. I am ridiculously proud.Stephaniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11014642880417525621noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7134116632815807507.post-28433557025628063472011-05-22T21:02:00.002-05:002011-05-22T21:10:51.234-05:00YOUThis blog posting is for you. Yes, you. You who are reading this whilst sipping coffee in the morning, or skipping out of work. You who are reading this to take a break from studying (you know who you are...) or to catch up at the end of the day or to stop thinking about the pain in your knee. <br /><br />You who has supported me through my time here in Romania with calls and emails and packages. You who I have counted on to cry to and rejoice with. You who I have watched movies with and discussed books with and shared experiences with. You who has talked me through nights of loneliness and fear, you who has cared about my well-being. You whose name excites me when I see it on Skype or in my inbox, you who can make me laugh like no one else. You who understands me and makes me feel comforted. <br /><br />Thank you.Stephaniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11014642880417525621noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7134116632815807507.post-89375997325358634672011-05-21T13:55:00.003-05:002011-05-21T15:36:02.681-05:00Not the SameWhen I first decided to move to Romania, one of the ways I pacified myself was the promise of communication. We live in a world of instant communication, via telephone or email or the marvels of Skype. I told myself and everyone else that it would be like I wasn't even gone. We could talk and stay involved in the life of the other and it would all be okay.<br /><br />After spending a lot of time on Skype this week talking to various people, I've come to realize something that I should have suspected. <br /><br />This is not the same. It is not the same as holding a baby in your arms. It is not the same as lying next to someone in a bed. It is not the same as sitting by a friend watching a movie. It is not the same as going out and experiencing life together. <br /><br />You can get to know people, and discover new things about them. You can stay updated with the life events of friends. You can listen to laughter and participate in crying. You can even share experiences.<br /><br />But it never will be the same as holding a the hand of a friend, feeling the touch of someone close, hearing the breath of voice in your ear. <br /><br />This is not the same, and I really should stop telling myself it is.Stephaniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11014642880417525621noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7134116632815807507.post-12739010486273596012011-05-19T10:59:00.002-05:002011-05-19T11:05:45.170-05:00A WhisperOne month from this exact moment in time I will be on an airplane. I hope it's a really big airplane and I hope I have an aisle seat. And I'll go ahead and hope that there is an 8 year old child sitting next to me, taking up an appropriate amount of space whilst keeping themselves (and me) duly entertained. I'll also hope that I'll find a baby to play with, perhaps across the aisle. I hope the food is good (no airplane fish) and if I get really lucky there will be a good movie playing. I hope the hours preceeding this flight won't be too stressful, and that I'll have been able to get my hockey bag of a suitcase to the airport by myself. <br /><br />Most of all, I hope I'm not filled with the inexplicable sense of sadness that I feel when I think about one month from right now.Stephaniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11014642880417525621noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7134116632815807507.post-39684838519414633132011-05-11T14:37:00.000-05:002011-05-13T15:25:30.920-05:00ToenailsI had an EPIC realization today. Monumental, life changing, incredible realization.<br /><br />My toenails have been the same color for 22 months. And I am someone who likes change. I moved to Romania for goodness sakes!<br /><br />And the weird thing is... I am not at all discontent with the burnt orange shade. Not even a little bit interested in change.<br /><br />WHAT DOES THIS MEAN? <br /><br />(Please understand that I understand that this is a pointless post.)Stephaniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11014642880417525621noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7134116632815807507.post-62045435479909978362011-05-11T10:14:00.002-05:002011-05-11T10:22:06.028-05:00PersonalityIn the summer of 2006 I took a personality assessment called the MBTI- Myers-Briggs Type Inventory. This was for the Honors Program orientation at Anderson University, and it was pretty cool to take the assessment (I like that kind of thing) but also to read about myself. I know that lots of times assessments like this are dependent on the day, the mood or circumstance of the person taking it, and lots of other contextual factors... but I found my results to be dead on. I also know that these can change over time, but mine has remained the same for the last 5 years.<br /><br />I am an ENFJ through and through :)<br /><br />Basically, the reason I am talking about this is because I've run out of ideas for what to do with some of my older students. Especially the eighth grade- they literally have 5 weeks (nearly 4) left until high school, they re increasingly concerned about exams that are coming up, and optional English isn't exactly somewhere they want to focus their energy. I've assigned the last project and it is due in a few weeks, but the absense of a computer lab in the school means that most of the work for the project has to be done at home. <br /><br />So we are going to do the MBTI. What better time to learn about yourself, right? I loved this type of thing at that age, and I'm hoping my students don't absolutely hate it at the very least. <br /><br />What is your type?<br /><br />http://www.humanmetrics.com/cgi-win/JTypes2.asp<br /><br />http://www.personalitypage.com/high-level.htmlStephaniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11014642880417525621noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7134116632815807507.post-51282965185823109512011-05-08T12:49:00.003-05:002011-05-08T12:52:05.886-05:00PlayworksI have said for a long time that I could be perfectly happy if I could spend my days playing with children.<br /><br />Please go ahead and check out the job that I just applied for:<br /><br />http://www.playworks.org/careers/school-openings<br /><br />I'm really hoping this works out.Stephaniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11014642880417525621noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7134116632815807507.post-75185951897934827382011-05-07T12:41:00.004-05:002011-05-07T13:05:59.219-05:00Unwaveringly AmericanThe other night I was walking the road from Piaţa Romana back to my flat near Tineretului, I had a food craving. I get food cravings every once in a while, usually for good Mexican and Chinese, and the Thai food I've been missing so desperately. However, this night I was struck by an unabashedly American craving: Chicken McNuggets and a Diet Coke. Lucky for me there is a McDonald's at Piaţa Unirii, and so I continued on my walk armed with 4 delicious little processed balls of fried meat and the mixture of chemicals and carbonation equipped to clean industrial tar plants. And I thought about what I must look like, for all of my efforts to blend with local culture. I am simply an American. <br /><br /><em><strong>How to Spot an American in Romania:</strong></em><br />1. Eating at McDonalds<br />2. Laughing at the presence of KFC<br />3. Wearing jeans, but the boot leg type found at the Gap or Old Navy or on the Kohl's super-sale Saturdays... the Route 66 type found at your local K-Mart<br />4. Tennis shoes that are simply not sneakers<br />5. Alternatively, wearing Tivos<br />6. Hoodies from an American college or university<br />7. A curious appreciation for the- ahem- architecture covered with billboards- ahem as indicated by pointing and staring and pretending to look contemplative<br />8. Whispering about the ugliness of said commercial endeavours <br />9. Talking... loudly... about nothing... in restaurants<br />10. Commenting on how "charming" the local flavor is with no understanding of the trouble it causes to everyday Romanian people<br />11. Constant and visible frustration and dismay at people touching them and cutting in front of them in lines<br />12. Carrying maps- unfolded- on the metro<br />13. Speaking about how proud they are that they sucessfully navigated the Metro System<br />14. Continuing on, expressing surprise at how nice and efficient the Metro can be, despite the fact that Bucharest is the 6th largest city in Europe<br />15. In the winter, wearing a Columbia or North Face jacket<br />16. Speaking to shopowners and restaurant staff in English, exclusively<br />17. Gesturing wildly to cab drivers<br />18. Climbing into taxi cabs that have a posted rate this ISN'T 1.39 lei/km<br />19. Hesitating and false starting at every zebra crossing (though it can be noted that this might be an advisable behavior for everyone to copy)<br />20. Complaining amongst themselves about the lack of ice and fountain drinks<br />21. Wearing a Jansen backpack and carrying a guide book- dead giveaway<br /><br />This is all for now. More suggestions are welcome and will be added :)Stephaniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11014642880417525621noreply@blogger.com1