I have often wondered what makes a person an adult. I certainly didn't feel like an adult at 18 (or 19, 20, 21, or 22), didn't feel particularly grown up when I graduated from college, and until now, have sort of been wondering when that transition would happen. I know it doesn't have to be an all-at-once transformation, but I also anticipated things like marriage or childbirth being strong indicators of adulthood. I did not think the death of a parent would be my first major growing up moment, and find it almost funny that it has had such an effect on my self perception. Not "haha", funny, of course, but funny because I feel like an adult for the first time at a point when more than ever I want to curl up in someone's lap, cry, be held, have my hair stroked, and all my decisions made for me.

One of the (many) challenges I am seeing in the aftermath of my father's death is that it feels like I am living two incomplete lives. I am here in the states with my family until the 12th of October, but don't really have anything to do. While my sisters and mother return to their homes and slowly begin their daily activities, I wait... feel sad... find things in the house to clean... but as much as it feels like there is nothing for me here, there is, perhaps, almost less for me in Belgrade. Here I have so many dear friends, and of course my family... in Belgrade I have an apartment and a job (and all of my physical possessions) but little in the way of a support network. Where does that leave me, then? In limbo, in neutral, in the in-between, stalled, frozen, STUCK. Between where I grew up and where I want to be, between my responsibilities to my family and my aspirations for my career, between childhood and an adult life for which I might not be ready.

Of course, no one asked if I was ready. I keep thinking about the last time I talked to my dad on the phone, and the chances I had to call home that I turned down. The fact of the matter is, however, no matter when the last time I spoke to him was or could have been, I wouldn't have known it would be the last time, so I wouldn't have known to make it special. That paradox hurts. I am living day by day, moment to moment, taking the fears and sorrow and hope in bite size amounts, because that is all I can do right now (and, in the larger sense, all any of us can ever do).

The following might seem like a strange thing to put on a blog. This is an incredibly public place, and every day it seems I find out another person I know is reading it. Even some people I DON'T know read it, and to them, this might seem particularly odd. Still, I feel compelled to write it, because if this is supposed to document my year in Serbia, it would be painfully inaccurate if I didn't talk about it. I also hope that in some small way, sharing this with however many people will see it will make it an easier load to bear.

My father died last Tuesday. It was his 60th birthday. In fact, my first whole Serbian sentence that I made up myself, not from a book or for homework, was "Danas je moj onacov rođendan! Srećan rođendan, tata" which (I think) means, "Today is my father's birthday. Happy birthday, dad." (I wasn't 100% sure on the possessive). Anyway, as I was writing that sentence (and feeling proud of myself for being able to), my father had a heart attack while taking a nap and died in his sleep. I found out at about 10:00 pm Belgrade time, and was home in DC by Wednesday evening.

It hurts. I don't recognize my life or my family or myself. I have never felt anything like this before, and I am not a big fan. The neighbors bring food, so we eat it. We put it in our mouths, chew, swallow, and agree that it is good. We are sure it is, but we don't know, because we can't taste yet.

It is exactly like playing in the snow too long. There isn't any pain when your hands and feet are red and raw and numb. The pain comes when you go inside, and the numbness starts to leave. I remind myself that, just like hands numb from the cold, this pain is a good thing. The pain means that the blood is starting to flow to that part of you again, that your heart is beating, that feeling is coming back. Knowing that doesn't make it hurt any less, though. I hear that at some point it will hurt less, but I don't know when that is yet.

I feel like I have gotten to know my father more through the open house and funeral and reception than I did when he was alive. I keep thinking about how much he would have enjoyed the reception after the service, or how pleased he would be to know that they talked about him on NPR. Mostly I keep thinking about the things I want to say to him, the things I didn't think to say when I still living my old life, the life of a child, so I will say them now. Dad, if you're still reading this blog, I want you to know that I love you. I want you to know that I am proud of you, and that I miss you, and that I think I am starting to understand how much you loved me, and that you were proud of me, too. I want you to know you were on NPR, and in the Washington Post, and on the home page of the Newseum website. Mostly I want you to know that I love you.

Tears come in waves, and cards and flowers and emails come by the truck load. So many times I have remained silent when someone I know has lost someone, because I never knew what to say. Now I know that the important thing is just to say SOMETHING, because every text message, facebook post, email, card, and phone call mean something... mean a lot, actually. Each one brings a little hope, a little peace.

I will be going back to Serbia. I don't know when yet, but I know I will go back. I love my life there, and my dad would want me to go back. I know that, because he loved me, and he was proud of me.

Doviđenja, tata. Volim te.

http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/content/article/2009/09/21/AR2009092103716.html

http://www.newseum.org/news/news.aspx?item=nn_PAGE090917&style=f

http://www.kansas.com/news/obituaries/story/975616.html

Death by stupidity.

I know we all thought that a draft would be what killed me, but it turns out there is another contender for my life: Belgrade's trams.

First, a confession: I am not great with public transportation. I am not afraid of it, but I am not very good at it, either. I can get around just fine on the DC metro, but that is about it (and I have been doing it since I was a child). In Baltimore I sometimes took the bus home from work, but most days it was actually faster to walk. I took the metro in Baltimore once, with housemates, and never used the lightrail. In Belgrade I have been using the buses, trams, and trolleys, but usually with a Serbian friend. I can take the tram to work, but usually walk because the weather is so nice and the bakeries smell so good. So, while I am certainly capable of using public transport, I'm not great at it. I admit that and have come to terms with it. Now I might need to get over it.

Two days ago a friend at work called the internet company to find out why there still wasn't internet in my apartment. He told me that everything was set up, but I had to go to the office to pay them. He explained where the office was, near the city center, which I am pretty familiar with. Another friend looked at the address and said it was near Kalamegdan, which I am also quite familiar with. Another friend had previously told me that tram 5 would take me from my house to Kalemegdan. So, I put two and two (and two) together, and decided that I could be brave and independent and take tram 5 to Kalemegdan, walk towards the city center, find the internet place, give them money, and come home to working internet. Easy. Fast. Non-lethal.

After work I hopped on tram 5. I took a seat and figured I would ride until I saw Kalemegdan, and then I would get off. It seemed a reasonable enough plan. After a few minutes, most people got off the tram... eventually I was the only one in the car (which was the last car, not the one with the driver). That made me a little nervous, but I hadn't seen Kalemagden, so I held my ground. Then I saw that there wasn't anyone in ANY of the cars, except the driver... this made me a little more nervous, but darn it, I wanted internet, and if that meant riding in an empty tram, well, I was going to do it. Then the tram went off the road into a little turn-around kind of place, and turned around. Then it stopped. Then it turned off. Then the driver got out and walked away.

"Nervous" quickly became "quite alarmed", but I thought, you know, I am a strong, young, independent woman, and if nothing else, I can just walk around until I know where I am. I went to the door and pushed the button to open it and... nothing. I was downright terrified now, and ran to the other door and pushed that button and... nothing. I tried to get a few fingers between the doors o pry them open, but they wouldn't budge. One or more of the signs may have had emergency opening procedures on it, but they were all in Serbian (Cyrillic, on top of it! That's just mean, the two alphabets thing...). I tried to open the windows, but they didn't open, either. I saw my life pass before my eyes, and it seemed far too short with not nearly enough traveling. Of all the ways to die, starving or suffocating or simply being scared to death on a tram at the end of the line in Belgrade is really not up there on my list.

There was nothing left to do except yell (and hyperventilate). I could see the driver down the way a bit, smoking a cigarette. I pounded on the windows as loudly as I could, and since neither my Serbian phrase book nor my Serbian lessons covered "For the love of God I am trapped inside the tram", I yelled "MOLIM?? MOLIM??" Which means please, and you're welcome, and is what you say when you answer the phone or when someone says your name to get your attention. It seems like a generally all around polite word, but I was screaming it at a not very polite volume. The driver didn't flinch. I figured maybe my accent was so good he thought I was just a very loud polite Serbian, so I decided to try to convey more of the distressed foreigner persona. "HELLO????" I yelled, still banging on the windows as loudly as possible. The (surprised) driver turned around, and waved at me. Yeah, not the response I was hoping for. I waved back, and then gestured frantically at the doors in my best cross-cultural "OPEN THE DOOR OPEN THE DOOR OPEN THE DOOR" charade. He slooowwwllly walked to the tram, turned it on, and opened the doors. I have never exited anything so quickly in my life.

As I walked past the front car, he said something to me in Serbian (my best guess at translation is: You are the biggest idiot ever. Also, you should find a paper bag to breathe into." I did my best to smile. "...ja sam Amerikanka...", I said meekly. "Ahhh...." he said nodding, as all confusion left his face. Of course you are an American. Americans are often in the habit of not knowing where the end of the tram line is, staying on too long, and then having panic attacks in the back of the car. That explains everything. On your way, then....

As I walked away (and got my bearings- we were at the zoo, behind Kalemegdan... I hadn't seen that side before and didn't recognize it) I couldn't help but laugh.... and laugh and laugh and laugh. A few minutes later the same tram with the same driver passed me on the street. He had only wanted to smoke a cigarette before heading back the other side of the route. Nothing- and I mean nothing- brings more joy than the realization that you will live to see another day in Belgrade... except maybe the realization that you are a huge idiot and need to get off the tram when everyone else gets off the tram.

I paid the internet people, by the way, and am writing this from my apartment. Also, it took me 40 minutes, but I decide to walk the whole way home.

My dreams are toast.

There is a quote in the little book the kindergartners gave me that I have been repeating to myself a lot lately. I don't have it with me, but it says something along the lines of, "If you were lucky enough to wake up in Belgrade this morning you should ask nothing more of life. To ask for more would be immodest."

I guess I got greedy. Today I was supposed to get a TV and a toaster and possibly maybe I was hoping for internet in the apartment, but no go on any of it. For some reason the toaster is the most disappointing loss. I really miss toast. There are a lot of things I would like to have here in Belgrade... friends would be nice. Internet in the apartment would be great. A cheap way to talk to all my friends I (foolishly!) left in the states would be wonderful. An instant ability to speak and understand Serbian would help a lot. None of those things, though, feel like immediately realizable, concrete goals. As any nanny or parent or preschool teacher will tell you, the most important thing about goal setting is that the goals be realizable, and while I certainly hope at SOME point to have friends and internet and the ability to speak Serbian, those aren't things I can control or achieve this very weekend. I thought a toaster was... and it wasn't. That being said, I was lucky enough to wake up in Belgrade this morning, and the air was cool and fresh and I am blessed to be here. I repent of my immodest longings for toast, but to be honest, I am still in the market for a toaster. Just because this one didn't work out I'm not giving up ALL hope. One day I will toast again, and that day will be beautiful.

Other than that, things are going well. I have started my official Serbian lessons, which are hilarious because the teacher doesn't really speak English. I suppose that will help me learn more quickly, but it is also frustrating at times. The must be working at least a little, though, because this week I understood my first real Serbian sentence (not one about greetings or polite conversation). A little girl at work asked me if it was Friday, and I understood her. Yes, I said, it IS Friday! I was far more excited about my proficiency than she was. Hopefully I will continue to learn and learn quickly, because nothing- and I mean nothing- makes me feel more ridiculous than standing in the grocery store looking at my Serbian-English dictionary trying to figure out what is laundry detergent and what is floor cleaner. Don't put pictures of flowers and apples on the bottles, people, put pictures of THE FLOOR or CLOTHES or a TOILET or a COUNTER. This would make my life much easier.

Finally, based on comments on my last post it seems some real live Serbians have been reading this, which shocks and delights me. In the off chance that any of you continue to read, I have a question. Why in God's name have you been keeping ajvar from the rest of the world? That stuff is delicious. We do NOT have it in the US and the first person to start exporting it will make a lot of money. Please, have compassion on your fellow human beings who have lived long enough without this deliciousness.... spread the ajvar love.

Serbs say...

Before coming here I spent a decent amount of energy convincing people that Serbia is a place where I will be quite safe. A lot of what people in the US know about the region relates to the wars, so when they hear names like Bosnia and Belgrade, they get nervous. Over and over again I explained that I would be safe, I knew what I was getting into, and that I almost certainly would not die.

I am sorry to say I have to take back those comments. It turns out I probably WILL die this year, and according to some Serbs, it's a wonder I haven't already. The following is a BRIEF list of all the things that Serbians are sure will kill me and/or cause me to be infertile (which seems to be a major concern over here):

If I go outside with wet hair, I will die.
If I stand or- God forbid- sleep in a drafty place, I will die.
If I use the AC too much, I will die.
If I drink too many cold drinks, I will die.
If I sit on cold concrete, my ovaries will freeze and I will become infertile (this is my favorite!)
If I walk around without shoes or socks on inside, I will become infertile, and then die.
If I let a wet bathing suit dry on my body, I will get a UTI, become infertile, and then die.
If I swim in a cold lake I will get a UTI, become infertile, and die.

I had no idea the dangers I was getting into when I signed up for this. I certainly didn't think my potential future children would be in danger from all the concrete steps I'm prone to sit on... I guess I just like living on the edge.

Oh, I should also address the other fear that people (read: my mother) had about this year. My mom (and, OK, some of my close friends... actually, anyone who knows me well...) was afraid that I would move to Serbia, fall in love, get married, and stay forever. I am sorry to tell you all over the internet, but this, too, is a fear realized. I am deeply, passionately, and blindly in love with... Turkish coffee. It's like I have been living a lie with all of that drip and filter and french press nonsense I drank before. Coffee! That's nothing! I have met my beverage soul mate in the thick, strong, sometimes overpowering wonder that is served in tiny, adorable cups, and I will never, ever go back.