And so it goes.

Well.

When all of this first happened, there was no doubt in my mind that I would go back to Serbia. For one, what would I DO in the US? I doubt I could find a job, and if I could, there is no way I would love it as much as I love my job in Belgrade. I don't like leaving things undone. I signed up to live in Belgrade for at least a year, and wasn't ready to let go of it.

Then I started thinking about what going back would actually look like. I adore Belgrade, I love my job, and have met some really lovely people. The fact of the matter, however, is that I still don't have any close friends there, and certainly no network of friends and family who know me intimately and love me no matter what I do. Living alone in a country where I know no one and can't speak the language was difficult and lonely at times. Losing my father has been incredibly painful. I started to wonder... do I want to combine something very lonely with something very painful? That seems like a bad combination.

There was a day or two where I thought I couldn't go back. I was too sad, too tired, too scared to do anything. I talked to my region directors about how to get my belongings back to the US. I talked to my family about living here. And I talked to a pastor who knows me well from college. He didn't tell me what to do, didn't even really offer advice, but he asked the kind of leading questions I needed to be asked. A specific Bible verse came to mind while speaking to him (perhaps in part because it was the first Bible verse I learned in Spanish while in Nicaragua with this pastor). The verse is 1st John 4:18, "There is no fear in love, but perfect love casts out all fear..." If I stayed in the US it would be because I am scared. I am scared to be alone, scared to fail, scared that if I leave again something else terrible will happen to my family. But fear has nothing to do with love, perfect love casts out all fear. Because God is love, I know that this fear is not from God, and therefore I can be free from its influence. So, yesterday I emailed my region representatives and committed to going back to Serbia. I have my ticket and everything. I am still scared, of course, but I also have the strength and confidence to face the fear.

Like many things I say, this is an idea that has been expressed often (and often more eloquently!) by people before me. So, I will borrow John Newton's words to sum it up:

Through many dangers, toils, and snares I have already come
It was grace that lead me safe this far, and grace will lead me home.

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.

Playing house.

I am pleased to announce that I am now the proud resident of a Belgrade apartment. I'm not positive I can find my way back there from this internet cafe, but the important thing is I have the keys and all my stuff is there. The past few weeks have been a bit rough... after spending a year in Baltimore (which was bad enough!) I spent three days in the hospital, 4 days at my parents' house, 6 days in Akron, PA, 3 days in Sarajevo, 2 days in Novi Sad, 3 days living above a Swedish pentecostal church in Belgrade, and 4 days living with a woman from work in her one bedroom apartment. There has been A LOT of moving, so when I actually got to unpack today, it was quite a celebration.

My first day at the kindergarten the kids gave me a bag of gifts, including a little book called "I Love Belgrade", which is full of famous (and semi-famous) quotes about this lovely city. Seeing as how I'm more or less an actual resident now, my favorite is this:

"Typical Belgrade girls are good-looking, bold, gracious, but they possess a touch of Belgrade-style naughtiness that does not spoil their femininity, and is a mark of courage and wit, qualities that one must be born with."

Now, I'm not saying that being the owner of keys to an apartment in Belgrade makes this apply to me, but it is good to have goals :o)

The apartment is technically furnished, but we went to a church bazaar at the church next to the kindergarten where I work to pick up some extra things. The bazzar was pretty much like any church bazaar in the US, with a few important differences. 1. Everyone was speaking Serbian, which I still find a bit alarming. 2. All of the prices were in Dinars, so I had no idea how much anything cost, and 3. Middle aged Serbian women kept handing me things they insisted I needed to start my household. At the end of the day the bare essentials we left with included, but were certainly not limited to:

every day plates
fancy plates
plates that are only for cake
coffee mugs
tiny cups that are only for Turkish coffee
three decorative candle holders
a decorative tea pot
two vases (for all the flowers from all the Serbian men I'm not allowed to date, I guess)
three water pitchers
an egg separator
every kind of spoon, utensil, and gadget known to man, including a few that I've never seen before
two decorative baskets
about 43 sets of sheets (none of which fit the bed)

So, I am clearly well stocked, and you should come visit! For the time being I have two bedrooms and a pull out couch all to myself, plus enough dishware to host a dinner party every night! I'll show you a good time.

Beograd

So, I made it to Belgrade, and was told that I would be living above a Swedish sponsored Pentecostal church and living with a girl from work who is my age and speaks English. Then they raised the rent on that apartment, and I moved in temporarily with a different woman from work while we try to find somewhere for me to live. I went around town with three Serbian women who had about 15 words of English between them to find a new apartment for my roommate and I (she is currently working in Greece and coming back in September) and we found an acceptable one, and it seemed things were coming together (again). Later that day we found out my roommate actually found another apartment on her own and won't be living with me. We are supposed to meet with the apartment owners, who are currently living in Australia, on Saturday to sign for it... although with the way things are going, I'm crossing my fingers but not holding my breath. We also tried to regiter me with the police today, but something happened or didn't work or wasn't there, and it didn't take. So, no visa for Maggie (yet?). Perhaps you will be seeing me sooner than originally anticipated...

Internet access has been few and far between, which ranges from mildly frustrating to catastrophic, depending on how many other things are going on. I am trying really, really hard to be sweet and gracious and flexible and thankful for the hospitality people are showing me, but the truth is, I am a little concerned. If this is my honeymoon period with Serbia, I might need an annulment.

At least one good thing has happened, though... a realization. For so long I thought I was attracted to gay men, but it turns out I'm just attracted to EUROPEAN men. I'm telling you, there are tight pants, nice shoes, cool glasses, and messenger bags EVERYWHERE. Thank you, men of Belgrade, for making this transition a little more tolerable.

Safe in Sarajevo

Well, I've made it to Sarajevo. I'm here for orientation for a few days, and then I'm off to Novi Sad, Serbia, and finally Belgrade, where I'll be living.

Sarajevo is a beautiful city. I've never been to Europe before, so I was excited to see rows of beautiful buildings along a river with pedestrian bridges over it... it fit into my stereotype well. Of course, many of the buildings (and sidewalks, and streets...) have very visible evidence of the war. I knew that, I had read about it and been told by people who had been here, but it is still shocking to see. Bullet holes and shrapnel damage are generally not a part of my mental image of European towns. I know if I had paid more attention in history class it would be, but I didn't. I don't count that as too great a loss, though, because at least I will learn about it now, and by seeing, not by reading.

This is my first time in a foreign country where I'm not constantly stared at. Being a foreigner in Nicaragua and in Kenya was painfully apparent, but I got quite used to it. Actually, come to think of it, I was stared at last year for being white in my neighborhood in Baltimore far more than I am here. It is exhilarating to think that maybe- if I keep my mouth shut- people will think I belong here. Several people have even tried to speak to me in Bosnian and received an apologetic smile in return. In the interest of full disclosure, though, people could be ignoring me because all of the women who really do belong here are tall and thin and alarmingly beautiful and well dressed, and maybe my little American self just doesn't make much of an impact. I prefer, of course, to believe the former.

I don't know what else to say about this place that won't sound cliche or naive. It really is beautiful, and the weather is great. The people are sweet and the coffee is strong and the peaches and tomatoes are some of the best I've had in my life.

I am trying not to think too far into the future because my head will explode. Today I am in Sarajevo. Thursday I will go to Novi Sad and Saturday I will go to Belgrade. I will live in Belgrade for at least a year. See, that's too far in advance. I can't think about a year of Serbian language and meat pastries and war trauma... so I will think about today. Today I am in Sarajevo and it's beautiful and warm. I had two peaches for breakfast and I'm happy. Tomorrow I'll think about tomorrow.

Not kidding anymore.

You know, I was always half joking when I would talk about how much I hated Baltimore. Apparently the Gods of Baltimore can't take a joke, though, and I have now moved from a general sort of tolerable dislike to full blown loathing.

Last Thursday, the 30th, I was packing to move out of Baltimore and RHHP forever, which I was pretty excited about. "Oh boy!" I thought as I put things into boxes, "I'm ready to move on. Sure, Belgrade is another economically depressed city with a lot of violence, but I'm sure it will be great!" Later I thought, "Gee, I wonder my stomach hurts! Oh well, haha! I'm sure it's fine!". About an hour after that I thought, "WOW! My intense stomach pain now has a friend, Sharp Stabbing Pain in my Side! OW!". At this point I had stopped packing and was, instead, lying on the floor crying. I called our local program coordinator and couldn't get a hold of her, and I called my housemate who had the credit card (which is also our only form of health insurance) and couldn't get a hold of HER. I lay on the floor and cried for a while more, and then started throwing up. The intense stomach pain plus the sensation of being stabbed in the side with a dull, rusty knife, plus the vomiting didn't seem like a great combination, so I did what any self-respecting 23 year old college graduate pretending to be an adult would do: I called my mom. Then I called another housemate and asked if she could leave work to take me to the er, which she did (THANKS, ANNA!).

Long story short, I was admitted to the hospital for three days for kidney stones- IN BOTH KIDNEYS- and a badly infected left kidney. It was a pretty miserable few days, as I'm sure you can imagine, although I'm fine now. The cause? Stress. Everyone knew I hated my job and had a tough time with some of my housemates and hated my neighborhood, but even I didn't know I was so unhappy and dealing so poorly with the stress that I would actually get sick from it. Quite frankly, next time I get sick from stress I would prefer a cold to calcium deposits in my organs, but no one asked.

I eventually was released and got to go back to my parents' house for a few days to prepare for Serbia. I didn't want my last memories of Baltimore to be of being in intense pain, though, so last night I went to finish cleaning my room and to say goodbye to some friends. We had a great evening, it was wonderful to be able to spend one last night with the people who made the year tolerable (and even good at several points) and I was quite satisfied with the experience. I was pleased to be able to leave the city- and the country- on a good note.

And then I got a parking ticket.

Kind of irritating, kind of hilarious, but mostly just a fitting way to end this year. I'm ready for new challenges. I promise you, though, if there is an ice cream truck in Belgrade that drives around at 11:00 PM playing Christmas songs and selling crack, I am moving back to Vienna so fast you won't even get a souvenir.

All good things must come to an end... thankfully, so must the awful ones.

Today is my last day of work at Project PLASE, the transitional housing facility where I have been volunteering full time since September.

It is tempting, though perhaps not entirely accurate, to describe this past year as the worst of my life. That's a hard call to make, though, and is clearly subjective. Overall I've been extremely lucky and had a fairly easy, joyful life. Of course there have been some less than stellar times, like when I broke my back in three places and ruptured a disc and lost several of my closest friends. That was really just a few months of suckage, though, and it was sandwiched between two fabulous things. The month before I broke my back I had a month-long internship in rural Nicaragua, and six months after I broke my back I went to Kenya for two months. While both of those trips had difficult times, they were also some of the times I've felt happiest, and certainly the times I've felt the most fulfilled. Thus, it would be inaccurate to describe that as "the worst year", because that year had two great things and only one awful thing.

This year has had quite a few awful things, but more than that, it's just been consistently discouraging. I have been yelled at, intimidated, and assaulted by the clients I'm trying to help. I have learned a ton about homelessness, mental illness, and addiction, but mostly I've learned about people. I've learned I can't fix people, and a lot of times I can't even help people. Some people in my house are fabulous, and some people I will say goodbye to and hope I never see again. Some of our clients are honest, hardworking, genuine people, and some are manipulative jerks who will take any opportunity to make sexually inappropriate comments to and about me. I can honestly say that I will miss my coworkers, the other counselors here who do this impossibly hard job every day for 20 years or more. Most of them love their jobs and do them well, and I and the clients are fortunate to have been in their presence.I don't, however, think I will miss anything else. I will not miss the unappreciative and often aggressive clients, I will not miss the drug infested neighborhood, and I will not miss being part of an organization that so blatantly disregards my personal safety and needs. Maybe the ineffectiveness, mismanagement, and poor communication isn't true of all non-profits, but it will still be a long, long time before I work at any sort of public service organization again... you know, my year volunteering in Serbia aside.

All things considered I am more than ready to go. It isn't that I think Serbia will be easy or perfect or carefree, but it I do know it isn't here, and right now that's all I'm asking for. I'm sure at some point- maybe soon- I'll be grateful for the experience and the things it taught me. Right now I'm just grateful it's over.

Jes Karper says,


"Try on Life it fits like a glove
and feel what it’s like to Be Free
Try breathing and seeking to be an instrument of Love
and encourage one another on the journey
Give thanks to the land and the sky up above
and pour your energy into building a community

Make a space for the traveler to stop and put some love in
Be a shelter from the rushin’ and the pushin’ and the shovin’
Let the music play all night so we can sing and dance
Grow good organic food and lots of bright flowering plants
Put it in a pot and stir it up with lots-o-lovin’
Roll out the dough and fire up the cob oven
Dig into the dirt so you can take a stronger stance
Educate, Relate and be creative with resistance
And Try on Life…

Try exploring and evolving in whole new directions
emanating light from your innermost reflections
Create your own economy not based on the love of money
but on the abundant and free source of the sun’s energy
Feel the Healing Vibrations of Light’s far reaching projections
Open up our arms for caring and sharing our affections
Strive for sustainability, give back to the land, plant a tree
Grow a garden of souls and minds for the harvest will be plenty
as we Try on Life…


Try making a life, filling two new eyes with sight
as husband and wife spin their love and unite
For Unity is the healing force that creates
as community blooms from its embryonic states
Give children wings for flight so that they just might
find new ways of making the light shine more bright
Sing with them dance with them learn with them help them carry their weights
and cherish them for they grow at alarmingly fast rates
and Try on Life…"

...and I agree.

Andy Warhol on Love

"I wonder if it's possible to have a love affair that lasts forever. If you're married for thirty years and you're 'cooking breakfast for the one you love' and he walks in, does his heart really skip a beat? I mean if it's just a regular morning. I guess it skips a beat over that breakfast and that's nice, too. It's nice to have a little breakfast made for you."

Andy Warhol knows everything.

Are you ready for this?

People keep asking if I'm ready to go to Serbia, and I usually smile and tell them there isn't too much I need to do to prepare. I don't need a visa or work permit and I've already been vaccinated against anything and everything. The climate is the same (more or less) as Baltimore, so I don't need new clothes. I've been studying Serbian and reading all the histories of the region I can get my hands on, and even watching the Serbian films I can find.

That's the easier answer, so it's what I always say. The truth is, I'm not nearly so sure about this or anything else. In fact, I'm a little scared... some days more than a little.

People keep asking if I'm ready to go, and I give them my lengthy, logical, rehearsed answer. What I really want to say is, I have no idea. How do you know when you're ready?

"Into the caverns of tomorrow with just our flashlights and our love, we must plunge, we must plunge, we must plunge... and then we'll get down there, way down to the very bottom of everything and then we'll see it, we'll see it, we'll see it..."

The church is a broken institution made of broken people. Sometimes it seems all that any group of Christians ever does- myself very much included- is build caricatures of other groups of Christians to tear down. I find myself getting so angry at groups of Christians for being hateful towards other groups of Christians, only to realize I'm doing the same thing they they are.

I find myself torn between two points of view. One says if you love Christ you will love his church... the other says I love Christ, but not Christians, because Christians are so unlike Christ.

I know I love Christ, but some days I find it difficult to say the same about his followers. I guess the grace comes in the assumption that genuine Christians are progressing on a path to be more Christ-like? I know none of us are there yet... but how many of us are even moving in that direction? I'm not sure I can say I am.

Come Thou fount of every blessing
Tune my heart to sing Thy grace
Streams of mercy never ceasing
Call for songs of loudest praise
Teach me some melodious sonnet
Sung by flaming tongues above
I'll praise the mount I'm fixed upon it
Mount of Thy redeeming love

Here I raise my Ebenezer
Hither by Thy help I come
And I hope by Thy good pleasure
Safely to arrive at home
Jesus sought me when a stranger
Wondering from the fold of God
He, to rescue me from danger
Interposed His precious blood

O to grace how great a debtor daily I'm constrained to be!
Let Thy goodness like a fetter, bind my wandering heart to Thee
Prone to wander Lord I feel it, prone to leave the God I love
Here's my heart Lord, take and seal it, seal it for Thy courts above

Here is an article from BBC news on Bosnia. It wouldn't let me post it directly to the blog from the website, so I'm copying and pasting the text and pictures. It's by Paul Moss.

"Bosnia echos to alarming rhetoric"

They may have disagreed about politics, but the group of 20-something friends who had gathered for an after-work drink were all certain about one thing - they were Serbs.

"My father is a Serb, my grandfather is a Serb, I am a Serb. This is my nationality," said Vladislav.

"If we are looking at a football game," added Bane, "Serbia against somebody else, we are fans of Serbia."

These would not have been particularly notable declarations of identity, save for one crucial fact.

We were speaking in Banja Luka, a city in Bosnia, and all these people were Bosnian citizens.

But that meant little to Ivana, a trainee architect: "Bosnia is an artificial and silly creation, we naturally belong with Serbs," she said.

That "creation" was born out of the ruins of battle.


Everybody should be worried, this is the Balkans, and nationalist rhetoric here always leads to war

Svetlana Cenic, writer
At the end of the Bosnian Civil War, it was agreed that the country would remain a single nation.

However, the Serbs were granted their own officially-recognised region, known as the Republika Srpska.

It has its own parliament, and a fair degree of autonomy.

But now some fear this delicate constitutional compromise could be falling apart.

'Thinly-veiled threats'

The Republika Srpska parliament has issued a declaration, insisting that it has the right to make its own rules in certain key areas, like immigration and customs.



Milorad Dodik has hinted that he wants Republika Srpska to secede
That move was vetoed this week by Bosnia's High Representative, the internationally-appointed figure who still has executive authority in the country.

But the resulting row has left many worried about the country's stability.

"The way the Serb politicians speak is getting more and more nationalistic," says Svetlana Cenic, a writer and newspaper columnist.

"Everybody should be worried," she warns. "This is the Balkans, and nationalist rhetoric here always leads to war."

Svetlana and others are particularly alarmed by the pronouncements of the Bosnian Serb Prime Minister, Milorad Dodik.

He has made thinly-veiled threats that the Republika Srpska might secede from Bosnia altogether.

Any attempt at secession by the Republika Srpska would be seriously destabilising.

It would alarm the many ethnic Croats who still live in the region, as well as the Muslim population, known as Bosniaks.

It might also tempt the Croat region of Bosnia to contemplate a similar move towards independence.

But more than anything, secession would be resisted by the remaining part of Bosnia, with its capital in Sarajevo.

Hundreds of thousands of non-Serbs now live there, having been driven out of what is now the Republika Srpska during the Civil War.

'Betrayed'

And for those who remember this experience, like the actress Alena Dzebo-heco, independence for the Republika Srpska would be a moral outrage.

"The people who did the ethnic cleansing, they would get what they wanted," she argues.

"After everything my family went through - my uncle was in a concentration camp, my father was arrested.

"We would feel betrayed."

The ruling party in the Republika Srpska, the SNSD, has been playing down fears that it plans to secede - at least any time soon.

The speaker of the parliament, Igor Radojicic, said Mr Dodik, his party leader, was only responding to threats from Bosniaks.



He argues that they would like to take away the Republika Srpska's powers, and rule the whole of Bosnia directly.

"The fact is that Serbs are a minority in Bosnia, approximately one-third.

"There are fears that the Muslims might make decisions in favour of their ethnic group. So we are fighting to protect our autonomy."

There is certainly plenty of fear in the Republika Srpska that Muslims pose a threat.

They range from the kind of sober political argument advanced by the Parliamentary Speaker, to more lurid anxieties, whipped up in part by sensationalist newspapers.

"Osama Bin Laden has operations in Sarajevo," one well-educated man told me.

Others insisted that the Serbs were in the vanguard of the struggle against Islamic fundamentalism - this despite the fact that Bosnian Muslims tend to be relatively non-observant.

It is 17 years since the Bosnian Civil War began, sparked off by each different ethnic group believing that the others were trying to take over, and that they had to fight back.

The risk is that these fears, and the inflammatory rhetoric that tends to drive them, may be gaining ground once again.

Well timed, National Geographic. I appreciate it.

Thank you, Jessie, for alerting me to an article about Serbia in July's issue of National Geographic. It is informative and, unlike Noel Malcom's "Short" History of Bosnia and "Short" History of Kosovo, a readable length. I sincerely hope I have a chance to visit Kosovo/a while I'm there. I also hope there isn't any violence in Belgrade (or Bosnia, Kosovo/a, or anywhere else) while I'm there... or ever again. Perhaps that is wishing too much, though.

Here is the link to the article. There is a very nice series of photos as well: http://ngm.nationalgeographic.com/2009/07/serbs/carroll-text

I don't wanna grow up, I'm an MVS kid...

I didn't realize how firmly planted in childhood I am until this week.

I'm house-(and dog)-sitting for a family from church this week, and it has been great. My house in Baltimore is great some of the time, but I am loving the quiet of the suburbs and the independence of living alone. I had no idea how anxious the neighborhood and, yes, the housemates make me until I had a chance to live my regular life but removed from RHHP... what a difference. Having an adorable dog around doesn't hurt, either. I've loved doing my own grocery shopping (I want some sunflowers? Great! I can buy some sunflowers!) and all my own cooking (dinner when I'm hungry, all foods that I like) and being able to be in the kitchen in my pajamas without a bra on (no middle age conservative male refugees to offend!). The one downside is that I have been making and drinking whole pots of coffee. At home I use a single-serving maker or a french press, but this family has a big, fancy coffee maker and I can't help but use it to its full potential. Clearly at 23 I am not yet mature enough to monitor my own coffee consumption.

So what defines adulthood? Paying rent? Having a job? Having self control over delicious caffinated beverages? Right now I don't pay rent, I don't pay any bills, and I don't make any money. Once a month Heather hands me $50 in cash. I spend it on what luxuries I want (coffee or drinks out, fancy soap...) and once it's gone, it's gone. If I need food I write it on a list and it magically shows up Monday afternoon. If there is something wrong with the unit car I take it to the shop and hand over the Magical MVS Credit Card, for which I never see a bill. Same with if I get sick- I don't have health insurance, but if I get hit by a bus or get swine flu, the Mennonites pay for it. For all intensive purposes I live right now the same way I did when I was 14, except I think my allowance may have been higher then.

Next year will be more of the same. I will handle my own money, but it still won't be MY money. I will take X amount of money and give it to the landlord. I will take X amount of money and it is all I am allowed to spend on food. I will get X amount of money as a stipend to spend on coffee, alcohol, and fancy soap. Baby steps towards adulthood... baby steps.

When I get BACK from Serbia I'm still not sure if I will meet societal expectations for adulthood. I am most likely going to try to do an Americorps position in Minneapolis so I can earn an education award to go back to school. I will make my own money that I can spend however I want, but it will only be about $900 a month, and that's BEFORE taxes. After a year of THAT, I am now 80% sure I want to go back to school- nursing school, to be exact. I will take pre-requisites at a community college or online while doing Americorps, and then spend the education award to work towards a nursing degree. Originally I wanted to go to nursing school so I could work towards being a midwife, but now I mostly want to go to prove wrong a friend who strongly implied I wasn't smart enough to do it... spite is a great motivator.

This is all to say that my post-college life isn't exactly how I (or my parents- sorry guys!) imagined it. Volunteer for a year... volunteer for a year abroad... volunteer for another year (but KIND of get paid!)... go back to school (there is an intensive 16-month program for a masters in nursing designed for people with a bachelor's degree in something other than nursing at the University of Minnesota that I would love to do) and then do some MORE school to specialize in midwifery.

What do I want to do after that? I will be 27 or 28 by the time it is done, specialization and all, and will have never had a "real job". So what would the next step be?

Why, volunteer with MSF or CPT, of course.

Low income countries have an infant mortality rate NINE TIMES HIGHER than wealthy countries (like the US). I don't think rich babies are worth nine times more, though.

I always thought I was called to work with the world's poor- the "poorest of the poor', if possible. Now that I'm going to Serbia I'm struggling with what it means to be a servant to people whose primary burden is not poverty (although Serbia certainly has more than its share of poverty)but violence. The more I read about the history of the region, the more confused I am. My questions are not so much how people can do these things to each other, because quite frankly, I understand the tendency to react to pain by hurting other people. What I don't understand is how people can live through the things that these people have lived through. Maybe I'm just being a pessimist, but I'm not as shocked by the violence and the hate as I am by the strength and the perseverance of the people. I'm almost afraid to meet people my age who grew up in Belgrade. When I was 13 I was thinking primarily about glitter eye liner and the boy whose locker was two down from me. When people my age who grew up in Belgrade were 13, they were living through the bombardment of their city (by my government!). What does that even mean? What do you do when bombs are falling? When actual bombs are being dropped on your city, what do you do? Do you go the basement? If you live in an apartment building do the people in the basement apartments let you in? Do you stay where you are? Eat dinner and try to talk about something else? My closest point of reference for something like that would be sitting in the bathtub in the basement hugging my dog during thunder storms, which, needless to say, is not even on the same graph as a war. I have so many questions... so many questions.

Lord, give me a humble heart. Make me a servant. Use me to lessen the suffering, Lord, but if I can't change the suffering, use it to change me. "Let my heart be broken by the things that break the heart of God".

Bwana Asifiwe!

I haven't really thought a ton about Kenya the past few months, but lately it's been making a strong comeback in the competition for the forefront of my thoughts. One of my best (and prettiest! Hi, Katie!) friends from college just got back from 8-ish months in Tanzania and a few weeks in Kenya, and I got to hang out with her this week. She brought me a can of DOOM, which is this insanely strong insecticide that is sold in Kenya and almost for sure not FDA approved. It kills giant roaches immediately on contact, and since the roaches in Baltimore are the size and strength of the ones in Kenya, I asked her to bring me some. I am shocked and delighted that it got through customs, and have used it to spray down my closet and the corners of my room where I have seen roaches. I also sprayed a circle around my bed and have the can sitting on my nightstand for any emergency roach spraying needs. I've been sleeping much better since then, probably both from the peace of mind and the fumes.

The cool thing about Katie being back, other than the pesticides and getting to hang out with her, is getting to hear about her travels and live a little bit through them. I have this problem where I think everyone else's life is infinitely more interesting than my own, so I enjoy sitting down and living vicariously through my interesting friends. Even just thinking about Katie in Kenya (and, to some extent, Tanzania, too) makes me think about my (very short) time in Kenya and the things from that trip that changed me, and the things from that trip that I've since forgotten. When I first came back I thought almost constantly about the dead babies I saw, the starving kids, the slums, the poverty, the pain. After a while I only thought about it sometimes, like when I would hear a baby cry or throw food away. When I started thinking about it this week, I couldn't remember the last time I had thought about it. While I was talking with Katie I was also cleaning my room and putting away clothes, and I kept thinking, oh my God, when did I get this many shoes? Why do I have so many shirts? Why do I need so many books? When did this become my life? Where did that girl who was so passionate about clean water sources for economically poor communities go, and why does she now care so much about nail polish?

Another reason I've been thinking about Kenya is that we just got a new client at work who is Kenyan. I was perhaps a bit overly excited when I found out and I think I might have scared him a little, but I'm going to make it up to him by bringing in some of my Kenyan chai. I might even make him some ugali and chapati and cabbage and oh... I'm excited.

The other country on my mind, clearly, is Serbia. I am getting much more nervous about moving, my main thought being "WHAT AM I DOING??" and my secondary thought being "WHO MOVES TO SERBIA??". The more I try to learn Serbian, the more I realize that Serbian is a really hard language to learn. They use the Cyrillic alphabet sometimes and the Roman alphabet sometimes, but the Roman one isn't the English one, it has all these EXTRA letters, and is missing a few, too. They all make different sounds, and some of the Cyrillic letters look like Roman ones but aren't the same. Also, Serbian not only has formal and informal forms, as well as nouns with genders, but it also has cases for the nouns. If a noun is the subject of the sentence it is in the nominative form, if it is the object it is in the accusative form, if it is possessive it is in the genitive, if it is the indirect object it is in the dative. And of course, just to mess with your head, the plural forms of the cases are different from the singular ones. And then they change the alphabet. And then you offend people if you call KosovO KosovA and vice versa.

To make myself feel better I formulated a 4-part fool-proof plan to make friends in Belgrade.

Part 1 (stateside): Buy lots of clothes from H&M to fit in. Ignore Kenyan memories about excessive spending and possessions. Try not to think about sweatshop labor.

Part 2 (in Belgrade): Smile a LOT.

Part 3: Bake a lot of cakes, cookies, bread, and anything else with a strong, welcoming scent. Keep all apartment windows and doors open. If necessary, place small fans in windows to direct scent of baked goods into the street and apartment building. Welcome and feed Serbians who follow their noses to my house.

Part 4: Marry hungry, handsome Serbian man. Steal his friends. Be doted on by his Serbian grandmother.

I'm pretty sure this will work, and it doesn't require memorizing any more crazy Serbian words and grammar. Check and check.