I feel lost in this never ending void. Life is happening around me. People are working, children are attending school, house wives are driving their mini vans to PTA meetings, and husbands are driving their sedans to the office. Ants moving up and down, all around. Yet I have stopped. For the first time in my life I have stepped outside the pre-ascribed life path that was predestined for my life, my culture, my age group, my gender. Stopped. The funny thing is, I did not intentionally stop. It is almost as if God pulled me out. Said, no- you need to stop this never-ending pre-ascribed cultural process. Stopped. In desperation to get back in, I have applied to hundreds of jobs, spoken to hundreds of people, have about fifty versions of my resume, eaten too much dark chocolate, and still I am stopped.
A professor wants me to come and speak to her undergraduate International Development 101 class in a few weeks. What do I say? This class will be filled with idealistic college students who have inevitably jumped on the Kony2012 bandwagon and are eager to change the world. They are culturally Southern California, which is fine and good but the reality is that if they want a job in the aid industry they will have to make the inevitable move to the east coast. If their class is any like my graduating class, a handful will make the jump east, a few will be living out of the country, and most will stay in California and will either return to school for a different degree, struggle to maintain a job in the small nonprofit sector of SoCal, or get married and be a housewife. All options are fine and good but none of them are saving the world. I don't want to sound negative but today in the middle of my never-ending void and removal of all normal life paths, I am feeling a bit pessimistic. Wondering what the heck I am doing, what advice I will give these college students, and how in the world I am going to get back to this treadmill of life- because right now, it feels like a never-ending void of unemployment is what awaits me.
Showing posts with label Cultures. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Cultures. Show all posts
26 March 2012
06 March 2012
Happy
Happy. Can you be happy and yet stressed out? Maybe it is contentment? I am happy. I am happy where I am at. I am happy sitting in the coffee shop where I got my first job in high school. I am happy that while I sit here, my friends are working the bar, and people I have known my entire life stroll through the door to get a good afternoon cup o' joe. Happy.
Happy. Maybe it is because I feel like I belong. This is my place. My people. My culture. My coffee shop. This is where I have cried, worked, learned, sang, and contemplated life. This is, without a doubt, the hub of my community. Happy.
I am happily looking for a job. I am happily unemployed. I am happily drinking a cup of coffee. I am happily watching the high school girls wear sweatpants in style. (yes, MN teenage girls can pull that off). Happy.
Happy that I am here. Happy that I was born in this place. Happy that it is where I feel at home. Happy.
Happy. Maybe it is because I feel like I belong. This is my place. My people. My culture. My coffee shop. This is where I have cried, worked, learned, sang, and contemplated life. This is, without a doubt, the hub of my community. Happy.
I am happily looking for a job. I am happily unemployed. I am happily drinking a cup of coffee. I am happily watching the high school girls wear sweatpants in style. (yes, MN teenage girls can pull that off). Happy.
Happy that I am here. Happy that I was born in this place. Happy that it is where I feel at home. Happy.
03 March 2012
I have a pinterest account. Doesn't everyone? I like it. I like putting things I find online in one place. It is nice, easy, convenient, and the new google.
I also find myself feeling like I live in a idealist world when I am on pinterest. Does everyone's kitchen really look like that? Because mine sure does not! Does everyone have the picture perfect kids? Does everyone have the dream wedding and fall in love for the rest of their lives? I made this recipe and it, well, didn't look like the picture or taste the way they told me it would. But I will repin, because that is what we do now. We pin and repin and drool over opulent stuff.
Then there are other times when I feel amazing. I have one pin that has been repined nearly 3,000 times. That is almost 3,000 people in the world seeing this picture and putting it on their board. And then, because of this one pin, other people- that I don't even know!- started following me on pinterest. Talk about a self esteem booster, right? Right... because my value and worth now hinges on the fact that 2,899 strangers repined a pin.
Then I think of my time living in a developing country and cringe. Cringe because we waste time and energy and money on stuff. But then I don't want to sound or think like a communist, so I don't say it. But maybe I should. We do not need the dream kitchen, wedding, husband, kid, outfit, hair, body, menu, birthday party, and garden to be happy. Don't you know there are starving children in the world? *Gulp* Because lets be honest, I did excited when 3,000 people repind my pin. I did get happy when I found an amazing recipe. I. get. sucked. in.
Oh my countrymen, what will it take to wake up and realize that we already live in a dream world for the majority of the world? We have luxury that only people can dream about and it is not good enough for us. Will it ever be good enough?
I also find myself feeling like I live in a idealist world when I am on pinterest. Does everyone's kitchen really look like that? Because mine sure does not! Does everyone have the picture perfect kids? Does everyone have the dream wedding and fall in love for the rest of their lives? I made this recipe and it, well, didn't look like the picture or taste the way they told me it would. But I will repin, because that is what we do now. We pin and repin and drool over opulent stuff.
Then there are other times when I feel amazing. I have one pin that has been repined nearly 3,000 times. That is almost 3,000 people in the world seeing this picture and putting it on their board. And then, because of this one pin, other people- that I don't even know!- started following me on pinterest. Talk about a self esteem booster, right? Right... because my value and worth now hinges on the fact that 2,899 strangers repined a pin.
Then I think of my time living in a developing country and cringe. Cringe because we waste time and energy and money on stuff. But then I don't want to sound or think like a communist, so I don't say it. But maybe I should. We do not need the dream kitchen, wedding, husband, kid, outfit, hair, body, menu, birthday party, and garden to be happy. Don't you know there are starving children in the world? *Gulp* Because lets be honest, I did excited when 3,000 people repind my pin. I did get happy when I found an amazing recipe. I. get. sucked. in.
Oh my countrymen, what will it take to wake up and realize that we already live in a dream world for the majority of the world? We have luxury that only people can dream about and it is not good enough for us. Will it ever be good enough?
23 February 2012
Morning Commutes
There is something about morning commutes that make me feel alive. I don't know why, but they do. I have fond memories of morning commutes. Most people dread them, hate them, move closer to their work so that the time is shorter, etc. But they make me happy.
When I was in college and still living in the dorms, I would walk into the bathroom and my friend would be sighing with happy sighs that the day had begun. The walk to the cafeteria was quiet, not everyone was awake, the breakfast bland, but the company enjoyable. I filled up my cup with ice, to chew in class to stay awake, before I would join in the throngs of students sleepily moving towards their classrooms. Professors somehow were always more awake. At least, the ones that taught early classes.
When I lived in Kenya, the feet that traveled the dirt paths alongside the roads of Nairobi, the cars honking, the smell of exhausted filling your nostrils, ultimately making them black, kept me alive. I was so exhausted that I just followed my friend's feet in front of me, one after the other in the cold air. The smell of burning garbage, smoking maize, and dust filled the air. Exhausted, happy, worried, and filled with life that I was part of the morning commute.
When I worked in Minnesota, I would commute with my dad. He would drive in, and I would drive out. Pitch black, with only the headlights to light the way, we would enter the lineup of cars wanting to enter the freeway. By the time we were onto our second highway, I was nodding off, trusting that my dad would get us where we needed to be. But on our way home. Our way home I drove, and we chatted about our days. He would be exhausted, but I would be full of life. Even sitting behind cars of people, I felt content. Part of society.
When I moved to Boston, I walked to "work" aka school. A morning rush and fight over the one single bathroom I shared with my roommates. The making of coffee, splitting the pot with my friend. Feeling like I was a duck, following my friends up the hill to the university. One step, two steps, three steps more. The song, "we are following the leader, the leader" played in my head a lot. I felt alive in the morning, with cool crisp air that filled my lungs. Happy.
When I moved to DC I took the train. I felt empowered. I would park my car in a pre-paid spot, happy that I had scored such a deal. I would walk the few blocks to the train station and swipe my smart pass through the gate, grabbing a newspaper along the way. I would stand on the right side of the escalator for those who were incredibly rushed could run by. I knew where to stand on the track so that the door would open exactly in front of me, allowing me to get the choice seat. I sat and read the paper, listened to music, and people watched. I transfered trains smoothly, knew where to throw my paper into the recycle at the end of my ride. I got mad at tourists, even angrier at the transit committee for trains breaking down, and would compare horror stories with my coworkers about the metro. Buy I was part of the daily commute of people who worked for powerful people. The people who made decisions about the country and the world.
When I lived in Uganda, the sounds I heard as I woke up were what made me feel part of the commute. School kids walking by, talking and gossiping. Boda Boda drivers revving their engines. The sounds of my landlady greeting the staff, jumping her car, running to her next destination. The lorries honking their horns as they narrowly missed the neighborhood goat. The beginning of a new day.
This morning, I was up and out of the house. I spent the morning at a tea shop and got a glimpse of the morning commute. Regulars coming in and ordering their drinks, mothers having tea dates to catch up, school kids running in with their mom's money to buy her a cup of tea. The rhythm of morning life. It gives me joy.
Morning commutes are good. It shows life, the economy, culture, and customs. It makes me feel apart of something.
When I was in college and still living in the dorms, I would walk into the bathroom and my friend would be sighing with happy sighs that the day had begun. The walk to the cafeteria was quiet, not everyone was awake, the breakfast bland, but the company enjoyable. I filled up my cup with ice, to chew in class to stay awake, before I would join in the throngs of students sleepily moving towards their classrooms. Professors somehow were always more awake. At least, the ones that taught early classes.
When I lived in Kenya, the feet that traveled the dirt paths alongside the roads of Nairobi, the cars honking, the smell of exhausted filling your nostrils, ultimately making them black, kept me alive. I was so exhausted that I just followed my friend's feet in front of me, one after the other in the cold air. The smell of burning garbage, smoking maize, and dust filled the air. Exhausted, happy, worried, and filled with life that I was part of the morning commute.
When I worked in Minnesota, I would commute with my dad. He would drive in, and I would drive out. Pitch black, with only the headlights to light the way, we would enter the lineup of cars wanting to enter the freeway. By the time we were onto our second highway, I was nodding off, trusting that my dad would get us where we needed to be. But on our way home. Our way home I drove, and we chatted about our days. He would be exhausted, but I would be full of life. Even sitting behind cars of people, I felt content. Part of society.
When I moved to Boston, I walked to "work" aka school. A morning rush and fight over the one single bathroom I shared with my roommates. The making of coffee, splitting the pot with my friend. Feeling like I was a duck, following my friends up the hill to the university. One step, two steps, three steps more. The song, "we are following the leader, the leader" played in my head a lot. I felt alive in the morning, with cool crisp air that filled my lungs. Happy.
When I moved to DC I took the train. I felt empowered. I would park my car in a pre-paid spot, happy that I had scored such a deal. I would walk the few blocks to the train station and swipe my smart pass through the gate, grabbing a newspaper along the way. I would stand on the right side of the escalator for those who were incredibly rushed could run by. I knew where to stand on the track so that the door would open exactly in front of me, allowing me to get the choice seat. I sat and read the paper, listened to music, and people watched. I transfered trains smoothly, knew where to throw my paper into the recycle at the end of my ride. I got mad at tourists, even angrier at the transit committee for trains breaking down, and would compare horror stories with my coworkers about the metro. Buy I was part of the daily commute of people who worked for powerful people. The people who made decisions about the country and the world.
When I lived in Uganda, the sounds I heard as I woke up were what made me feel part of the commute. School kids walking by, talking and gossiping. Boda Boda drivers revving their engines. The sounds of my landlady greeting the staff, jumping her car, running to her next destination. The lorries honking their horns as they narrowly missed the neighborhood goat. The beginning of a new day.
This morning, I was up and out of the house. I spent the morning at a tea shop and got a glimpse of the morning commute. Regulars coming in and ordering their drinks, mothers having tea dates to catch up, school kids running in with their mom's money to buy her a cup of tea. The rhythm of morning life. It gives me joy.
Morning commutes are good. It shows life, the economy, culture, and customs. It makes me feel apart of something.
07 September 2011
Coffee Shop Watchin'
This morning I spent some time in a coffee shop in my town. While the majority of my time was spent job hunting, I did a bit of people watching as well. I love people watching. My main reason is because you get to know the culture of the place, the nuances of its people, and the realities they face. People's dress, body language, hair, interactions, drink orders, and companions all say something.
Minnesotans are funny people. They are fiercely loyal. They are usually quite nice but it will take years to actually get to know them. They take pride in their ability to live and thrive through four dramatically different seasons. They value family- not just your partner and a few kids- but the whole crew, grandparents to new babies and everyone in between.
I enjoyed watching the mama's in the coffee shop with their faded jeans and printed 3/4 length t-shirts gabbing about their kid's soccer practice and how relieved they are that school just started. I got a kick out of watching the insecure teenage couple who were trying so hard to act confident. The business men in the corner with their legal pads and serious discussions. The Baristas acting way to chipper and friendly while helping their customers feed their addiction to caffeine. Life in a Minnesota Coffee Shop is good. Comical in a way. Removed from the realities of the poverty of the world but still faced with daily battles of living.
So is my life in Minnesota. The routine of job searching, making lunch with my mother and sitting on the deck, followed by errands or reading before dinner must be made. Gone are the days of fearing for my life as I am pushed into an over-crowded taxi in Uganda. Yet I can not complain. Another adventure, I'm sure, is on the horizon in the form of a paid job. In the meantime, I will just sip my coffee, applying for jobs, and enjoy the culture of Minnesota.
Minnesotans are funny people. They are fiercely loyal. They are usually quite nice but it will take years to actually get to know them. They take pride in their ability to live and thrive through four dramatically different seasons. They value family- not just your partner and a few kids- but the whole crew, grandparents to new babies and everyone in between.
I enjoyed watching the mama's in the coffee shop with their faded jeans and printed 3/4 length t-shirts gabbing about their kid's soccer practice and how relieved they are that school just started. I got a kick out of watching the insecure teenage couple who were trying so hard to act confident. The business men in the corner with their legal pads and serious discussions. The Baristas acting way to chipper and friendly while helping their customers feed their addiction to caffeine. Life in a Minnesota Coffee Shop is good. Comical in a way. Removed from the realities of the poverty of the world but still faced with daily battles of living.
So is my life in Minnesota. The routine of job searching, making lunch with my mother and sitting on the deck, followed by errands or reading before dinner must be made. Gone are the days of fearing for my life as I am pushed into an over-crowded taxi in Uganda. Yet I can not complain. Another adventure, I'm sure, is on the horizon in the form of a paid job. In the meantime, I will just sip my coffee, applying for jobs, and enjoy the culture of Minnesota.
03 September 2010
Firsts
This week has been filled with firsts and also subtle reminders of why I love East Africa. Uganda is similar to Kenya, which I believe is one reason why it has been somewhat easy to transition. Yet, I am still waiting for the moment where I just completely break down into culture shock. So far, so good though!
On to the firsts. I rode my first boda-boda this week. For those of you who don't know, boda-bodas are motorcycles you hire. They are everywhere in Uganda! You flag a man down, hop on the back of his boda and he will take you wherever you want to go (for a small fee of course). Thankfully Lori, my supervisor, started me on a small route from our home into town. After my first ride, I got off and was shaking. Mind you, this was my first time on a motorcycle ever! With my practicality constantly in my head, I have always thought of them as one of the most dangerous modes of transportation and therefore have avoided them like the plague. I will apologize now for those who read this and absolutely love motorcycles. Now that taking a boda is a practical mode of transportation, I think I will grow to enjoy it. The next thing I conquered with bodas this week was to ride side-saddle. What is a woman to do when she is wearing a skirt and has to ride a boda?
I also met two of the three organizations I will predominately work with. Both are a little out of town in nearby villages. Both I am excited to work with for varying reasons. More to come on these I am sure. For now, lets just say that I am incredibly honored to be part of their work. One thing I quickly realized during these visits is that I need to learn some of the language. While English is commonly spoken, not everyone has a strong command of my language. Hopefully language lessons will start in the next few weeks. I'm still debating if I will just take lessons to learn the basics or move beyond that. Any suggestions?
Besides meeting the organizations, taking bodas and getting a feel of the town, I have also immersed myself in Ugandan curriculum for grades one through four. I've read a fair amount, asked questions, and am ready to dive in with the teachers and students. To give some background, Uganda has a new curriculum which is focused more on problem-solving and creative thinking that the rote method of teaching. I am working with a few schools to help them transition to this new style of teaching.
Well, off to make dinner with Lori and most likely watch a bit of the t.v. show Chuck.
Cheers!
On to the firsts. I rode my first boda-boda this week. For those of you who don't know, boda-bodas are motorcycles you hire. They are everywhere in Uganda! You flag a man down, hop on the back of his boda and he will take you wherever you want to go (for a small fee of course). Thankfully Lori, my supervisor, started me on a small route from our home into town. After my first ride, I got off and was shaking. Mind you, this was my first time on a motorcycle ever! With my practicality constantly in my head, I have always thought of them as one of the most dangerous modes of transportation and therefore have avoided them like the plague. I will apologize now for those who read this and absolutely love motorcycles. Now that taking a boda is a practical mode of transportation, I think I will grow to enjoy it. The next thing I conquered with bodas this week was to ride side-saddle. What is a woman to do when she is wearing a skirt and has to ride a boda?
I also met two of the three organizations I will predominately work with. Both are a little out of town in nearby villages. Both I am excited to work with for varying reasons. More to come on these I am sure. For now, lets just say that I am incredibly honored to be part of their work. One thing I quickly realized during these visits is that I need to learn some of the language. While English is commonly spoken, not everyone has a strong command of my language. Hopefully language lessons will start in the next few weeks. I'm still debating if I will just take lessons to learn the basics or move beyond that. Any suggestions?
Besides meeting the organizations, taking bodas and getting a feel of the town, I have also immersed myself in Ugandan curriculum for grades one through four. I've read a fair amount, asked questions, and am ready to dive in with the teachers and students. To give some background, Uganda has a new curriculum which is focused more on problem-solving and creative thinking that the rote method of teaching. I am working with a few schools to help them transition to this new style of teaching.
Well, off to make dinner with Lori and most likely watch a bit of the t.v. show Chuck.
Cheers!
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