My Quarter-Life Crisis

Pardon me while I burst
Pardon me while I burst
A decade ago I never thought I would be
Twenty-three on the verge of spontaneous combustion woe-is-me
But I guess it comes with the territory
An ominous landscape of never-ending calamity
I need you to hear I need you to see
That I have had all I can take
And exploding seems like a definite possibility
To me

So pardon me while I burst in to flames
I’ve had enough of this world, and its people’s mindless games
So pardon me while I burn and rise above the flame
Pardon me, pardon me, I’ll never be the same

Not two days ago I was having a look in a book
And I saw a picture of a guy fried up above his knees
I said I can relate
‘Cause lately I’ve been thinking of combustication as a welcomed vacation from
The burdens of the planet earth like gravity, hypocrisy, and the perils of being in 3-D
And thinking so much differently

So pardon me while I burst in to flames
I’ve had enough of this world, and its people’s mindless games
So pardon me while I burn and rise above the flame
Pardon me, pardon me, I’ll never be the same
Never be the same, yeah…

Pardon me while I burst into flames
Pardon me, pardon me, pardon me
So pardon me while I burst into flames
I’ve had enough of the world and its people’s mindless games
So pardon me while I burn and rise above the flame
Pardon me, pardon me, I’ll never be the same
Pardon me, never be the same

– Incubus, Pardon Me

A fork in the road
Fall semester 2008 I hit a wall. I was in my second semester of graduate school pursing my Master’s degree in Economics when my little world came crashing down around me. The linear path I had planned for myself was not working and I suddenly found myself questioning everything I had ever anticipated my future life would hold.

Before the semester began, I knew I was unhappy with where I was in my life. I had chosen to pursue my Master’s degree directly after my Bachelor’s at the same school and in the same subject hoping that it would bring me some clarity and sense or direction. At that point, I knew I wanted to pursue academia, but I wasn’t sure that Economics was the right field and didn’t want to commit to a PhD program without having a stronger sense of what I wanted for my career. Also, I wasn’t adequately prepared for that level of study and a Master’s would help me to both figure out if the PhD was the right path and prepare me for it if that was indeed the path I ended up choosing. And for some reason I was under the impression that doing a Master’s degree would some how answer the questions my Bachelor’s degree made me ask. However, I discovered that doing more of the same would really just make me ask more of the same questions…

Here lies the answer
During Fall 2008, I was enrolled in graduate-level Microeconomics and preparing to take the comprehensive exam at the end of the semester. I have never liked Micro… Macro I love, but Micro sucks. On top of the subject being difficult, I was also overwhelmed with a number of other things I had to contend with. I was working two jobs, one of which was teaching 100-level Macroeconomics and the prep-time I spent on that was ridiculous. I also had 4 classes total that semester and I was just plain burnt out. As a result of the accumulation of overwhelming stress, I reached my true breaking point. Every semester I reach a breaking point, but never before had I reach my ultimate breaking point. This is when I hit the wall. For the first time in my academic career, I got a C in a class. And this wasn’t just any class – this was Microeconomics, one of my core courses for my Masters. Thankfully, I had gotten better grades in other classes so my GPA never fell below a 3.0 (the minimum GPA for our program) but still, it was a pretty big slap in the face. Everything I knew, everything stable, and everything I had planned for my future was just washed away with one grade. Everything came crumbling down all at once. I really felt like I was living in a sturdy brick house, safe and secure that suddenly came crashing down around me. It was completely unforeseen – I never thought I would find myself at a point of complete chaos in my personal life and absolutely lost.

Doing more of the same thing made me ask more of the same questions until I mentally/emotionally/all-but-physically combusted – and that’s when I found my answers. I discovered that not only do I suck as an academic (well, not really but my graduating GPA was a 3.5, my worst ever), I also wasn’t happy with what I was doing. And from this experience, I’ve come to realize that there’s nothing worse than doing something I dislike every day and watching it suck away my opportunities to do stuff that I love. Really, it’s the opportunity cost the sucks more than the rest of it. So, I needed a change. I stopped focusing on my future for the time being and started focusing on the present and my present happiness. I asked myself the question, “What makes me happy?” and I started answering it.

I started playing sports again, I stopped studying quite as much, started hanging out with my dog, cats, and human friends a little more, and I joined the Peace Corps. Yeah, that’s right. Screw the PhD, I’d rather be thrown into a developing country, learn an obscure language, and (hopefully) do something productive while I’m at it.

And now, almost a month into my Peace Corps training, I can honestly say that ‘C’ is the best grade I’ve ever gotten.

The Armenian Taxi

Everything breaks in this country. Everything.

On our way to Charentsavan from our little village of Teghenik our taxi’s transmission went out. Going up hill in the pouring rain, I heard the transmission slip out of 3^rd gear into 2^nd and then out of 2^nd into 1^st and then into neutral. The taxi driver struggled with the stick shift for a moment and then maneuvered the car over to the side of the road where he tried to pull over and stop. But, of course, we were on a hill, so we rolled backwards. He pulled the E-brake but it didn’t work; we kept rolling. The man got us to a semi-level spot on the narrow, un-paved shoulder. With the car still rolling, he popped the hood and jumped out. The rain came down harder.

Brent, in the front seat, and Sarah and I in the back, all looked at each other wide-eyed with a bit of disbelief. I looked out the back window, down the long, gradual decline at a ravine at the bottom of the hill, directly behind us and filled to the top with water. I laughed nervously and pointed to my discovery. Sarah didn’t think it was too funny. Thinking quickly, Brent reached his left leg across center-consol, stretched awkwardly with the stick shift trapped against his groin. He held the brake pedal while the taxi driver fiddled under the hood.

Moments later, two good Samaritans came up the hill and stopped, one of which was another taxi. Without hesitation, we jumped out of the death cab and ran towards the shining chariot sent by God herself. Suddenly, it began to hail. Brent and Sarah jumped in the new cab and I stood next to my door, getting pounded by nickel-sized hail, tugging at the handle of my locked door. I ran to the other side and dove in through Sarah’s door, escaping the cold hail beating from above. We then ventured on our way to Charentsavan and arrived free of charge.

Hours later when we were ready to go back to our villages, we walked to where several taxis were awaiting the 40-some volunteers for their departures. Our dear friend with the blown out transmission was among them. We conveniently dodged the death-trap taxi and got in another. We pulled away… and our tire went flat. But, instead of getting out and calling another cab, our driver insisted that we stay inside for a quick fix. He maneuvered the car around the corner to a car repair shop and with all 700-pounds of us still inside, the workers jacked up the car on its rear axel and filled up the tire. Problem solved. We headed home and we thankfully made it.

My Friend Sevik and the Great Mountain of Karashamb

I love hiking and even more, I love going out with my dog.  Out here, I really, really miss my dog and I especially notice her absence when I go for walks because she’s normally right there next to me. So, when my Teghenik friends and I went hiking together with some Karashamb friends up in the hills, I was thrilled to have the neighborhood stray come with us. His name is Sevik, literally meaning ‘Little Black’ and he’s about knee-high and maybe 30 lbs. He’s a typical stray dog here, so he’s dirty, has worms, and he’s pretty underfed. He also loves Americans and can spy one of us a mile away.

The whole way up, Sevik was a trooper. He hung out with us and scrambled up the mountain. He always kept us in sight and he was a great little friend to have come along. I was glad to have him around because it kind of filled the void of my dog Dotty back home, even if he can’t happy dance or wave ‘hello’.

The hike itself was nice, too. The landscape really is beautiful out there and we can see everything clear out to Arzakan and probably further. The clouds are always beautiful in Armenia, even though it was threatening rain throughout our hike. Thankfully, we never did get the rain; it seemed to blow around us on the other side of the mountain.

The human company was also nice. I was with Brent, Rian, Kyle, my oldest host brother Garnik, and Brent’s host brother. They’re all a lot of fun. We got some great pictures, too.

On our way down the mountain poor Sevik got chased off by a cow rancher’s dog, but I’m happy to report that he made it home okay.

Why Bother?

My first encounter with animal abuse in this country was some time a couple of weeks ago. I was told they would be milking a cow at my friend’s house so I went to go help. But, when I got there, I discovered that by “milking” they actually meant “killing.” The cow was a milking cow and apparently she wasn’t any good for milking any more so her days were done. She was being lead out of the barn – no, dragged out of the barn, resisting the whole way. The family’s way of getting her to move wasn’t to nicely coax her, it was to beat the shit out of her. They were kicking her legs to make her take steps and they were beating her face in. Her eye was bleeding and her mouth was bloody from being bashed so much in the face. They got her to the spot where they were going to kill her and they just continued to beat her. I’m not quite sure why.

Meanwhile, my 13-year-old host brother was busy throwing rocks at the dog that is kept on a 4-foot chain under a flat wood trailer. This dog is so psychologically abused that I can’t even adequately describe his awkward and pathetic behaviors. He is so under stimulated that he runs back and forth pacing constantly. Whenever he sees anything remotely exciting, he goes crazy and gets wound up in his metal chain. One day I went to pet him and he didn’t know how to react. He just stood there, unable to make eye-contact with me. He flinched when I touched him, expecting to be hit, but came back for more petting a minute later when he realized it’s nice to have his ears scratched. The boys in my host family throw rocks at him for fun and I even witnessed my 19-year-old host brother nearly do the same. We were about 4 feet from the dog when the dog whimpered. It was a quiet, nervous whimper with his tail tucked and his head down and no aggressive demeanor present. My host brother yelled at him and picked up a rock, about 8 pounds and maybe 6x4x4 inches in size. He was about to chuck it at the frightened dog from close range when I calmly told him to stop. He explained that the dog was crazy because he wasn’t friendly, but I could see this dog is not aggressive and that the family just misunderstands dog behavior (the teenage daughter screamed and ran from the neighbors’ sweet little bouncy dog). … But hang on a minute here. The dog is crazy because he defends himself against humans throwing rocks at him and humans throw rocks at him for fun. So, if aggressiveness for self-protection is crazy, what’s aggressiveness for fun? Just wondering…

But now, back to the cow story. After I scolded my 13-year-old host brother for throwing rocks at the dog, I turned around to see someone holding a kitchen knife in their hand. That’s when I realized the cow was about to be slaughtered – with the same knife we use to chop our cucumbers. I just decided to leave the scene of the slaughter and go back to my house.

One of my friends in my training village is staying with a family that is very good to their animals. They treat their dog well and are good to the cattle. They kill them for their meat but they are good to them while they raise them and I’ve been told they slaughter them humanely. So, a humane approach to handling the animals DOES exist here – just not my host brothers or in the extended family’s barn across the street. I have a lot of work to do here.

Trash Trash Trash

Another frustrating moment came when I was with my 18-year-old host brother and he chucked trash out the window completely nonchalantly. There is trash everywhere here. There is no adequate method of refuse collection here in Teghenik or in the surrounding villages (nor most of Armenia) so people just throw it out on the streets or in the river. Seriously, the river is their best solution. Not that Americans are by any means innocent of how we handle our garbage (think the great garbage islands floating out in the Pacific and Atlantic oceans and endless the landfills or garbage in our gutters) but chucking it in a river as a best-solution is pretty sad.

My host brother Kahren, my friend and fellow A-17 Amanda, and I all headed down to this little polluted stream near by (chucking garbage all the way) where we stopped to look at the scenery. The nature here really is beautiful. The mountains are gorgeous. The natural rivers and streams are beautiful sites to see. Every day the clouds float by and the sun peaks out from behind them. It really is very beautiful. But, the disgusting trash is an unfortunate part of the scenery and it can be discouraging.

I was standing on top of a bridge overlooking the stream, staring down at a baby diaper, several plastic bottles, and numerous other pieces of garbage in the water, when my host brother picked up a rock and threw it at some frogs down below in the marsh. For a split second I was angry because, yet again, he’s being mean to animals for his entertainment. And then suddenly – and I stopped caring. I didn’t stop caring because I had seen this behavior a dozen times that week and I didn’t stop caring because I lost compassion for the frogs. I stopped caring because of the endless amount of trash littering the whole village. I just looked around me and thought, “What’s the point? Why does it matter? Nothing matters. Everything here is covered in trash. The frog’s habitat is covered in baby diapers and plastic bottles. Their habitat is disgusting and all but destroyed so you might as well destroy the frogs and everything else, too. It just doesn’t matter because nothing here matters.”

Thankfully, this attitude didn’t last long. I had simply reached a peak in my level of frustration and felt like I had to give up. This was an important realization because I imagine that other people feel hopeless like I did, except this feeling probably consumes them to where it affects their incentives and their behavior every day. It becomes a constant part of their attitude and an ingrained part of the culture. What’s the point? Nothing ever gets better, nothing ever changes – so what’s the point? And that is the point. In the United States we have a culture about us where we are anxious and willing to find solutions to problems. We’re hopeful that it will get better and so we take things into our own hands to make them better. We have this attitude because things always do get better and the Armenian people need to see life improving before they have any incentive to help make it improve. The point is to give them hope – especially the next generation who doesn’t know the tribulations of a collapsing Soviet Union or a devastating earthquake that leveled a significant part of the country. Maybe I can serve as that beacon of light that gives a community hope and shows them how to make things better for themselves. Maybe I can show kids how to take advantage of opportunities and always look for the next best thing and never accept the status quo as a given, unchangeable fact. Maybe my job is to be hopeful and show them how to be, also.

Culture Shock

Here is my list of shocking items to date.
1. The toilet paper. Here in Armenia, toilet paper is neither white nor soft. In fact, I am pretty sure it is a composite material made of both sandpaper and tree bark.
2. Toilet paper in the trashcan. I’m guessing that sending toilet paper down the john clogs the pipes, so the alternative is to put it in the waste basket sitting next to the toilet. Some people are polite enough to fold the shit-covered toilet paper to hide the indecency. Others, however, are not. I find this completely disgusting. There was one day the bathroom trashcan was so nasty I almost took a picture of it. The only thing stopping me was the presence of my host family in the living room – surely they would ask why I was bringing my camera into the bathroom with me. That would be tough to explain.
3. Driving. Ever been on Mr. Toad’s Wild Ride? Yeah, it’s kinda like that.
4. An alternative to the shower curtain is having a drain in the middle of the bathroom floor. I guess it works.
5. Women in high-heels. Always. One woman actually went hiking in a pair of heels with a group of volunteers. No joke.
6. Women and girls cannot go to cafes. This includes cafes that only serve soft drinks and internet cafes, where people can learn computer skills. If a woman is seen in public doing such an indecent thing, she is branded as being a ‘bad girl’ and the whole town/village will talk about her. Most women seem to be effectively controlled by the threat of a bad reputation in this country. This bothers me.
7. Women don’t drive. They need to, but it’s a “man’s job,” so they just don’t. Again women are effectively controlled by society’s opinion. I struggle to understand this one.
8. Rock throwing. Dogs are the most common victims of rock throwing, as it seems to be people’s only method of dealing with animals. But, while in Charentsavan, a group of little boys followed us around flinging rocks at us. Some had small stones and slingshots; others had big rocks and their hands to aim with. I was the victim of both. I swear it was like seeing a pack of feral children roam the streets. Who the hell gives their unsupervised 9-year-old a slingshot?
9. Trash. Armenia struggles with finding an effective, efficient, and environmentally sound way of dealing with their garbage. Many developing countries do, as refuse collection is expensive and difficult. Armenians dispose of their trash by bringing it to some landfills, but often they burn it or throw it in the river, only to pollute the waters headed to their beautiful lake or to other countries. It’s pathetic and just plain sad. People also have no incentive for throwing trash in trashcans, since it’s just going to end up in the streets or rivers anyways. As a result, people just throw it wherever they are standing. It’s gross.

Life is calling.

Actually… it’s my Placement Officer.

My PO was calling to let me know she had news of a potential placement for me leaving two weeks earlier than my nomination. It turns out I had been nominated for Georgia, leaving in mid-June 2009 but they were requesting fewer volunteers than originally anticipated and the program filled before I could be placed there (thank God). So, my PO quickly confirmed a few details with me about my Masters degree progress and language courses taken and then asked if I would be able to leave at the end of May for a Caucasus placement in a similar Business program. I told her I would need to check my schedule and get back to her. That was at about 12pm on Tuesday, March 3, 2009. I checked my schedule, I thought long and hard about it, I looked at the timeline (http://www.peacecorpswiki.org/Timeline) and knew it had to be Armenia. I called the next day and confirmed my availability. My invitation to Armenia arrived on Monday, March 9.