October 14, 2005

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  this is going to be considerably less... um... upbeat... and more of a venting...

  
  

  ...the past few days have been my most frustrated day in a while... a long while.  Tunis has given me an education that I think I am not recognizing when it happens... [not unlike my first bee sting--here.  I was picking up the sunscreen bottle when the bee stung me.  I tried to shake it off of my hand but it was already lodged inside of me... I finally had to stop moving and sit down and pull the stinger out, and watch for the rest of the day as my hand changed sizes and colors (i'm fine now)... or, come to think of it, like the electric shock I gave myself this morning.  The voltage zoomed through my body before I had time to even realize what happened... I think it changed my heartbeat there for a second... and afterwards all I could do was curl up in a ball on the chair ...and laugh with anxiety over what had just happened... ]  ...but yesterday I was frustrated. 

  
  

  The night before I had gone out to Nadia and Miriam's again--I swear, "cultural sensitivity" is going to leave me with a good 10 pounds after Ramadan-- they had wanted me to stay the night and go to school with them in the morning...they like two blocks from the Universite... but I had homework... which I didn't bring... so I went home.  It was the first time I have not been able to finish my Arabic homework.  I was so confused and I felt like I will never understand this language and wondering what was even the point, and why I was even here... the next day in class my prof. didn't mind that we (my roommates hadn't finished either) had questions, but he didn't know how to explain the answers in english, so he kept repeating them in Arabic... which didn't help me... girls came into the classroom to "meet" us, which means they came to inform us that we are now "best friends" and to tell us that we must give them our phone numbers.  One of them informed us that many people at the Universite hated us, but she thought we were nice.  "Thanks" was the only thing that came out of my mouth... I didn't even get out a "shokran"...wow.  She is right though, I discovered that the kids who do talk to us--well, they really come up and say we are friends and then "let's strike a deal, we'll speak english for an hour, and then Arabic for an hour," all parties are aware we're a means to an end--lie to their families about what they are doing, saying it is a school program or something, rather than a trip to the cafe.  The students already have had protest demonstrations that the administration keep taking down about Americans (we are the only ones in the whole school)... and kids screaming protests in the courtyard... we pretend like we dont notice... it doesn't work to try to explain that we are very different from our government... but i have to admit that it stings. 

  
  

  When Dominique came over to give Erica and I traditional Cote'D Ivoire dress, she called me fat, and when the dress fit shrugged... I was angry at myself for how much it actually hurt my feelings.  ...then last night we decided to go downtown (crazy night life in Ramadan) and get ice cream.  Karim took us out for tea, and then glace... and on our way home, people threw fire crackers at us.  They didn't hurt us, but I jumped a good foot in the air I was so scared.  They just laughed... and I wanted to cry. 

  
  

  I realized that something was really wrong with me in a shameful moment of hesitation.  My mother gave me a shawl before I left, and I was wearning it when Dominique came over.  She sat down next to me and said she wanted to buy it from me.  Gina "interpreted" her french (the "" are neccessary... because any interpreter would be mortified with her interpreting ethics).  I asked Gina how to tell her not to give me money... but I don't think it got accross.  Erica came in and the conversation changed to food for a minute (everything at night during Ramadan is about food).  Dominique brought it up again, more adament this time... and I was angry with myself for not wanting to give it to her.  I took it off and folded it on the couch and she talked to Gina some more.  ...When she started gathering her things I realized she was not going to pick up the shawl and had not understood that I meant to give it to her, so I handed it to her and smiled.  ...She broke down in tears.  She sobbed with her face in her hands and eventually began whispering "merci...merci."  I was ashamed at myself for being annoyed at the akward situation with Gina seemingly trying to get me to tell Dominique to forget about it, and I was irate that I had hesitated in giving it to her.  I didn't want to.  Thankfully, somehow Grace made it through to my heart and I became myself again and quickly took it off.  ....ag.... i'm still frustrated about it.  When did stuff become important?  ---some of you may not really understand the gravity of this situation on my heart... but at least one of you will... oh forgive me.

  
  

   

  
  

  I'm in an email discussion with an pronounced Arabic prof on the west coast about what I should do after the program ends.  He mentioned AUC as an option (American U in Cairo)... and I was disappointed.  Why is it I would rather go to Jordan, or Lebanon, or Palestine... than Egypt?  I have always had a small aversion to AUC, and I have no idea why.  He asked me some more specifics about my proficiency and my desires so he could give me better advice.  But I am incredibly grateful that he's been willing to discuss the issue with me. 

  
  

  There is so much more to say and yet I feel exhausted as I write this.

  
  

  Until this week, I hadn't cut myself shaving my legs for years.  It happened twice in the last week... on my knee.  The scar left by surgery caught the blade on two separate occasions... and watching blood emerge from that place again was a deeply painful thing.  My knee could be doing better.  Ramadan is not good for it, I often find myself in rather intense, stiff, pain... and the right side of my leg is still numb.  If it is going to come back, I think I only have another couple months to expect it.  ...and I realize with a surprised level of agony how much I am not dancing.  Almost every time I am standing still for more than a couple moments I catch myself brushing my foot over the floor, or acting like I am at barre some other way... and when I realize what I am doing, tears often appear in my eyes.  i realize with lament that if I stay here... or over here somewhere... for a while... dancing is that much further away.  Not that I can't do what I am doing (resorting back night when my roommates are sleeping), but no classes, or community ... here in Tunis, anyway... no ballet... certainly no modern or jazz.  ...and I cringe at both sides of the same dream.  Cringing because it is far away and feels so unattainable, and wincing because it is important to me.  ---in the past couple days I have returned to an internal discourse, fighting over surrendering and cherishing your heart... yes, again.  again and again and again.  its exhausting, and frustrating.  I am saddened that I cannot happily give up anything of my own (clothing or dreams)... and I am heartbroken that I would need to sacrifice something so intimately a part of me.  I know, I know, there are endless amounts of holes in those statements... don't worry, that is not the end of it... and I know-- really i do.  But this, too, is a pain that has often returned to me.  You'd think it would hurt less, not more, each time wouldn't you?  I suppose not if I was wise.  [sigh] suffice it to sa that my heart is homesick for dance, deeply grieved in its recent absence from my everyday... and currenty frustrated with its replacement. 

  
  

  [sigh again]

  
  

  ...does beauty ever differ?  does the beauty of the flower blooming underneath the garbage on the street differ from the one blooming in the garden? 

  
  

  I suppose not.  ...but mine does when I look at them.

  
  

   

  • 9:05 am
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