Two paths (and surely more unseen) lay ahead of me now in terms of how I will spend the summer of 2011.
I'll
have my CELTA by the end of May and so I thought I would stay abroad
and find a job teaching. The world is not lacking in such positions, and
they are particularly tantalizing. Often, the hosting company or school
provides airfare, room & board, plus a salary and even a week of
vacation. I'd love to go to India or someplace warm and exotic and teach
English. The problem is, many of the job listings require at least a
year of experience and even sometimes a Bachelor's degree, but the ones
seeking fresh blood still exist. If I do this under the right
circumstances, I'll have a CV before I even graduate college. The
downside is that I'll surely move out of Brno and go somewhere else, and
so I will have a very limited time to get used to another new place -
but much like learning languages - I think it gets easier the more you
already know.
My second option is to go back to the US,
spend a few days with a good friend in Chicago, and then return to
Ithaca, NY where I could be a full time writer and editor for a magazine
called Fuze. I've only just been contacted about this job, but it does
seem much more like a job than an internship so I believe I will be
paid. As far as housing is concerned, however, doubtless I will have to
take care of all of that myself and I really don't think I can afford
it.
The reason this post is worthy of being a post at
all isn't because I want to brag about my options or worry publicly
about which of two spectacular things I should choose - but because I
feel like the choice I make is indicative of what I really want to do in
life. Do I want to be a writer, or a teacher? Which am I more
passionate about? Which pulls on my heart so strongly that I go blind
toward issues of money or comfort? Moreover, is it possible to do both?
Why
wouldn't it be possible to teach abroad while writing and editing from
my laptop - very much like I'm doing now? Maybe not for Fuze, but for
somewhere. People say you can't have it all - but why not - why the hell
not?
Walking
passed the window where I sat, he suddenly stopped. Stopped in the way
you do when there's a sale, or a shocking ad. Stopped in the way that
you do when your favorite childhood something-or-other is propped up
amongst an assortment of lost and unwanted things, but to you it's like
seeing an old friend again. Only the shop is closed, so you shake the
childish nostalgia from your head and remembering you have somewhere
important to be, you walk on. Which is exactly what he did. He walked
away. I continued to sit in the window of the restaurant, waiting for a
friend to arrive, but I had most definitely noticed the young man who'd
stopped and stared.
I'd been to the opera that evening
and hadn't understood much. I wore my fatigue like something lovely
come undone. Odd threads were pulled loose on my stockings and my
mascara was flaking. I wore a purple beret only because my hair had lost
its early morning bounce. Watching the people pass through the night, I
knew how much more easily they could watch me in the brightly lit
window. I was a display, a mannequin, selling the exhaustion of an
American abroad. The wonder of such an exhaustion. I began to idle on my
old women's studies courses, particularly the concept of “the male
gaze”, and whether feminism will ever make amends with theory and
practice when as suddenly as he had gone, he came back.
He
stood right in front of my window, putting his palm on the glass. I returned his palm with mine, wiggling fingers in
hello. He smiled,
and walked away. He wore yellow or orange glasses with a similar frame as my
violet ones. He was tall, brown hair and eyes. A little scruff. A book
bag. Probably a college student, but he still might not even speak
English. In ten seconds time, he stole my heart and turning back just
once, we smiled at each other, and he disappeared into the crowd.
I
am not used to romance in my life beyond my music and my books, in my
dreams and in my writing. I have been told – often – that my
expectations are just too great. I want too much from people. I'm better
off with friends. Friends can be somewhat terrible people. Friends are
allowed to be so individually flawed. Not that lovers can't be flawed -
it's just more about that undefinable connection. I look at people as
whole characters, and I appreciate their strengths equal with their
weaknesses - I want to know their story, nothing more or less. However,
the levels of friendship make it possible for the worse characters to be
kept on the outside of the circle, but still within the story of your
life. The nature of romance can't allow for that – they have only the
inner most circle. This is too dangerous for a girl who can fall in love
in ten seconds – if only they can properly get her attention. If the
story will sound interesting enough...
Am I actually in
love with this young man? No, of course not. But I am certainly and
eternally in love with his boldness and connectivity – something I have
never found much of in man or woman – friend or lover. Maybe it's a sign
of an embarrassingly huge ego or selfishness, but I have trouble
finding people like me. Even among my friends, who have always been my
true family in life, I am often not on the same wavelength as them.
Don't misunderstand me. I'm not assigning values of good or bad, better
or worse, I'm talking about something so much more encompassing than
that. Anyway, this doesn't really bother me because I seek out variety
in my friendships. Yet, whenever we do actually connect it seems so
bittersweet and extraordinarily fleeting. This is probably just the way
it is and will always be – a fact of life – but if I exist just as I am,
I have to believe in the mathematical certainty that there's someone
else out there who thinks like me more than 1/3rd of the time. If I am
ever meant to choose a single person to be my center circle - they're
going to have to be a supernova. They're going to have to really be able
to change my world...
Someone bold and passionate and
ambitious – maybe too much so. Someone who can be silly and playful at
times without a single regret. A sense of perseverance and a desire to
do good. Who knows when it's time to be responsible, and when it's time
to say “fuck it, life is short, let's just be happy”. A free spirit. A
big heart. A thinker. Someone who can make you feel like a better person
– and who lets you love them.
If you know this
person, or a brown-eyed man living in Brno with yellow framed glasses
and a thing for windows, feel free to let me know. Or maybe it's for the
best if I never see him again...supernovas can be pretty explosive, you
know.
I had a wonderful time. The first Feast Friday went over very well. Ten of us met in the dorm lobby and departed to a restaurant called Divadelní sklep Nekonečno (Cellar Theater Infinity). Luckily two of the ten knew enough Czech to help the rest of us order dinner. The restaurant itself was beautiful - all dark blue with back-lighted pictures from various plays and theater productions. The ceiling was a blanket of little lights like stars. I'm a sucker for little lights.
After dinner, which seemed to last for hours, we moved on to a little "pub" called The Hobit. It's a smoker's den of sorts with a Lord of the Rings theme. Coming down a curved staircase into foggy rooms filled with young people, Foosball tables, and 90s music, our hopes were high. Maybe too high, however, because the owner came to take our order and was unbelievably wasted - and possibly disliked foreigners. It quickly became one of those experiences that is funny in retrospect, but you wouldn't be too eager to repeat. I decided it was just the place to try Absinthe for the first time though, and that turned out to be a good choice.
The thing about Absinthe is that there's this big mythology about it - but it's all pretty much bullshit. While it's not going to get you high, it does taste delicious. It's anise flavored - so it tastes a lot like candy or something. Some of the girls ordered "punch" which looked like regular iced tea but was warm with fruit in it, served in a big pitcher. After The Hobit the group split and so we headed to another bar down the road. It was just a regular Starobrno place, common around the city, but my friend asked if I wanted to do shots of Becherovka with him - a very tasty Czech liquor that's like pumpkin pie. I'm still developing my Euro Alcohol Tolerance however, and after the shots I couldn't even finish my beer. The night came to a close and we walked back to Vinarska a fairly happy, albeit sleepy, bunch.
On Saturday E - a girl from Germany who I met the night before at dinner - suggested we go to the Cinema Mundi festival. It's a cinema festival that's been going on for a couple weeks. We decided to see When We Leave, a movie about Turks in Germany (Germany's largest minority) and the struggle of a Turkish woman who loves her family as much as she fears them. Despite being promised English subtitles, there weren't any, but luckily (for me, and maybe only me!) Ellen was able to translate in whispers as the film progressed. A quarter way through, the film simply cut out, but was restored in due time. I couldn't help but think what a disaster this would have been in the US. At least one person would have shouted an obscenity, and who knows how many would have marched out asking for their money back. But everyone sat very quietly, in the dark, and just waited. It was kind of nice, like they knew it was going to be okay.
Two people I met this weekend, E and M, really fascinated me. E is studying Central European language and culture and M is doing a lot of fancy engineering things I don't really understand, but sound amazing. E and I talked about the natural transformation of culture and language; how these are not and have never been static entities and holding on so desperately to "the way things were" is futile because everything is influenced by something else. There is no such thing as purity when it comes to our identities. M talked about losing his grandmother just two weeks ago, and how he was unable to see her for the past 8 years because of the conflict in Gaza. We talked about health care and college and measurements of intelligence - it was refreshing. I mean, I love escapism as much as the next person and a good smoke never hurt anybody, but combine intellectuals with substances and it's beyond powerful...I'm still looking forward to a game of Drunken Chess...
The sun is shining and it's going to be 42 degrees today. The weather here is pretty much the same as at home in Hershey, PA.
Tonight is the first official "Feast Fridays" - something a friend and I started in order to keep our palates interesting. On Fridays we go out into the town and try a new restaurant. So far about 12 people have said they'll come. With a crowd like that, who knows where we might end up.
God of Wine
Wine tasting at the Vinna Galerie on Tuesday was probably the highlight of my week. My friend R from Memphis and I joined a group of friends from France - S, Y, and M. Here's our wine list - along with my personal opinions of each (sorry to my Czech friends for the lack of accents on the letters):
1)Ryzlink Vlassky: A white wine that didn't seem to have much flavor to me, but they said it had green apples or something in it.
2)Muskat Moravsky: Another white wine, this time better. S smelled fromage when she first gave it a sniff. :)
3)Palava: The best of the white wines. Had honey in it I think.
4)Frankovka Cuvee: A rose wine. M swore it was more like water than wine.
5)Svatovavrinecke: The first red wine. Let's just say I don't think I like red wine.
6)Cabernet Moravia: Another red. Had a cherry base I think.
7)Zweigeltrebe: The last red - I actually gave the rest of it to M.
*8)Bobulky: Okay - this is the greatest wine I've ever had and I will definitely bring a bottle back to the US. For the Czechs, this is a very special and expensive dessert wine. A bottle is about 300kc or $25. It's a straw wine, meaning they lay the grapes out for a while and so there's a very small production yield. Of all the wines we tried, I recommend this.
All throughout the tasting there was cheese, bread, and an assortment of gray and odd pink meats that I don't think I would have touched even if I was a meat-eater. Also grapes, red peppers, and olives. It was a pretty lovely evening and the Vinna Galerie was cool because it had been in a movie, so they had pictures from the film all around. There was also a live (and lively!) band of men who played some upbeat music like Hava Nagila.
Quelqu'un m'a dit
Meanwhile, our new French friends taught us some phrases (You are my sunshine/Tu es mon rayon soleil) and apparently "beet" (the purplish vegetable) sounds like the French word for "dick", while "chat" (cat) is actually pussy...so basically we've been unwittingly saying dirty things all through high school...how secretly amused must Madame S have been?!
They taught us about the different French regions and why some French know German (but are not German!). There's a wine festival along the beach in France sometime in the spring that I'd really love to go to while I'm in Europe...along with Queen's Day in the Netherlands that is.
Modern Love
Otherwise I'm looking forward to tea and possibly staying over at my Czech friend M's house when she's finished with her English language exams. She lives in Olomouc which is about 2 hours away. She's also teaching English with us - she's a very bright and intelligent young woman who loves traveling. Her story is actually as international as it is sweet - she met her boyfriend, an Englishman, while doing research in Honduras and found she couldn't be without him. At one point, she traveled for 40 hours just to be with him before he left for another destination. She says, "We have the same soul. We want to spend our life traveling." For anyone (like my sister) who imagines the Czech people as an old, crinkled woman with a scarf on her head, I think M is a good representation of the very much connected youth of Central Europe.
Last Chance to Lose Your Keys
During our lunch break on Wednesday, M wanted to take a picture of the "Revoluce" (Revolution) art sculpture in a nearby park. It's about 20 feet high and spells "Revoluce" vertically in a shining arrangement of keys - house keys, brass keys, colored keys. It is in remembrance of the Velvet Revolution, when the Czech people stood up against the regime and shook their keys in the streets. Michelle proudly tells me that of all the countries under the regime, the Czechs were the only ones brave enough to stand up and speak out. It's called the Velvet Revolution because the transition was smooth like velvet, and there was minimal violence. All the keys in the sculpture were donated by the Czech people - making it more than art, but also a piece of history.
Coin Laundry
I went to Clubwash yesterday to do my laundry. Almost got lost, and had that terrible feeling like I was in a bad part of town. Saw some people dressed as spacemen and a white Christmas tree and that gave me some comfort. It took a long time - left at 6 and got back around 10:30 - but I'd do it again with some friends. It's nice because you can just drop off your clothes and they do everything for you. I had some Svijany beer there and it was good. Read a bit more of "Great Expectations" while people came and went. There seemed to be a pub-crawl-contest going on so these groups would come in and get a beer, take pictures, and move on to the next pub. Clubwash is nice because you hear a mix of languages and accents. Two loads of laundry, two beers, and a bag of chips cost me $20 though - which sucks terribly - but at least I have clean clothes again.
Choose Life
So my plans for the upcoming week include an Opera on the 10th and my first "real" lesson on Monday - teaching them about present perfect simple and continuous tense (wish me luck!). Then tea with Michelle on the 12th and possibly seeing Black Swan with Czech subtitles with R. B wants to teach me how to wash my clothes by hand - don't know how I feel about that - could just be the spoiled American in me.
They Remind Me Too Much of You
Today is the 12th year anniversary of my grandmother's death. It was a turning point in my life, much in the same way I think coming to Brno is going to be. A new chapter starts here. The world feels upside down. Things don't always make sense anymore, like the logical order of things has been shuffled and scattered like Scrabble tiles. Then, slowly, the pieces rearrange and something new breathes into life.
I know I was supposed to post pictures, but guess what? Brno is like a
high school girl - pretty up close, but not very photogenic. Building
after building with crisscrossing, electrified trolley lines marking up
the sky like black crayon over a priceless painting. I love the uneven
pavement and pastel buildings with their hidden faces and stained glass -
but like many things here - it just doesn't seem to translate. Perhaps
on another sunny day....
Plus this week was full of
nightmares. I was late, lost an earring, skipped meals, constantly felt
like an idiot...the normal annoyances of life compounded with the
uncertainty of new people and places. It's not all that bad, but it's
not that great either. I need a smoke and a starry night - things
understood in every language.
I've been trying to think
of things to say for the benefit of you - whoever you are - reading
this. You want to hear about this place you may have never been to. You
want to know what's different, and what's the same. You want to know
what you're missing, or feel justified for choosing to stay just where
you are. You don't care much about the writer beyond my style and level
of ability. Maybe a joke or two would impress you, and a feeling of
voyeuristic intimacy will keep you coming back.
So
know this: Brno is the place where you were born. It is the place where
you learned to ride a bike and where you went to high school. It is your
first love and your first heartbreak. Brno is the sun that rises and
the moon that streams through an open window at 4am when you can't sleep. It
is the breathy silence of a library. The McDonald's downtown and the
second hand shop you always pass on your way to work but never enter.
The electronic music people sing along to in the mall or the car because
they know the words and the beat and don't want to think about too much
right at that moment. The warmth of another's body next to yours under
covers only to return to cold and empty space by morning. Brno is where
you are right now, and where you will be tomorrow. Why? Because no
matter where you are, you are always within you. You might be in
Michigan or Milan, but first and foremost you are in you - the body and
soul and head of you - and that is a place from which you can never
escape.
You can make changes to this place - this
place where you always are. You can decorate it. Make it bigger or
smaller. You can drown it in booze or fill it with smoke. You can alter
your perception of it. Force happiness or dwell in sadness. But those
eyes and that mind...those hands and skin and tongue...those are the
landmarks you too often overlook. Those are the true hidden gems of the
city of yourself - not a place for tourists or even locals - but the
most exclusive and wonderful destinations anyone can ever know.
Traveling
is great. Seeing new places: important places, obscure places. Laughing
at silly little differences, buying pretty handmade things, wishing we
lived this way or being grateful we don't. The physical movement of the
world outside an airplane window - tiny dots and smears of color. Watching the ticking of trees from trams and buses and cabs passing by like old cinema film. Then there's the task
of wrapping one's mind around the arbitrary nature of language. How a
sound has a meaning, and a meaning has a feeling, and what a comfort it
is when we can feel the meaning of a sound.
Not
everyone is compelled to see and experience the world in such a way
as I do. It just never crosses their mind to talk to strangers, to
respond to simple and beautiful things, to still hold close the
imaginings of their childhood - some people just want to grow up. To be
responsible adults with important things to do and important places to
be at important times and to get married and raise a family and give to
charity because that's what responsible adult-like people do. They have
no patience for pretty words.
But I was born
responsible. I have always cared for myself. I know about integrity and
leadership. I know about maturity and sacrifice. I know about authority,
elitism, and power.
I already know what kind of life I
don't want to live - and perhaps my dreams and expectations and pretty
words are too much - but I'd still prefer being all too much than much
too little.
I'd rather be an explosion of mismatching colors.
I'd rather be the curling black iron on a balcony.
I'd rather be a twisting labyrinth of secret streets.
A bold statue observing the strangers who wonder among paths lined with trees.
A curved window on the top floor with a sill large enough for me and my book.
Golden halos around archaic faces high on a steeple-top.
Smokey rooms full of cheap beer and rich laughter.
Commuting trams shrieking on the rails while bursts of electricity pop and sparkle along the wires crisscrossing the sky.
