Spark column: unabridged

The following is a column I guest wrote for the 100th issue of the Spark, my high school newsmagazine. I owe much to the time I spent in the cramped lab of Lakota East High School, and I am pretty sure that I wouldn't be writing this blog right now if it weren't for that influence. As journalism goes, quite a bit was cut from the original piece for space. Here is the article in its entirety.


Here I am again. My bedroom is a balmy 34 degrees, I unpacked my suitcases while wearing my hat, scarf and new winter coat. There is a thin layer of ice on the bathroom floor and the water is so cold it hurts. Washing my face will have to wait—I am not that brave yet. I am jet-lagged as hell and have arrived smack in the middle of the most Armenian week of them all…the six-day New Year’s celebration. Yes, six days…actually, seven. The parties begin on New Year’s Eve and continue until the Armenian Christmas, January 6. Every day repeats itself right now. I arrive at some Armenian’s house and sit down to a table laden with types of food that never appear except for this one week. With the traditional diet in the regions consisting mostly of potatoes, rice, and bread, I think I have eaten an Armenian year’s worth of meat in the past 4 days. People yell at me to "eat, eat, eat…try this, have one of these…you don’t want it, why not?" It has been one never-ending dinner ever since I stumbled off the plane in Yerevan.

I had tried to mentally prepare myself for this as I sat in a Viennese café, three fourths of the way back to my temporary home in the developing country of Armenia. I have lived there for the past 7 months as a Peace Corps volunteer, and now, after a brief Christmas visit to the states, have 20 more months to go. As I savored one last cup of good coffee, with real milk, one last opportunity to sit in warmth and comfort and watch the snow fall gently outside, one last moment of "civilization" before the final plane departs, I took some time to reflect on my experience thus far.

It was good to be home, difficult to depart. And yet, amidst the thrill of hot showers, a house warm enough to be barefoot (sometimes), a car available to take me places, and all the Chinese take-out and Mexican food I could ever want, I remembered why I made the decision to join the Peace Corps in the first place.

It began as a romantic vision of living in a straw hut near some tropical rain forest, surrounded by giggling children and working toward the ever idealistic goal of peace on earth. As it turns out, that’s not exactly what I signed up for. Instead, I am living with a host family in a stone house with electricity and running water. I am in the middle of the desert, high in altitude, with cold winters and scorching summers. The only people giggling are those laughing at me and my clumsy speech, and the notion of peace on earth has been shunned for immediate monetary relief and movement towards Westernization. I am supposed to be an Environmental Education volunteer, but before I make any progress in that department I have to figure out how to convince these people to take some responsibility for the land outside of their front gate.

I am often simply seen as a rich American with a fancy car and more money than I know what to do with. This is a difficult position, given my volunteer status. At this point in my life I have no car, and a lot of college debt, but I am still rich compared to these people who are lucky to make 100 dollars a month. My work is different than that of traditional relief organizations that often fund projects and provide grants. Very little money is ever involved in my work, unless the people raise it themselves. We are helping them to help themselves; at least, that’s the theory. The people I work with are strong-willed and capable, but reticent to try new things and pessimistic about their future. I often ask myself "who can blame them?" In the last century they have endured genocide, Soviet rule, Soviet collapse, war, trade blockades, a disastrous earthquake, and finally a "democratic" government that doesn’t seem to have totally left the old system behind. Corruption abounds and the people feel helpless to do anything about it and seem content to leave it that way. It is a sort of learned complacency that is difficult to break through, especially as a young single female who has single-handedly defied all traditional gender norms.

During my vacation, people have repeatedly asked me "is it worth it?" The short answer is, yes, of course. The longer answer involves me reevaluating the way I take in new experiences, the way I view the world, and the way I see success and accomplishment. It has been a tremendous growing experience to find myself virtually dumped in a foreign land where I had to start from scratch: a new language, a new alphabet for that matter, a new social code, a new job, new friends, and a new family to live with…who speak no English. Even if I were to pack my bags right now, I think I would approach things differently than I would have a year ago. I have more confidence, more empathy for others, improved communication skills, and a less ego-centric view of the world.

Of course, I can’t always view my experience this rationally or philosophically. There are times when I simply need a release or a break from this world that I now call home, at least temporarily. I have found that one of the best ways to cope with my nearly unrecognizable lifestyle is to write. It is not only cathartic for me, but also allows others to share in my joys, frustrations and discoveries. Writing has always been important to me, but as with many things, it wasn’t until I began my tour in Armenia that I truly appreciated its value.

It was this very magazine that gave me that start nearly eight years ago. Writing for the Spark gave me a broader perspective of the world. It allowed me, at a relatively young age, to see beyond the finite opportunities of high school romances and teenage soap operas. And, while acknowledging that these too are an important part of growing up, I was able to enter the adult world with more grace and poise than that of the typical 17-year-old. I credit the Spark in many ways for opportunities that have opened up well past these formative years. Never before have I appreciated freedom of speech as much as I do now, and never before have I been as concerned about the level of apathy and disconnectedness currently present in the United States. It is comforting to me to know that entities such as the Spark exist to educate young people and to empower them to take an active role in the future. In the United States, as in Armenia, it is the action of the people and the education of the youth that determine our eventual destination.