Surpriza Ciobănașului

Post #70…my final dispatch from the land of Romania. It’s my second to last night in Cȃmpulung Moldovenesc: so many goodbyes behind me and yet, the hardest ones are still ahead. Although I’ve been giving away my things like they were the hottest items on the market since the Beanie Baby, I haven’t been able to make the jump to the actual packing stage – and anyone familiar with my superior dilly dallying skills knows that I could easily fill my last 48 hours doing just that. While it’s still not entirely clear to me what I’m packing for, I realized it needs to be done if not for the sole reason that it’s on my To Do list. Finding a pauza from my distractions, I finally began the daunting task of packing my life back up into 2 bags…but of course not before fac’ing my very last foc and turning to my bestest and most consistent friend…Europa FM, which is conveniently playing The Final Countdown as we speak…she never fails me.

Obviously I’ve stayed focused on the task since I’m now writing but I’ve already painted my toe nails and was running low on procrastination antics. But as the ole saying goes… “Procrastination is a lot like masturbation; in the end…you’re only fucking yourself” …so… I’ll keep this short.

One of the aspects that I have enjoyed the most of being in Romania is the pure spontaneity…that element of surprise that never once missed a day. At least once a day, something (good or bad) made me ask myself if this was really happening and in the end never failed to bring a smile to my face. Aside from the wonderful friends I’ve made here and the breathtaking landscape that I got to wake up to each morning, I will bar none miss the flabbergasting shenanigans the most. The constant exposure to newness creates an amazing stimulation in life. Just yesterday, 3 days before I depart my home in Bucovina; for the very first time in my life I heard a real live Cuckoo Bird and used a tampon without an applicator! You see…they’re not always huge affairs, in fact they rarely are but they are simply new and with the right frame of mind (or perhaps a catawampus one)…quite exciting!

I’m not sure if it’s been merely the fish out the water phenomenon, the Peace Corps experience or Romania but I’d like to acknowledge all three and thank everyone who has crossed my path along the way – I’ve truly had the time of my life. Baga mare!!

Lăcrima

Of all the times I could have publicly cried…the tears came today. I didn’t expect it nor could I fight it. Today was a hard day of goodbyes, not only to the people but the way of life.

Although much time has passed and I can now pick up the general direction of conversation, I found myself unconsciously blocking out the foreign sounds of the language as I did exactly 2 years ago when I first attended the cenaclu. Ironically, I might have even been wearing the same outfit (yes, I’m looking forward to new clothes). My mind wandering and thought hopping as it attempted to address the mental disarray; particularly…what have I gotten myself into this time?

At the end, the members thanked and presented me with a traditional homemade cloth; and that’s when I suddenly realized that this would possibly be the last time I would attend an activity…the tears began and despite my best efforts (and trust me they were, as much as I hate talking in front of people I hate to cry in front of them even more) they wouldn’t stop. Regretfully, I was not able to compose myself to say more than Vă mulțumesc.

The situation was slightly awkward because the majority of the people in attendance today were new patients from the hospital that I had never met before; and although the members I did know were saying kind words, I knew they weren’t feeling the same intense sentiment as I but that’s easily because I’ve gained so much more than I was able to offer.

Also in attendance was the curator of the local ethnography museum; he shared some of his experiences and upon finding out that I was leaving presented me with a wooden spoon (fairly traditional to the area, and remember, Cȃmpulung Moldovenesc does host the largest wooden spoon museum in Europe…if not the only!) I’m not sure if I was more in awe by his pure generosity or the fact that he just happened to have a large carved wooden spoon in his briefcase.

Afterwards, some of the students who I’ve spent the most time with came to the Blogging club and gave me a thank you note that they had all signed. One girl who’s in the process of slipping through the cracks and hasn’t attended any activities in almost a year came today…her mere presence impressed me but then I read what she wrote;

“Să nu uitați niciodată că mai aveți o familie și în Romȃnia.” -Andreea

“Never forget that you also have a family in Romania.”

What more can I say…today it was hard to say goodbye.

Filling Voids

Walking through the streets I use to see people who I could have sworn was someone from home; and since I often had the time and was always in need of a friend I took the next step past the double take, which of course, would rationally be stalking. However, one can only stalk so many people and join in random funeral processions out of curiosity for so long…so I’ve finally wrapped my head around the concept that the coincidence rate of bumping into a previous acquaintance in the same small logging town in the Eastern Carpathian mountains is quite low and frankly, not reasonable thinking of a sane mind. Not wanting my new (potential) friends to think that I didn’t possess a sound psyche; I learned to semi-surrender the stalking and simply continue the conversation with myself, “oh, there’s the Romanian version of Ralphie or crazy Aunt Linda.”

Today I started thinking of how I’ve replaced those faux-friend sightings with new faces and images. It’s kind of strange how some of the hardest things to leave will be the ideas and people that filled the voids of what I missed the most and had the hardest time adapting to when I first came to Romania. This only further strengthens my belief that to quit an addiction or habit, it must be replaced with another. Yet, some relationships and aspects are irreplaceable, so I adapted, stretching my emotional and mental creativity. I may not have done many things right or accomplished much but I found what I needed to survive…and sometimes, they even found me.

My neighboring bunica was one of two people who sought me out. Okay, one of three but that third man might be a few sandwiches short of a picnic basket. The other was a neighbor girl. Literally, they were the only two people in the past 2 years who made that first move to introduce themselves to me. Those two individuals helped fulfill the grandmotherly and sisterly bonds that have always been an important constant in my life. I’m sure bunica and girl will never know how important of a role they have played.

As I’m starting to say goodbyes, there seems to be a surprising theme developing; a request that I send them a wedding invitation. The first time it happened, I responded, “But I’m not getting married.” Bunica says, “No, when you go back to America of course,” as if upon re-entry to the country I will be assigned a fiancée. After spending some time in another culture, I’ve gotten quite good at stifling a smirk and just agreeing to the topic at hand…whether it be that I’m going to freeze my ovaries because I’m not wearing slippers, fall ill to the curent or that Palinka really is incredibly healthy for you. So I agree to send Bunica my wedding invitation, only to realize that it wasn’t particularly because she wanted to celebrate this occasion with me. The request was more so a threat, making sure that I do in fact get married because what else could I possibly do next.

As I’m starting to pack…okay, I’ll be honest…I started consolidating months ago…thanks to my ever trusty soba, my Peace Corps manuals were the first to go. Nevertheless, the bookshelf on my porch has become the rack of my unwanteds and even some of the wanteds that just aren’t going to be making the cut for the 2 bag limit home. It’s quite obscene what I have amassed in the short time I’ve been here…not so much the amount but the absurdity of the what. Regardless, I have shamelessly started leading my visitors to this enchanted shelf to see what they would like to take off my hands. This activity has quickly become my new favorite…as I demonstrate the gloriousness of post-it flags, shower caps and decorative holiday oddities. Today, my landlady asked when my “store” would be open again.

Cafea - Not Just Caffeine

Over the past few weeks I’ve started writing a million and one thoughts but haven’t finished one. I just couldn’t find a way to accurately transfer what was in my head onto a sheet of paper nor a blank computer screen. Partially because half the time I didn’t know what was in my head and the rest of the time I felt like I was in a glass cage of emotions. It wasn’t until a friend read my coffee grounds that I even knew where to begin… “it appears as if someone has pooped on your heart but then…there’s also someone dancing next to your heart.” It made perfect sense - why hadn’t I thought of that? It’s all true. One day I’m terrified to go back to all the things that once seemed normal – speaking English, waiting in lines, things that I had often desired for a sense of comfort - but now are no longer my norm. Yet the next day, I’m tickled pink by the simple thought of soon being able to mow the lawn.