So here I am in a place where three years ago I was frantically running around not having a single clue about the political situation, cultural complexity, or hidden history. Indeed, three years ago I graduated from college, jumped on a plane and headed to Jordan where I thought I had a clue about where I was going with my life. Somehow I pictured it being so simple-- things would fall into place. I would be offered a fabulous job, move into a fabulous apartment, and meet some fabulous man to complete my picture-perfect 20-something story. And yet it turned out so differently. Little did I know that a good part of his decade of my life would be spent switching from job to job and quite literally living out of a suitcase given that I had no idea where I'd be living next. Funny thing is now here I am a short and yet oh so long few years later with no job, no apartment, and certainly no man, and I feel like I have more of an idea of what I'm looking for in this short life than I've ever had before.
So I write you all from Aleppo, Syria, the second largest city in the country renowned for is delectable culinary fare and death-ensuing traffic (I kid you not-- I have a near-death experience for myself and all my travel companions each time when crossing the street). I'm studying here this summer with CET's Intensive Arabic Language program where I live and study at the University of Aleppo. My colleagues and I have committed to a language pledge for which we are absolutely required, under any circumstances excluding dire emergency, to speak Arabic at all times. For any of you have heard me speak this is exceedingly difficult. My knowledge of the Levantine dialect (or any Arabic dialect for that matter) is miniscule and even my Modern Standard is severely lacking.
And yet I'm managing to communicate and break through the tears that intermittently come when my teachers and language partner can't seem to understand while I can have quite proficient conversations about Mahmoud Darwish and Nizar Qabbani and can't seem to understand when someone tells me the time. I'm also managing to get over the fact that my only child syndrome requires me to share every single thought that enters my overworked brain. And let me tell you-- when you are truly required to not use your native language a natural filter comes into force and suddenly you realize that half of the trivial things you want to insert into daily conversation really don't need to be said at all...or at least you sure as hell don't feel like bothering.
I think the best way to describe this experience is to use that same adjective which I most loathe that so many people use to describe myself: intense. I'm overwhelmed by the sensory, the emotional, the cognitive aspects of this experience. And at the same time the easiest way to express this feeling is that my heart is full. Full in a way that the isolated, efficiency-oriented lifestyle of the U.S.- and particularly DC- seems to drain out of you as you're struggling to work your 9-5 or mindlessly catch the next metro to a place that you'll probably forget.
I don't mean to be negative about my home country. Yet I feel there's a reason that I manage to suffer very little from "culture shock" each time I go abroad and take months to recover from that whole reverse bit. Maybe it's being a loner, an only child from a small family, or maybe it's that insatiable wanderlust that constantly plagues me a home. Either way, I'll keep you updated of my adventures. I may indeed not have it "together" yet but at least I can have a blast running through traffic and stumbling across words in this foreign tongue.
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