Who is this person?

I have these moments where I stand outside of myself here and wonder, "Who is this person?" Truly. Take a person out of their area of comfort, away from their support systems, away from what is familiar and you're left with a semblance of your former self. Okay, perhaps I'm being melodramatic here, but I assure you there are some definite differences in the person I am here versus the person I was at home. I am more trepidatious here and I find my anxiety level is a little higher. This feeling of "on-guard" all the time.

I was talking to one of my sitemates recently about this difference. Here, I like things to be planned out in a neat and orderly way (or at least as much as I can, like class times and org times, I can make that happen). I think I like this because it gives me some sense of control over a life (I feel) I have no control over (we can argue the "do you ever really have control over your life?" some other time, go with me here). Although I will admit that this character trait was pervasive in the states, taking on a schedule with items tucked away in various nooks and crannies, I also had things which allowed me to "let go." I would turn off my phone and computer for weekends. I would take my dog to the beach. I would walk or run. I would paint. I would sit on my front porch and drink coffee and read a book (or on Sunday, The New York Times (in PRINT)). I would play games with the neighborhood kids or draw with sidewalk chalk or tell stories to the granddaughter of my next door neighbor. I discovered long before, in a wintry town in New Hampshire, what worked for me and my sanity; for finding a balance between the busy schedule I had carved out for myself and the quiet, recoup time I needed to keep my schedule packed and to be that social person people knew me to be.

I thought after I moved out and into my own apartment my time would be more my own. I would be able to again find these quiet moments which give my brain a chance to be still. One of my favorite things about painting was in the discovery that when I'm painting my brain is quiet and calm. I'm not thinking about the troubles of the day, nor the e-mail that needs sending, nor the list of things I "should" be doing, it's just, quiet.

Here, it's hard to find that time. There's always a student to tutor, a PCV to hang-out with, a host family to eat with, a course to have, an "insert counter-part need here," an email to answer, a report to write and I'm finding, much to my (what's a softer word for "annoyance"?) knocks on my door to answer. The other thing about living here is, language. Although my language skills are certainly not comparable to some of my PCV friends, I do "okay." I can chat a little with my neighbors and various community members, but it takes a lot to live in another language all day (I am extremely spoiled here in that respect and should not really be listing this, I have a lot (or more than most PCVs) of English speakers in my community and through the development of a sort of pidgin English-Azeri can run (somewhat effective) classes.)

It's not just a time issue, some of it is whether it's culturally appropriate. I run here now, but it's at 7 am and at the stadium which is right next to my house. If I go later, there are multiple people who harass or call out while I'm running. I can't paint, supplies (in places they are available) are really expensive, but drawing and coloring with colored pencils have worked with the same effect. Sitting on my balcony hasn't happened a lot yet, the weather has been a little sad, but I'm hoping this will improve and my time will go up. The other thing about sitting on my balcony is that people want to chat (my neighbors speak Azeri) and sometimes I just don't want to, but I also don't want to be unfriendly! Walking here or exploring is WAY more stressful than you would think. Being a woman and walking in places where people aren't used to seeing a foreigner and being alone (the whole point is for me to be alone and get my head straight) just leads to sensory overload for the dudes who wander around here. The harassment is a nightmare. Additionally, that lovely man I told you about that came drunk and knocking on my door, seems to be a gem of a husband. He and his wife fight non-stop (nothing violent, just a lot of yelling). My headphones have become a near constant companion when I'm home.

Why am I writing this post? Well, because I'm exhausted. I wrote recently about the extremely crazy event that happened here at my apartment and that took a lot out of me. The following week I was traveling for EST, had a little bit of an emotional weekend there too, came home, decided to seek out refuge by going for a trek up to the reservoir and had these jerks harass me and follow me in their car. I'm tired.

These tactics I learned for self preservation in the states have to be modified to fit in here. I'm really trying to find them, so far I haven't been totally successful, but I haven't given up yet, I'm still looking. I also feel better knowing I have supportive friends and a really great Peace Corps staff. That helps too.