The first Russian song I learned! It's by a band called Kino and the singer is Victor Tsoi. It's catchy, melodic, and easy!
День как день,
Только ты почему-то грустишь.
И вокруг всё поют,
Только ты один молчишь.
Потерял аппетит
И не хочешь сходить в кино.
Ты идёшь в магазин,
Чтобы купить вино.
Солнце светит, и растёт трава,
Но тебе она не нужна.
Всё не так, и всё не то,
Когда твоя девушка больна,
Когда больна...
Ты идёшь в магазин,
Головою поник,
Как будто иссяк
Чистый горный родник.
Она где-то лежит,
Ест мёд и пьёт аспирин,
И вот ты идёшь
На вечеринку один.
Солнце светит, и растёт трава,
Но тебе она не нужна.
Всё не так, и всё не то,
Когда твоя девушка больна.
На вечеринку один,
Когда твоя девушка больна.
Wednesday, September 10, 2008
Culture Shock
Your emotional reserves, which are what help you have that thick skin, are what help you not react to cultural moments. They are what you draw upon in order to be culturally appropriate, culturally sensitive, and that all-knowing, wise, open-minded American. They help you deal with people staring or people pointing to you, or a whole marshrutka full of people talking about the American and what do you think she's doing here and and she doesn't understand Russian (I DO!), etc. Not that that last thing happened recently.
The emotional reserves start to go away as you are bombarded by new culture, loss of freedom, loss of language, stress of language learning, not being able to talk to your best friend, not being able to eat food you love and are familiar with, being treated like you are three years old, being around Americans you may not like, getting trained in your job and having to do homework, having someone else tie your shoes for you (yes, this happened to me), being treated like a 3-year-old, having your personal space invaded, and your body space invaded.
Your emotional reserves can deal with any of those things, but the result of being bombarded by all these things all at once for an extended period of time drains them. You lose that thick skin. Things start to bother you that would ordinarily not bother you. You become a bit more emotionally frayed and you react more. Because those emotional reserves are tapped—they're too busy trying to deal with the big stuff that the little stuff seeps through.
I knew this would happen. During our training, they showed us a video of the negative things that could happen, specifically sexual harassment. A woman in the video told about how she was sexually harassed every day with all the cat calls and sexual comments tossed at her as she walked down the street every day. One gal in our group made the comment that was pretty much along the lines of: "She should be more culturally sensitive. That's just part of Latino culture, and she shouldn't apply American standards to their culture." Or something close to that. I remember thinking at the time that the girl in our training girl had no idea what she was talking about, because something happening day after day has *got* to wear at you.
It's like someone touching you. That's fine. But now imagine them touching you in the same spot again and again and again. Where you could first shrug it off, now it's a point of contention and irritation and you JUST WANT THEM TO STOP. I knew this at the beginning of training.
And yet I was completely shocked when culture shock hit me. I remember it so clearly. A girl in my language lesson snapped at me. It was Halloween, only 31 days after getting into Ukraine. Only 31 days of Peace Corps training. Only 31 days of using up those emotional reserves. The comment ate at me all day. It made me angry and sick and more angry. For some reason, around 11pm, I just started bawling. I tried to call my best friend in America, but my phone had no money on it, which made me cry harder, and I had no idea why, which made me cry even harder. And not some stoic lady-like cry—this was an "8-year-old-who-just-got-spanked-and-now-can't-go-to-the-sleepover cry. There was nothing I could put my finger on--not any one thing, except for some stupid little comment, and I sure as hell knew one small comment didn't cause this reaction.
I probably sobbed for three hours that night. It really sucked. My own emotional reaction shocked me--I haven't bawled that hard in a while--I'm 32 and kinda thought I was past that.
Things that really helped me: Peace Corps's booklet called "A Few Minor Adjustments," which addresses culture shock. It really helped. REALLY. Also, making friends that I really liked and who I could call and talk to, because previously I had felt very alone being amongst so many Americans and not really having a close friend.
It hit me that hard again, about 6 months in country. It was late at night and I started to just feel SO ALONE. I went to the disco, hoping that just being around people would make me feel better, but it made me feel more alone, and I called America, sobbing at the disco. I just couldn't stop crying. It sucked.
I hate being shocked at my own emotional reactions. I hate when they take me unawares. I was shocked at myself the first time I screamed at my host sister (17 year olds!!!). I was shocked at myself when I got angry at every little thing. I was shocked at myself by how dismayed I was at having fried eggs with TOO MUCH OIL. And yet, when those reserves are drained, you are the emotional equivalent of a car without shocks on a rocky road.
I consider myself lucky--two emotional breakdowns in 11 months. For six months it's been smooth sailing, and I'm in a position to have built up those emotional reserves. I have autonomy, I have friends, I have people close to me, I can communicate, I have internet (woo hoo!). But I also know it's likely that I'll have at least one or two more of these moments.
The following is a metaphor I wrote about culture shock:
I'd wanted to swim in the ocean for about 10 years. More precisely, I wanted to be flown in a helicopter out in the middle of the ocean, be dropped out far enough that I couldn't see the land, then I wanted to swim to shore.
I'd read all the books about what to do, what to take, and how to do it. I had my shark repellent, my space sticks energy sticks, and even a flare for if it got really bad. Gearing up for this moment, I practiced every day in the swimming pool, and I was totally pumped. I'd even read first-hand accounts from people who had done precisely this same thing. I even knew what emotions I would likely be feeling and how to deal with them.
I was prepared. Everything was ready. I was ready. Completely.
They flew me in a helicopter, told me exactly what to do if I needed help, then I made the leap into that huge ocean. I watched the helicopter fly away, and I started to swim. I was feeling strong and awesome. Everything was going according to plan.
Then I started to get a little tired, and I felt something bump my foot. The smell of the salt water was getting to me, and I was starting to get a sunburn. I realized that as much as I had prepared, NOTHING could have prepared me for that feeling of being in the middle of the ocean all alone and not being able to see shore. I started to feel overwhelmed by all the water around me and how alone I felt, but I pushed it off, knowing I couldn't feel this way because I had prepared. But what I hadn't prepared for was my very own emotional reaction to everything. As much as my brain was ready, my emotions weren't, and after much pushing down, the emotions overwhelmed me.
It finally passed and I pressed on. The dream and the realization of that dream driving me further. Most of the time I'm fine and it's under control, but every now and then, the vastness of the sea gets to me.
The emotional reserves start to go away as you are bombarded by new culture, loss of freedom, loss of language, stress of language learning, not being able to talk to your best friend, not being able to eat food you love and are familiar with, being treated like you are three years old, being around Americans you may not like, getting trained in your job and having to do homework, having someone else tie your shoes for you (yes, this happened to me), being treated like a 3-year-old, having your personal space invaded, and your body space invaded.
Your emotional reserves can deal with any of those things, but the result of being bombarded by all these things all at once for an extended period of time drains them. You lose that thick skin. Things start to bother you that would ordinarily not bother you. You become a bit more emotionally frayed and you react more. Because those emotional reserves are tapped—they're too busy trying to deal with the big stuff that the little stuff seeps through.
I knew this would happen. During our training, they showed us a video of the negative things that could happen, specifically sexual harassment. A woman in the video told about how she was sexually harassed every day with all the cat calls and sexual comments tossed at her as she walked down the street every day. One gal in our group made the comment that was pretty much along the lines of: "She should be more culturally sensitive. That's just part of Latino culture, and she shouldn't apply American standards to their culture." Or something close to that. I remember thinking at the time that the girl in our training girl had no idea what she was talking about, because something happening day after day has *got* to wear at you.
It's like someone touching you. That's fine. But now imagine them touching you in the same spot again and again and again. Where you could first shrug it off, now it's a point of contention and irritation and you JUST WANT THEM TO STOP. I knew this at the beginning of training.
And yet I was completely shocked when culture shock hit me. I remember it so clearly. A girl in my language lesson snapped at me. It was Halloween, only 31 days after getting into Ukraine. Only 31 days of Peace Corps training. Only 31 days of using up those emotional reserves. The comment ate at me all day. It made me angry and sick and more angry. For some reason, around 11pm, I just started bawling. I tried to call my best friend in America, but my phone had no money on it, which made me cry harder, and I had no idea why, which made me cry even harder. And not some stoic lady-like cry—this was an "8-year-old-who-just-got-spanked-and-now-can't-go-to-the-sleepover cry. There was nothing I could put my finger on--not any one thing, except for some stupid little comment, and I sure as hell knew one small comment didn't cause this reaction.
I probably sobbed for three hours that night. It really sucked. My own emotional reaction shocked me--I haven't bawled that hard in a while--I'm 32 and kinda thought I was past that.
Things that really helped me: Peace Corps's booklet called "A Few Minor Adjustments," which addresses culture shock. It really helped. REALLY. Also, making friends that I really liked and who I could call and talk to, because previously I had felt very alone being amongst so many Americans and not really having a close friend.
It hit me that hard again, about 6 months in country. It was late at night and I started to just feel SO ALONE. I went to the disco, hoping that just being around people would make me feel better, but it made me feel more alone, and I called America, sobbing at the disco. I just couldn't stop crying. It sucked.
I hate being shocked at my own emotional reactions. I hate when they take me unawares. I was shocked at myself the first time I screamed at my host sister (17 year olds!!!). I was shocked at myself when I got angry at every little thing. I was shocked at myself by how dismayed I was at having fried eggs with TOO MUCH OIL. And yet, when those reserves are drained, you are the emotional equivalent of a car without shocks on a rocky road.
I consider myself lucky--two emotional breakdowns in 11 months. For six months it's been smooth sailing, and I'm in a position to have built up those emotional reserves. I have autonomy, I have friends, I have people close to me, I can communicate, I have internet (woo hoo!). But I also know it's likely that I'll have at least one or two more of these moments.
The following is a metaphor I wrote about culture shock:
I'd wanted to swim in the ocean for about 10 years. More precisely, I wanted to be flown in a helicopter out in the middle of the ocean, be dropped out far enough that I couldn't see the land, then I wanted to swim to shore.
I'd read all the books about what to do, what to take, and how to do it. I had my shark repellent, my space sticks energy sticks, and even a flare for if it got really bad. Gearing up for this moment, I practiced every day in the swimming pool, and I was totally pumped. I'd even read first-hand accounts from people who had done precisely this same thing. I even knew what emotions I would likely be feeling and how to deal with them.
I was prepared. Everything was ready. I was ready. Completely.
They flew me in a helicopter, told me exactly what to do if I needed help, then I made the leap into that huge ocean. I watched the helicopter fly away, and I started to swim. I was feeling strong and awesome. Everything was going according to plan.
Then I started to get a little tired, and I felt something bump my foot. The smell of the salt water was getting to me, and I was starting to get a sunburn. I realized that as much as I had prepared, NOTHING could have prepared me for that feeling of being in the middle of the ocean all alone and not being able to see shore. I started to feel overwhelmed by all the water around me and how alone I felt, but I pushed it off, knowing I couldn't feel this way because I had prepared. But what I hadn't prepared for was my very own emotional reaction to everything. As much as my brain was ready, my emotions weren't, and after much pushing down, the emotions overwhelmed me.
It finally passed and I pressed on. The dream and the realization of that dream driving me further. Most of the time I'm fine and it's under control, but every now and then, the vastness of the sea gets to me.
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