Thoughts

It's been, more or less, a month since I've left Amman.

You can tell yourself for four months that life the way you are living it is temporary, but that isn't any sort of life, so I tried to block that part out and embrace living in Amman as my existence. Maybe it worked too well.

It was kind of a haze of confusion and overstimulation, the first week- and that, combined with the all too "festive" cheer of consumerist America, I felt pretty lost. When Katie and I talked it over, we agreed that it felt like someone had died and we were grieving. Which sounds kind of horrible to say, and being someone who has lost those very close to me, feels horrible to say about such a situation, but the feelings and emotions translated over. It was grieving for the loss of something that is now unattainable, something that we will never ever get back.

On the drive home from the airport I sat in sort of a stunned haze. The buildings were short. The highways were lined. The cars had seat belts, and I was sitting in the front of one, and there was no Arabic on any of the signs.

I cried when I got home. I put on a smile and said hi to my parents and then I went into my room and I cried. I put on March of the Penguins to lull myself to sleep, and when I woke up I turned on my camera and listened to the recording of the call to prayer I had made the week before I left.

I was thankful, in that moment, for having the foresight to record it. Listening to it was like a balm on my soul, soothing it from the fraying it was experiencing from being torn between two sides of the world.

It's a month in, and I've "assimilated". I still put in my keys upside down half the time, and when a friend told me one of my bowls had broken while I was gone I had to resist the urge to shout out "20 JD!". When I'm home alone, talking to my dog (as all crazy dog people do) I still spout off some inshallahs and mish mushkilas, but they've vanished from my every day vocabulary by way of very active suppression.

People ask about Jordan, about my trip, but they aren't actively interested in the experience- they are interested in exoticizing it. "Did you see Petra??" is inevitably one of the questions that always pops up. It's easier to pretend that nothing changed, that I haven't changed and the way I perceive the world hasn't changed, because it would be exhausting to interact with people.

Sometimes my heart aches when I think about how I'm back to studying the Middle East from the cold ivory tower of academia.

I don't really have any answers for any of this, right now. I'm not even sure I have the right questions.

Almost, But Not Quite

I made it onto the plane, with the help of a generous dosage of drugs. I'm currently in Toronto, awaiting the final flight of my journey that will take me home to LA.

Even now, before I've made it home, the discrepancies in lifestyles have been hitting me in the face. So many strange (strangely unfamiliar, despite how normal they were pre-Amman) occurrences have me continually falling into a sort of weary discomfort. Or maybe it's just the fact that I've been traveling for over 20 hours and have had very few precious hours of sleep in the past 48.

I'm sitting at a rather comfortable table next to my gate. It's some strange combination of restaurant and waiting area for the gate, and they've decked out every. single. table. with an iPad for customers to use. Such a strange excess that seems blatantly ostentatious, something you would never in a million years run into in Amman.

Proud display of water bottles before security in Queen Alia Airport

Complimentary water on the plane was another brick wall that completely floored me. Paying for every precious drop of drinkable water- and cherishing it- had become routine for me. The couple sitting across from me left with both of their water glasses completely full.

When I got off the plane from Istanbul, which was a lovely 14 hour flight, I immediately ran to the bathroom. And was very confused when there wasn't a trash can to throw the toilet paper into.

There are white people. Everywhere. I feel like a shabab now because I can't stop staring. But they're everywhere! And they're white!

I understand everything people are saying. It's almost overwhelming to be able to comprehend the passing conversations going on around me- it's a tidal wave of information I can't switch off.

5 hour layover in Istanbul = artsy traveling photos

I have to consciously stop myself from saying shukran or afwan. It was a relief when I ran into Derek (someone from the CIEE Amman program) in the airport here, because he didn't stare at me funny when I described something as a mushkila.

Every time I see someone wearing a plaid scarf- or even a plaid collared shirt with a sweater over it- I think it's a keffiyeh. It hasn't been a keffiyeh even once.

I can't charge my computer because I don't have the right plug- the American style plug- for it.

I paid for my coffee with a card, because I didn't want to dig out the American money I have sitting in my wallet. Anything to stave off that!

These are all small things that I've run into, and I haven't even made it back to the States yet.

Lasts

The binaya besties

Today is it- my last day here. Fittingly marked by me getting the flu and puking my guts out this morning. I'm actually not even sure if I'll make it on my flight, I'm feeling pretty miserable right now.

This last week has been one of the longest of my life- I was talking to Katie about it earlier and we agreed that we have been experiencing the half life phenomena here, with every day getting exponentially longer. Perhaps it's the conclusion of Arabic classes (alhamdulillah, so done with waking up at 6:30 for class!), perhaps it's the slow trickling out of everyone in the program, perhaps it's the fact that as my life in Amman comes to a close I feel less compelled to have one last hurrah.

Everything here is this uneasy shade of last- is this my last time seeing this person? My last visit to downtown? My last death-defying taxi drive? I'm not sure. It is, for now, I suppose. I'm going back to the States, finishing college. But perhaps I will be back, and what I thought was my last will turn into one of many.

Last night we were talking about returning to the "real world"- that is, returning home, back to life as we knew it before coming here. I don't know if I agree that that's the real world. Life here has been so much more demanding, thrilling, and challenging than anything from my "real life" back home, and it feels a little insulting to reduce it to a study abroad bubble isolated from the real world.

Returning home seems so daunting right now. While cleaning last week Katie found a penny in her room and gave it to me to look at. It seemed so foreign, so strange, and I had to put it down after a few seconds because it was overwhelming me a little too much. Something as mundane as a penny. I'm worried my next few weeks readjusting will be like that- overstimulating, overwhelming with something that is so foreign yet familiar.

I'd probably be lying if I said this was the best experience I've ever had. Some of it has been really shitty. But I'd also be lying if I said I wasn't going to miss life here.

It's been real, Amman. I wish you luck in the future.

This Is How We Procrastinate

I should be writing my term paper that's due on Monday. I should be researching the regional arms build up in the Middle East post-Gulf War and how the US has become a foreign balancer in the region to counteract Iran, a position that Iraq vacated after the war.

I should be.. but instead I'm writing this! It's because I love you guys so much.

I mentioned a while back that I had taken a weekend trip to the Dana Nature Reserve here in Jordan. Dana is down south of Amman, and the reserve is one of six in Jordan. I've been to a couple of the others- Azraq and Ajloun, but those paled in comparison to Dana. Dana is beautiful- arguably the prettiest (natural) place in Jordan. Wadi Rum is, of course, stunning, but I need a little more greenery in my life. What can I say?

I went down for a two day trip with three other people in the program who all shared the mutual interest of getting OUT OF AMMAN. Amman is great, and all, but after a while the city starts to get to you. And as carless students here, it's pretty much impossible to get out of it unless you're taking a weekend trip somewhere. Cue the organizing of this little excursion.

Posing with our naswangee driver, sorry T

We ended up taking a service taxi there in lieu of the buses, which was probably a smart idea looking back considering we would have had to make two transfers to get to the hotel in Dana. The 'village' we stayed in is actually completely comprised of hotels- I think there are four there in total? We stayed at Dana Hotel, which was pretty nice in comparison to other places I've stayed at around Jordan. Except for the cold shower. Holy shit, that shower was like jumping into a glacial lake.

We got there just before sunset the first night, so we just settled in to our room and talked with some locals before eating dinner. Afterwards we wandered the village a bit, met some donkeys, and found a wonderful perch on the side of the cliff overlooking the valley where we could stargaze and/or talk. I have to say, despite my parents both being astronomers, I've never quite appreciated the night sky as much as I have learned to here. Out in the remote wilderness the stars take on a much weightier presence.

 

The next day we started out around 9, planning on doing an out and back hike straight through the valley and returning before sundown at 5. Things don't always go as planned. We ended up deciding we were young and adventurous and instead took the, dare I say it, left branch in the fork which took us back up into the mountains and we instead crawled along the ridge line, which takes so much longer than just walking straight through the valley. And then there was the whole thing where our trail disappeared and we were trailblazing on a rather steep mountainside- that was fun and all, but after a while we decided it was probably best to abandon mountain and head back down into the valley.

 

Because of our detour, we didn't make it to the end of the valley (not even close- a man passing through on his donkey told us that we had another 5km to the end by the time we decided to turn around). I am glad we chose the ridge trail though, because it made the way back much less repetitive than it would have been otherwise. Highlight of walking back through the valley: we found a stray goat! It ran away from us.

See that mountain allllll the way in back? Yeah we had to climb back up that

I enjoy a good hike every now and then. I consider myself relatively fit. Sometimes I run for fun because I'm one of those people. But let me tell you.. the climb back up the mountain was pretty torturous. It just. kept. going. Switchback after switchback after switchback. I've never been so happy to be harassed by shabab as I was when we got to the top of that mountain.

But man, isn't this view worth it? We walked (crawled) back up the mountain just as the sunset was beginning, so at least we got a world class view.

Other highlights of the trip:
1) PUPPIES. SO MANY PUPPIES. There were stray puppies everywhere and they were adorable and it took all of my self control not to smuggle them back with us.
2) DONKEYS EVERYWHERE. It's not horses, but hey, I'll take it. I also managed to be a donkey whisperer and get one to stand still while I pulled off a metal can it had stuck its leg through
3) THERE WAS A LITTLE KITTEN. It literally jumped around like a bunny- no normal walking allowed, apparently! It was very elusive and would come up to you but run away before you could touch it, and on our last night there I managed (somehow) to pick it up and it let me carry it around for a bit.

Looking back these are all about animals. Hmm.

Winding Down

As my time here in Amman winds down, with almost exactly two weeks (!!!) left, I can't help but feel like I have been utterly irresponsible in cataloging and documenting this experience. The small journal I bought to record my life here has gone mostly unused- minus all the grocery and to-do lists- and this blog has been a burden to update, thanks to crappy wi-fi, making it a few and far between process.

There are so many small things, little memories, that I should have written down that are already gone. There are so many more that will be gone in a year, two, five.

Will I remember stealing water from my building mates because we ran out and the water guy doesn't come for another two days?

Will I remember the week and a half I took freezing showers because the hot water mysteriously decided to skip our floor?

Will I remember the time I walked home, by myself, all the way from University Street, and it took me an hour and a half and my feet hurt because I wore flats that day but it was worth it because for the first time I didn't feel trapped?

Will I remember what the cats that live in the lot across the street look like? Will I remember that my favorite, the brown tabby, had eyes the same color that lights up the minarets at night?

Will I remember the feeling I get when the call to prayer starts and I make myself stop for a moment, close my eyes, and just listen?

Will I remember the nights arguing about politics and foreign policy and we're all disagreeing but the passion is so raw and real that nobody is angry? (Well, maybe a little angry).

Maybe I'll forget the pancake breakfasts with the boys after late nights and the procrastination cookies I make with Katie when we want to pretend like we don't have responsibilities.

Maybe, but I hope not.

Ferguson

I was planning on writing this next blog post about my weekend trip to the Dana Nature Reserve. I was hoping to show all of you images of the stunning valley and the vibrant sunset and the adorable puppies I encountered there. But at this moment in time I cannot possibly write about something so mundane as my hiking trip.

Yesterday the grand jury decided not to indict Darren Wilson. There will be no trial for a cop who shot an unarmed teenager in the street. He will walk free, and Mike Brown's family will not see justice for his death- not even the attempt to gain justice.

I feel tired. I feel disappointed. I am upset, and angry, and disheartened by this news. It is wrong, it is a mockery of justice and a slap in the face of what America supposedly believes in. And in these emotions, there is only incredible privilege. Because upon hearing the news, I am upset and disheartened- but I am not worried for my life. I am not terrified for a future of uncertainty. I have that privilege, simply based on the color of my skin.

How is America considered the pinnacle of democracy? Of freedom? Of human rights? How are we the best, the greatest, that the world has to offer? What a joke. What a complete and utter farce. We are all lying to ourselves, and it manifests itself in an ignorance that has cost so very many lives.

We are all lying to ourselves.

On Belonging

This morning, I woke up at my usual hour of 6:30 and lay in bed for my usual 10 minutes before rousing myself for my usual cup of coffee. Maybe I'll just stay in bed today, is my usual waking thought. A fierce battle of wills commences, ultimately resulting in me forcing myself to flip the light on and slip my bare feet out of bed onto the chilled tile floor (fun fact, my room is the only one in our apartment without a working heater. Yay!)

The inevitable result of living somewhere for over three months is that you slide into a daily routine (something I've had to give a presentation on MULTIPLE TIMES in Arabic.. I might not be able to say much but I do know how to describe in excruciating detail my morning routine!). When I think about life here, it's hard to conceptualize it within a framework of normalness, simply because I am so far removed from the society and culture I have been acclimated to. But I guess that's the thing, nothing is ever actually a dichotomy, no matter how desperate Western knowledge is to frame concepts as such. So while life back home, in America, is "normal", that does not mean that life here simply reflects the opposite of normal. It occupies a more liminal space, something somewhere in between that encapsulates components of normality and comfort and simultaneously bewilderment and alienation.

Take this morning, for instance- I have a usual morning routine. I wake up. I get ready. I walk to Mustashfa Shmeisani, music spilling out of my headphones, past the dukkan and the bird garden and the three girls who wait for their school bus on the corner with their pink backpacks. The music is a welcome distraction from the lingering stares from slowing car windows, reclaiming a space in which I refuse to allow them to infiltrate. This is a recurring moment of normal.

But then we pile into a taxi, and the driver begins speaking animatedly in Arabic, and it's 7:30 in the morning and even with coffee my mind is not quite up to the challenge of deciphering sentences, so I sit silently in the back and disengage. This is a recurring moment of isolation and alienation.

I experience a plurality of these moments every day- moments that expose me as an imposter and then, not ten minutes later, demonstrate my inclusion.

I'm done with fusHa and another battle of the wills commences- to gym, or not to gym? And of course, the gym wins out because sleep was forgone in order to pack a bag of gym clothes, so I trek down the hill. I was doing this walk this morning, the same walk I do several times a week, and was realized that this routine- ritual, even, had come to embody a sense of home for me. Of place. Belonging.

Moments of realization like that- that not only am I residing here, in Amman, in Jordan, in the Middle East, but actually living here- instill confidence in me that I am not wasting my time, that I have chosen the right path in life for myself. That this is a viable life for me. It is comforting to come to acknowledge that I belong in America, but I also belong in Jordan, and that these belongings are not exclusive. These belongings differ immensely due to the affectation of the subtleties of context, and yet all the same, nurture the same inspiring thought in me. I belong here.