letter35

Dear Family and Friends,

Bulgaria, interesting country that it is, has caused me to think too much.
Sure, I have grown up thinking in a sense . . . what will happen if I put my
tongue on this gooey, encrusted battery?! Why do cats eat their afterbirth
after they have a litter?! Do you really get poisoned when you eat leaves?!
Will my mom ever find out if I forge her name onto this deficiency slip?!
How many licks DOES it take to get to the tootsie roll center of a Tootsie
Pop?! Will I ever get my first kiss?! What will I be when I grow up?!
I've survived college, for crying out loud, I've been forced to think,
analyze, and ponder my entire life. But, now, sometimes I wonder, "Why do I
have to think, analyze, and ponder everything so much?!!" For, surely,
it'll be the death of me.

Sometimes I sit here in my little block apartment in Bulgaria with way too
much time on my hands. I sit here and think until dark blue veins pop out
all over my face and green foam shoots out of my swollen ears. "What is my
family doing right about now?" I often wonder. "Do they miss me?" "How
many more months, weeks, days, hours, minutes, seconds do I have before I
can finally come home?" I question, with a quizzical smirk capturing my
puzzled face. "What will I do and where will I live when I do come home?
Where will I teach? Will things have changed?" I sit to read a book to
transport my self to another time and place, but my mind drifts into the
bewildering throngs of more endless questions. Oh, how long my time here
seems sometimes! Isn't a year of living and teaching in another country and
culture enough?! Would my family and friends look at me as an accomplished
figure to be proud of if I come home slightly earlier than planned, or frown
on me as a hopeless miserable failure hardly worth the bother? I overreact,
I worry, I fret as my life before the Peace Corps fades into oblivion; I
view this experience as one of the best and worst experiences of my entire
life, one in which I can never seem to decide if I love or despise.

I sit in the bathtub or in the suffocating stillness of my new world
sometimes, wondering, "If something dreadful happened to me right now, how
long would it be before anyone even discovered what had happened? Before
they remembered me?" I ponder who is winning often: the sharp peals of my
giddy laughter, or the salty tears that flow silently down my flushed
cheeks. I have heard that every Peace Corps experience can be a roller
coaster of emotions, perhaps this much is true. "Should I throw in the
towel and come home after the school year?" I frequently wonder. "Or should
I strive to finish despite those miserable times?" I am at a loss.

While I am at school, I also become a victim of my thoughts. "WHY AM I
HERE? WHAT GOOD AM I SERVING HERE?!!?" I bellow to myself. I struggle
internally over my worth as a teacher, even though Bulgaria is as far from
the true joys of teaching that I could ever get. My internal battle baffles
me as I watch the students in one corner who admire me and strive to please
me in every possible way, and those creating havoc in the other corner as
they refuse to listen and learn, mock me in every way possible, and create
in me the resistance to go to work everyday and to ever teach again. WHY AM
I HERE?!!? Oh, it's not that my discipline is all that horrible, I tried
that ages ago. It doesn't work, no matter what I do, so I've stopped
trying. Other PCVs have the same problems, so it's not just me either. You
count to get their attention, they count with you; you take away
privileges/give more homework and offer rewards, it doesn't phase them a
bit; you yell and strive to be firm, they gaze at you with blank stares and
bewilderment. Perhaps if I could yell at them and "tell them off" in angry,
empowered Bulgarian like the Bulgarian teachers do, things might be easier,
but, until then, the fight continues. WHY AM I HERE?!!?

I found out today that I must move into an apartment in just a few days that
is much worse than the apartment I am in now, as more questions and thoughts
arise. I have tried to resist this with all of my might, but alas my
efforts are futile. I am supposed to move because of the electrical
problems that I have in my current apartment, but I was supposed to be
placed somewhere that I feel comfortable moving to . . . I don't want to
move to this new, horrible apartment, but I don't seem to have a choice. I
question my sanity, I question my capability, I question my reasoning. And,
still, the world that I once knew moves on . . . the months, weeks, days,
hours, minutes, and seconds tick by in un-relinquished monotony as I attempt
to find some balance and stability.

I'm sorry that this letter isn't typical and pleasant, I have just been
having a rough time and I needed to get a lot of it off of my chest. It
helps me to write about it sometimes, and it also helps to ask you to keep
me in your thoughts and prayers. Also, I was hoping some of you might lend
an ear, an encouraging word, a bit of much-needed advice. Don't worry about
me, I'm okay, just having a really rough time since my parents left and I
had to return from England. I hope you all are well and I definitely hope
to hear from you soon . . . before I lose my mind with all of these
persistent thoughts, questions, and doubts! Because, quite frankly, my head
hurts!!!

Love Always,
Chantel