| Dear Family and Friends, You know, your perspective on a lot of different things changes when you live in an underdeveloped country like Bulgaria. Yes, I was home for my 3-week visit and, if by some chance I didn�t get to see you or talk to you on the phone, I�m terribly sorry but my time home was just so short and it seemed that we were constantly busy rushing about from here to there the entire time I was home! But, I promise, we�ll have a good, long visit the next time I come home. And my time at home was wonderful . . . sometimes I wonder if it may have been too wonderful . . . if that�s possible! The moment I hit America, in Chicago, my body tingled from my head down to my feet . . . I WAS HOME!!! I made my way off the plane with trembling, Jell-Oesque knees, my eyes bulging from their sockets like turbo-powered Slinkies. Coming off the ramp, I was immediately hit by waves of color. �Red!� I screeched to the egocentric businessman pushing passed me with his briefcase-on-wheels and his industrially enhanced laptop at hand. �Look, it�s the color red! Ooh, ooh and BLUE! Yellow, I see yellow!� I tapped the frazzled mother with the screaming toddler excitedly on her haggard shoulder and exclaimed, �Look at all of the PRETTY colors! Red, and blue, and yellow, and purple, and GREEN!� Truly, nobody else felt my eclectic enthusiasm; truly, most of them had probably never lived in Bulgaria. Bulgaria is pretty much devoid of much color, especially in the GRAY winter months. I mean, Bulgarians wear dark clothes and all of the buildings and sites pretty much follow that DARK, DRAB attitude of the country. So, I was truly over stimulated the entire time I was home, by the COLOR alone! I marveled at murals, balked at the buildings, and gaped at the grandeur of my country. When I went into Target for the first time, I thought all of that RED would send me into spastic seizures before I even GOT to all of those aisles filled with STUFF. The Arizona sunshine alone sent me into fits of raging happiness as I basked in its intense glow and savored every bit for when I would have to return to cloudy Bulgarian skies. In Chicago, I had to collect all of my baggage, go through the strenuous, beefed-up American Customs line and then re-check my bags to Phoenix. Well, before I left Bulgaria, my host family suited me up with a little potent homemade rakiya to �impress� friends and family with and I had managed to shove it into my bursting duffel bag at the last minute. Well, when I took my bag off of the luggage carousel in Chicago, my nose was met with the strong, paralyzing smell of rakiya! The smell invaded the airport like an unwanted guest, permeating every inch of breathable air. I was blasted with the smell and blushing with the hope that nobody else could smell the poison that threatened my quivering nostrils. I thought fervently, �Someone is going to arrest me right here in Customs for entering the U.S. with an unrecognizable substance . . . that is, if it doesn�t KILL them all first!� But, I somehow made it to Phoenix as the rakiya continued to soak every one of my possessions (everything smelled like it!) and my family burst into fits of gagging as they collected my bags and hauled them to our car. They gagged as I continued to become cross-eyed in all of my over stimulated joy. While in America, I was also stunned by how friendly Americas really are. People, STRANGERS, actually spoke to me for no reason but to be NICE . . . this is something that never happens in a depressed country like Bulgaria. �Are you talking to me?!� I often wondered as my head was spun in a million directions . . . and, to top it off, they all spoke ENGLISH!!! Customer service doesn�t exist in Bulgaria, ANYWHERE, so I delighted in going to my favorite restaurants, eating my favorite foods, and having somebody friendly serve it to me. Now I understand why we tip in America! My visit home also helped me to realize all of those little things I took for granted everyday, such as heated homes, working telephone lines, and toilets that actually flush. In Bulgaria, most homes don�t have flushing toilets. We have to put any and all used toilet paper in a small bucket next to the toilet and then (I know, this is gross!) pour tubs of water in the toilet to send the bodily fluids down the pipes. So, while I was home, I had to constantly remind myself to throw toilet paper into the toilet and not into the wastebasket! �I can flush here!� I had to remind myself. �The toilets actually work in this country!� But, still, I, in all of my disgusting glory, couldn�t help but forget this little fact a few times! �Those little metal compartments in public restrooms are for SANITARY NAPKINS . . . NOT USED TOILET PAPER!!!!!� YUCK!!! My 3 weeks at home were absolutely blessed . . . I did all of the things I wanted to do and ate all of the foods I wanted to eat . . . but that made coming back to Bulgaria even harder. I sit in my quiet apartment wondering how I could have left home all over again, only to return to this cold, gray, depressed country. (�WHY AM I HERE?!!?�) Sometimes, I don�t even understand what possesses me to do the things I do, yet I still do my best to keep on keeping on. Being back here after my time at home makes me miss home even more, but, even in all of my loneliness and frustration, I know that being home is just �not in my cards� just yet. (�WHY AM I HERE?!!?�) And, I must remember, that these cold dark winters always seem to send my mind into a frenzy also . . . I have realized that I am the type of person that really thrives on sunshine! (�WHY AM I HERE?!!?�) But, it�ll come soon enough . . . and, soon enough, I�ll be coming home to be greeted by all of the splendors of my blessed country, which I will surely one day take for granted all over again. Please keep me in your thoughts and prayers as I finish my Peace Corps service. Love Always, Chantel P.S. I�m not sure the next 4 or 5 months in Bulgaria are going to be exactly easy, as has been proven by the last couple of weeks since I�ve been back. So, it would be nice to get a call from some of you, if you can manage that. My Mom buys this card called the �Talk Bulgaria� card and she pays 20 dollars for about 3 hours of talking time and I�m sure you can buy cheaper cards (with less talk time) from the same company. If this might be something that is possible for you (you know I�D appreciate it!), please e-mail my Mom (Kelly) for the information on the �Talk Bulgaria� card at: [email protected] . . . my phone number is: 011-359-357-3534. Maybe I�ll hear from you soon! |
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