Waiting in Line

Today I went to apply for my d-visa to Bulgaria. We arrived at the Bulgarian consulate in Istanbul at 850, for the doors to open at 9am. By the time we figured out that we couldn't figure out the buses and walked there, there was already quite a crowd gathered in front of the door. People crowded in towards the door from every direction, and whenever the door opened there was a swelling towards it, pushing from behind and on the sides. I tried to join in with the crowd, but within fifteen minutes I had too much of the pushing, selfishness, and what I deem to be just plain rudeness, and I stepped aside to let the boy deal with it on his own. Had I been there alone I probably would have just gone home.

By now the lack of lines in this area of the world should be something that I am more or less used to, and in theory I am. But the experience of it is something completely different, and I am not really sure if it is because I am submissive or because I was not raised in such a culture, but I do not think that I will ever enjoy the experience, or even be able to endure it. I find myself disgusted, a bit hopeless, and very frightened/anxious when I am caught in one of those swells. Mostly it is disgust though.

I sometimes wonder if more dominant people find these crowds thrilling or exciting. Perhaps they like the opportunity to exert their power. Perhaps they enjoy the challenge of it, and the reward of being first based on the merit of their ferocity as opposed to a fair distribution of time and investment. Or maybe I am wrong in that regard and everyone actually hates it just as much as me. But lines are fragile things. All it takes is one person to disregard the order, and it sets a precedent for it, until eventually you are stupid if you even try to wait your proper, "turn." I wonder if people in Bulgaria and Turkey have ever waited in lines, and the lines have collapsed due to lack of upkeep, or perhaps they never made it this far east. Nikola is adamant that there are proper lines in Bulgarian banks, but I have yet to see them. There was once a line at the post office. About half of the people respected it and the rest just pushed ahead. I eventually got to the front through waiting, but it took me thirty minutes longer than it should have. There was also once a line for free kebabche in Plovdiv, and people stayed in their order, but there was a constant physical pressure from behind, against my back and shoulders, kicking at my calves, and I quickly got out of that line.

I want to be culturally sensitive. I want to have compassion and not to judge. But in this regard, above all others, I find it difficult to the point of impossible. For that reason I make Nikola deal with most of the bureaucracy. If it ever came to a game of patience, I would wait for him... so for now, I am demanding that he play the game of pushing for me.

Under Examination

I had a final exam today. I am torn between loving and hating final exams. I dislike the way that they held at the end of the semester. You go in, take your final, and usually the only feedback that you get is in the form of a final grade (this is at BU. At ASU the final exam score was also posted online.). What this process lacks is any valuable feedback from the instructor on areas that you need to improve upon. Granted, by the time the final exam rolls around you should have developed a pretty thorough dialogue with your instructor through projects, tests, and in-class participation, but I still think that if the final exam serves as your final assessment of ability within a particular subject, the feedback for the final is vital to your development. For this reason I like when instructors give final exams the week before classes end, and then use the actual final period as time to meet with individuals and discuss the outcomes of the exam. This causes me to question the purpose of finals. Students are led to believe that the exams act as a measurement of competency. However, in reality the exams act more as a pass-fail signifier to others (potential employers, other teachers etc.) rather than as any useful educational tool. Final exams are a systematic tool, not an educational too. For this reason, they are sort of pointless and I hate having to take them.

Except that I don't. I love final exams. I am thrilled by sitting exams. During an exam there is a certain amount of focus and flow that I experience. I love using my final exams as a chance to reflect on how much I have learned throughout the semester, and as a chance to show off my new skills. I love sitting down and solving a problem which ultimately rests in theory and does not have any impact in the world further than my grade. It is an hour and a half of completely selfish, introspective time that I rarely allow myself to enjoy outside of exams. Furthermore the situation of the exam is difficult to replicate. There is just enough risk to make it interesting and inspire a bit of adrenaline and the situation does not allow outside distractions. For this reason I prefer final exams to final papers, even though I like that I keep a copy of final papers which may have been useless in my first few years of university but are now shaping into a coherent portfolio which may be useful for future graduate studies.

That being said, I absolutely hate creating and administering tests. I believe that some people enjoy the control that they experience when they write and/or administer exams, but for me it is absolutely terrifying. I feel like writing tests allows students to judge me more than I am able too judge them, and my shortcomings are exposed to 30 people as opposed to just one teacher. At the same time, my student's success on a test is a reflection of my teaching ability, so I have a lot of investment and hope in the exams. Also, I hate having to give bad marks on an exam. I do not mind giving constructive criticism, but as I have explained, I do not think that the examination process lends itself to construction, only measurement and judgement.

Overall I suppose that I am against the current process of examination. In a Fouccautian sense it is very restrictive and only serves to reinforce the power imbalance between the expert and the individual. It does not empower, construct, build, or create. If I was able to design a school system final exams would be replaced with final portfolios and exit interviews. However, in the current huge world where no one knows anyone that you passed exams is still relevant, unfortunately. Until then I will just continue to enjoy the personal experience of it while I can.

Penetration

We went to Bulgaria for the weekend. Hardly a weekend. We left Istanbul at 9 pm on Friday and arrived back with the rising sun Monday morning. It wasn't supposed to be a vacation, so much as us returning many of the items that we have accumulated over the past year in anticipation of our return to Bulgaria next month, but I could still stand to have a longer period of time between two 8-hour bus trips. By the time that we arrived back in Istanbul we were both exhausted. A brief visit with friends, a midnight movie (Star Trek: Into Darkness, I wasn't impressed), Nikola sheering sheep with his mother all day while I worked on final exams, and an uncomfortable bus ride with an iffy stomach made both of us a bit cranky and very sleepy. We were fading in and out of sleep, tangled up together like children, when we began our journey away from nature and into the heart of Istanbul. Although I haven't measured the amount of time it takes, I know that when we started passing buildings it was still thoroughly dark, and by the time that we pulled into the bus station the sun was up. As the bus made its way through the empty suburban streets I struggled to wake myself up. I was rewarded for my efforts with the same sherbet sky that originally made me fall in love with Istanbul.

Istanbul has a certain morning quality that I love in all big cities, except it seems bigger and better here. There is about an hour in the morning between when the revelers from the night before have made their way to the nearest bed and the locals get up for work. That hour feels quiet, clean and still in a way that I rarely feel anywhere except in large cities, and I love rolling into Istanbul in a big bus during that hour, not because of the contrast in sounds, but because it feels like I am floating in a magical land. One of the things that first made me fall in love with Istanbul was its unique skyline. Two years ago I thought that it was just the mosques that made the skyline unique, but now I recognize that it is the particular blending of minarets with modern skyscrapers that create such a wonderland in the morning. As we came down a hill, into a valley, I was met by a scene that had the feeling of a post-apocalyptic film.  I can't say exactly why. Nothing was destroyed. But the gentle red light humming all around us, mixed with futuristic glass buildings and concrete houses had a very settling effect. When I first came here I loved the promise of penetration and the masculine energy that the city held. Now, whether it is because I know the city or because being married has slowly changed my opinions regarding random phallic symbols encroaching on my space, I find the skyscrapers and minarets the least attractive part of the city. I would love to be able to say that I have come full circle and found a feminine energy floating around the base of these buildings, but I have not. It is a man's city, and I am ready to be gone. 

Tree Hugger

Yesterday, while walking down the side of a hill, kicking up dust with my flip flops, I mentioned to the guy walking next to me that it was a nearly perfect day. He challenged me, as he takes glee in doing, and asked me why nearly? Why not perfect? I relented and gave perfect. Why not perfect indeed?

Around 9 I took my bike from my apartment to the ferry station in Kabatas. It was a nice, invigorating ride and I arrived at the meeting point early enough to sit under a tree and write in my journal. Around 10:20 the guy I was meeting showed up. We had a morning tea and got on the boat, waiting nervously for the couple who was supposed to join us. Eventually they came, and they were just beautiful. So, we had four very laid back, joyful people about to embark on a trip to the Istanbul Princes Islands.

On the first Island they rented bicycles and we went around the island to a beach. There we got into the icy water, had a seaweed fight, and eventually picnicked in the sun. We then hopped the next ferry to the next biggest island where we hiked up to the top of a hill to sit in a grove of trees. This island, Burgaz, is not particularly forested. The hike up to the top of it was steep, and a few kilometers, and it felt very much like the dusty california scrub-brush regions. By then the sun, which had been playing games with us all day, was baking steadily, and the wind had picked up into such strong gusts that we occasionally had to stop and stand still in the face of it. When we reached the top I expected to see a breathtaking view of distant Istanbul. However, what waited for us was a beautiful grove of trees, dipped down into a saddle in the hill that took us away from the city, and into a planet all our own. Except for the horses. There were maybe ten horses grazing in the center of the trees, one of which was a flaxen chestnut foal and was completely, heartbreakingly precious. I guess the little girl in me that loved horses is still in there somewhere, because seeing them completely melted my heart. We found a little nook in the trees, where the wind was a little less, and sat for our second picnic, followed by napping and being lazy. At one point I left our group behind and found an open spot in the trees. I closed my eyes and let the wind wash over me, and it was such a calming experience, to just be quiet and small, surrendering to sun and wind. Eventually we made our way down the hill and back to the ferry station, where we caught a ferry back to the city, stretching out endlessly, like it always does. The waves were much larger than they had been in the morning, and the ferry was rocking back and forth, occasionally breaching waves like a speedboat would. I was nervous and yet excited by the motion, and it acted as a final bonding experience for our little group, who parted ways to a fast-falling twilight.

A perfect day? Why not. 

An Endless City

Above you will see a poor-quality snapshot taken with my webcam from my bedroom window. We are on the fourth floor, up above the buildings, in a little bit of openness that can be difficult to find in the city. From my window I have a view of red rooftops, data-dishes, and off in the distance one of the larger mosques. But the vision doesn't capture it. From my window I also have a great basin of sound that echoes off of the closely positioned buildings and strait into my ears: the shouting voices of little boys (one of them scored five this morning, that much I understood), a slightly more subdued monotone of older men, bicycle bells, car engines/horns, radios playing both Turkish and Western music, laughter, screaming babies, whistles, footsteps, a ball bouncing on the street... after awhile it becomes more of a soup than any of those distinct sounds and I rarely notice an individual unless they are particularly persistant. The amount of sound, layered together and unending, seems to contradict the peaceful blue sky that greets me.

This has been something that I have been trying to understand since I moved to Istanbul. The vastness of this city. It permeates every hill and seems to extend on forever. There are brief respites of trees and parks, but really it grows directly into both seas, and I am amazed that it has not expanded over the channel. It expands to the sides for as long as my bike can carry me, and up so many sets of winding stairs. It is huge.

I wonder why people want to live in cities. I wonder why I wanted to live in a city. I suppose that we hear stories about cities and we romanticize them. San Francisco is not just a city but an entire lifestyle and ideology. It is the same with any other large and famous city. People flock to LA, New York, Paris, London, Istanbul... not really because of opportunity, but to rub up against everything that the cities claim to be. I think it is a disease of youth, to want to live in these cities, or maybe it is okay for a single person. As a married person looking towards children I can't imagine staying here any longer. The bouncing of the balls sounds so very out of place that it breaks my heart. Their little shoes running around on pavement. Do they know how grass feels? Have they climbed a tree? The city is not the place for children. And if it is not good enough for our children, really, is the city a place for people at all? What do we gain by living on top of each other? Access to bad pizza delivered at 3am because we can't sleep due to all of the stress and artificial life? Probably not worth it. 

Sickness

Last night I overdid it. I was still feeling under the weather, but the dude who is staying with our housemates asked us out for nargile, and he is a pretty cool dude (evidenced that the three of us talked for a good amount of time about child-raising techniques and multi-national children without him freaking out about the concept of having children), so I figured that I could handle it. I thought that I would just not smoke very much, and enjoy the conversation. But how easy is it to deny the only type of smoking that my body will let me engage in? Besides, I have been on the upswing of being sick for over a week now. I thought I could handle a night out.

Unfortunately I couldn't.

After a week of being very sick, and a week of nursing myself at an annoying state of slightly-sick, I am back to being very sick. Fever, swollen tonsils, generally phlegmy grossness. It has gotten to that point where I have forgotten what it feels like to be healthy- to have energy and not have my body hurt. It is as if that is just some fairy tale that isn't actually possible in reality. I know, being sick for two weeks is not like some chronic illness, but that is my limit for physical memory, I think. That is not to say that I don't remember significant physical sensations from the past, but the amount of time that it takes for me to create a new schema around my current state of being seems to be about two weeks. I assume that applies to more than just being sick. Changing my levels of activity with swimming, running, or biking... two weeks of doing it every day and it starts to feel normal. I adjust. Two weeks without my lover, and I adjust back to being non-cuddled. But then it takes two weeks before I forget what it feels like to sleep alone.

They say that it takes about 28 days to create a new habit- they also say that you can never actually break a habit, but only create new alternatives to that habit. It seems to me that my timeline is much closer to two weeks. The world did not exist before two weeks ago. I stop and think about that- consider it- and suddenly my entire understanding of history and memory changes. It pulls me into the moment- into the now- and makes me very much appreciate my life. There is no sense in living in a past that you cannot feel any longer, is there? Except for one thing, and that is a tiny glimmer of hope that maybe, just maybe, my body is capable of not aching, my throat is capable of making noises less like the croaking of a frog, and my head is capable of clear thought. Maybe I am energetic and happy. I vaguely, through a very distant fog, seem to remember those possibilities... 

Identity Capital

I watched a ted talk this morning by a psychologist who argued that the twenties are not a wasted decade, as so much hipster-leaning rhetoric would have you believe, but a time to actually plan and invest in your future. She argued that exploration should 'count,' for something, instead of just being a clever term for procrastination. Here's a link to a youtube of the video:

I am torn on this, because for some reasons I believe that this is a message worth saying. It is tragic if anyone actually believes that an entire decade of their life doesn't, "count." Economically driven extended adolescence makes it harder to get meaningful jobs and to start a family. Yes, I believe that research. I am definitely in the camp of, "adolescence continues until the mid-twenties." But, to believe that adolescence is a meaningless time is a mistake, and so, I agree with her that the feeling of drifting, unengaged, melancholy is completely avoidable. What I don't agree with is the framework that she uses.

Towards the end of the talk she throws out a key term, "Identity capital." Immediately I flashed back to the introduction of social capital into pop-culture and the book, Bowling Alone. Oddly enough I don't really remember much of the book, except that it was completely new to me, and the term social capital stuck. Ten years later I am looking back with a new concept of capital and capitalism and seeing how painful and potentially harmful that framework can be.

Social Capital. Identity Capital. These key phrases are breaking everything in our lives down to questions of investment and worth. It takes two of the most important, complex, and wonderful things in life, relationships with others and yourself, and commodifies them. It turns them into something clinical and measurable. Exchange theory and capitalism hasn't stopped with economics. Everything needs to be worth something, leading to the ultimate life of the good worker.

Which leads me to the next point that I did not like about her talk. She never even mentions alternative lifestyles. The pinnacle of life remained marriage, children and a job. What if we took this extended adolescence and actually did something with it to change society? What if things like art and discussion and philosophy became more important. What if you decide to become a monk, and that's okay? What if you decide not to marry, not to have children, and not to work, and that is actually okay as well? What if, instead of constantly insisting that everything be of value in the current social schema, we take this time to really question and maybe even attack the definition of value? There is so much room for questioning, and room for change, especially in the twenties, thirties, forties, fifties (see where I'm going here?) and to encourage people to fill every 'gap' in their life with preparation for their next capital success is simply sabotaging any chance at liminal space that we might have.  

"That's What Makes You Beautiful."

I take great issue with this song. Well, not so much the song itself, but the fact that it is touted to young girls as a song that they should listen to in order to feel better about themselves. This song, at the moment, is considered empowering to girls, and I wish that people would look at the song and think critically for one moment before they start to push teenage girls back into a box of self-doubt. Most of the song I could just walk away from as annoying but harmless. Then the last, tagged on line from the chorus comes and I just can't let it be.

"You don't know you're beautiful,
And that's what makes you beautiful."

Woah. Wait. Hello virgin and whore dichotomy. This line basically makes it so that the most desirable trait in the girl is her naivety to her own attractiveness. It is a catch-22. She can only be attractive as long as she doesn't think that she is attractive. She can only be attractive if the boy is the one who rescues her by showing her the beauty that she cannot see in herself. This song doesn't promote the agency of young girls. It promotes a dependency on boys to imbue girls with beauty. Self-awareness of beauty is considered narcissistic and unattractive, as is embellishments of beauty. The most desirable trait in a girl is the opportunity for a boy to exercise agency over her by revealing her own beauty to her. If she sees the beauty on her own, without his assistance she is considered spoiled and no longer beautiful or desirable. 

Yes, I understand that is a lot to glean from one line of music. However, the fact that the line just hangs there as the final word, hovering in the air, makes it too obvious to not say anything. It is not hidden in the song. It is the blatant message that stays with you at the end, and in my opinion it is harmful. Well, again, the song itself is not harmful as much as it being spoonfed to shy, insecure girls as a way to feel better about themselves. Sure, it is intended to give them hope that maybe someone else secretly finds them attractive, but instead of empowering them to love themselves it just increases that dependency on that external validation.

At the moment there is a lot of discussion about empowering young girls. The most prevailing example at the moment is the Disney-ization of the pixar princess Mirada. When transitioning from the 3d world to the 2d world some 'improvements' were made in the poster-girl for tom-boyism, mainly a bit of taming and sexualization that pulled her in line with the other disney princesses. Parents were angry. They were so angry that the new figure has been temporarily pulled while disney searches for a solution (how about the solution of leaving her unruly and boyish?). I haven't read any reactions of little girls though- whether they thought that Mirada no longer represented them. I would like to know whether little girls at a young age are being taught feminist rhetoric, or maybe they honestly see a problem with the changes, or maybe they don't care and it is the protection of the parents. These are questions that I have and don't see any answers to. I always hover in a weird space concerning parental and societal protection of youngsters. How much of the world do you hide until what age? And when do you actually introduce these issues and discuss them with your child? And how do you go about letting your child form their own opinions? For so long I have worked with teenagers, who already have a strong base of decision making and critical thinking skills. I never really thought about having to get them to that point. 

Dread Update-- About a month

See my dreads? Well, neither do I. I am pretty certain that my hair will not actually start knotting naturally until it is about should length, at least. My hair grows so slowly that this means the whole summer I will be dreadless, and all of that wonderful time spent in the sea will be a moot point. However, I really like how my scalp and hair feels with this baking soda and sea salt/vinegar routine. So, I will probably keep that going.

I am realizing that I am making a lot of changes this semester. I think it is a nesting thing, for sure. I am getting in touch with my inner hippie and my body. I am also getting in touch with an inner anarchist that I never even realized was there. Overall I like the person that I am getting to know. And look at her, doesn't she look rather happy?

More natural. More local. More honest. More social.

:) 

The Best Worst Year Ever

I am quite thankful for this semester at Bogazici. At the beginning of the semester I remember being nearly terrified in all of my classes. I had a class that focused on Middle East Politics, one that focused on Central Asian Issues, one that was actually a graduate seminar in resistance and social change, a modern theory course with what seemed like a very difficult instructor, and a Business Strategy course. Now the semester is two weeks away from over, and I am uncertain about my grades in any of these courses. I am fairly certain that I wont actually fail, but I might be getting a few c's, which used to be regarded as complete failures in my mind. However, the confidence that I gained by taking these risky courses is worth the possible marring of my near perfect academic record.

I am not really certain how I developed the idea that some topics were too complex for me to study, but the middle east, and central asia were big, scary topics in my mind. People don't just study them for a semester at the senior level. They start with introductory courses and take years before they can thread out what is actually happening there. Perhaps this idea comes from all of the media hype in the middle east. It is as if the media wants us to think that it is all very complex, because when it is too complex then we stop asking questions. Well, now I know that not asking questions is definitely the right thing to do. I would have loved to immerse myself solely in one of these classes for a semester, but even just taking up a few hours a week, within three months I was really able to gain some understanding. This completely shocked and inspired me. These are not taboo subjects that are reserved for experts. These are the issues of everyday life, that you and I should be discussing, and should be asking questions about if we are going to support legislation that then effects these areas, and in return, us.

Of course, Business Strategy is still a struggle. We had a guest speaker today. He was a very charming man, and definitely a public speaker. I couldn't help but like him. He was discussing rebranding strategies of a major hotel chain that he worked for, and at one point he brought up the example of starbucks brand, and how they can charge $3 more per cup of coffee than they should be able to, just because they are an experiential, lifestyle brand. It's true, but what got me was that he was excited about this. His face lit up with hope and ----excitement---- when he said it, whereas it just kind of disgusts me. It made me realize that even though I can play the financial games of business, in the end I am not at all a capitalist, and I want to keep capitalism as far out of my NGO as possible, once it is constructed. If that means that I need a business mind, then I will gain one, but I will never get excited at my ability to charge people more than the cost of a product because I have fetishized and commercialized their environment.

Fouccault's Babies

I spend quite some time these days debating, researching, and just pondering pregnancy. Perhaps this is that always-feared biological clock that my friends warned me about. Turning 30 at the end of this summer, I have to realize that if I decide to have children I will still be raising them well into my 50's. Maybe it is the influence of all of the wishes for babies (if we want them;)) that we were given at our wedding. Maybe it is the fact that I am married to a guy that definitely, without a doubt, wants children at some point in his life. Whatever it is I find myself reconsidering babies, and specifically pregnancy, much the same way that I reconsidered marriage and monogamy six months ago.

Before this past year my considerations towards children have always been theoretical:

1. I don't want to contribute to population issues in a world that I view to be overcrowded, when instead I can invest my time and energy in helping to raise other children by working as a teacher, caregiver, or youth development worker. 
2. However, there is the idiocracy debate: 

I, personally, believe that nurture has a lot more impact on a child's accomplishments than nature, and so I was not overly swayed by the idiocracy theory that "intelligent" people who take the time to consider the implications of adding to the population should actually be the ones more aggressively having children. Also, as I post this I am realizing just how completely stuck-up it even sounds to assume that my genes are the ones that would create super-awesome babies, while other people's would not. Pshh. Yeah, so I basically was sticking with debate number 1, and just thinking that I wouldn't have babies. 

Things change. 

I am now planning to live in Bulgaria, which actually does have a negative population growth. Now, of course a lot of that negative population is due to emigration, and not to people choosing to not have children, and there is the possibility that people will return when older, just showing a very different form of lifecycle than the one that I am used to. However, Bulgaria seems to have plenty of open spaces for my children to run free, and I don't feel overly guilty about perhaps wanting children. 

So, great, maybe I want kids. This isn't something that I am unprepared for. I have been a youth development worker for the past 8 years, and I have been a good one at that. I focus on psychology and sociology of youth. Okay. So, I am going to have some amazing teenagers. The question is how to get them to that place. Nikola and I occasionally discuss parenting techniques. We have already had to have the difficult discussions of where we want to raise children (with Bulgaria being the overwhelming answer from both of us), simply because it takes so long to establish residency in either of our countries that this is a decision that needs to be made now, and not once we get pregnant. There are other hiccoughs in baby-making that stem from being a multi-lingual household. Bulgarian or English, which will be our dominant home-language (right now, with just the two of us it is English, but Bulgarian is rapidly become more prevalent). Then comes questions of childcare and school. Neither of us want to send our child to kindergarten, especially not for the full four years that Bulgarian children go for, but at some point kindergarten may become mandated in Bulgaria. And, after kindergarten comes a whole other slew of schooling issues. Then there are cultural things. I am very... strange... when it comes to a lot of things. I want to live in a television-free household, and not do sweets and sugar in my child's main diet. These are things that can be accepted in San Francisco, to varying degrees, but will be difficult to enforce in Bulgaria, I think. 

But those are all issues that are far down the road, and we just like to play and tease at them, not really making decisions or plans yet. The more pressing issue becomes the idea of me actually getting <gulp> pregnant. 

I realize now how much the 'system' for having babies has changed, even though our romantic notion of the spontaneous pregnancy has not. Yeah, I get it, I do not lead a normal life and the 'system' is not set up for globetrotters that don't have a large fund sitting at 'home,' or even a home to set that fund at. Still, I think that being a traveller begins to expose some of the gaps in the healthcare systems of different countries (not to mention other forms of law and distribution), and gaps in our global rhetoric of human rights. Basically, the issue that I am now facing is the dreaded switching of insurance. I had no clue that most insurances require you to pay into their plan for at least 6 months before they will cover a pregnancy. I understand why. People tend to want insurance only when they have a great medical need, and then would get off of it as soon as they are patched up, making the whole system crash. However, interesting enough, you cannot advance-pay for 6 months, or the year, that is required before you can be covered by the policy, in most cases. This means that if you want to have a kid, you are expected to PLAN the child at least a year before you conceive it. Now, I don't particularly have an issue with planning in and of itself. I love planning. However, the media and general attitude towards pregnancy still romanticizes the unplanned pregnancy. People out of wedlock, teen-pregnancies, people trying for a month, broken condoms, etc. These things are not positioned as desirable, but they are definitely in movies and television shows more often than people planning a year before conceiving a child, getting onto the right insurance plan, and then waiting to even begin trying. It's because these situations are 'exciting' and 'interesting.' The issue is that we internalize these as the path to having a baby. Then, when we actually get pregnant (or, like me, begin to consider it) we realize that no system is actually set up for that kind of spontaneity. 

The other issue that I am butting up against at the moment is, once again, one of expertise. Having to consider insurance has forced me to look into the actual process of birth in Bulgaria. It is very standardized, with required tests, and birthing is done in hospitals. It is a far cry from the romantic idea of just squatting in a forest somewhere. Okay, I don't think I would go that far, but birthing has definitely been taken away from the natural world and put into the realm of medical expertise... making the whole birthing process one of the state and society instead of a private experience that the woman birthing has control over. I have had issues with access to birth control for many years. It is an easy fight to attach to. Now I am realizing how far the power of the state has entangled itself with the whole concept of birth and pregnancy. I have to say that after looking up the birthing process I have no problems waiting a bit longer, because the whole idea of my body and actions becoming even more socially owned, considered, and exposed, is absolutely terrifying. 

Sick Wanderings

Some days I love my life. Okay. Most days I love it. Today I was sick, and it should have made life close to unbearable, but it didn't. Not even close. We woke up late this morning, at 815, after the alarms had already gone off. We try to be out of the house by 830, and usually even though we don't get moving until 810, that 20 minutes is enough. However, since I was sick and Nikola was beginning to come down with something it wasn't enough time, and we left late. Of course I had trouble, as I always do at the bus stop that inspires me to go into urban planning and fix transportation issues in Istanbul. Seriously, last friday I was at this bus stop for nearly an hour, waiting for a bus that was not so full that even a girl with my size and lack of delicacy could not squeeze her way in. Three buses passed before I was able to get on, and I was half an hour late to a class that was cancelled anyways. Today wasn't quite that bad. I made it on the second bus, and made it to school only five minutes late. It seemed the professor was having an off day as well, because he started five minutes late, and it was almost as if I was on time.

The first class consisted of me almost falling asleep. Not because of the content. In fact, it is one of my favorite classes, with an absolutely passionate professor and the interesting topic of the state and the stateless in the middle east. I get to contemplate all sorts of ideas regarding nationalism, sovereignty and autonomy. But sick bodies do not really care what you are studying and so my head started nodding despite my interest. After the class I went for a coffee, and I began to feel like maybe I could make it through my next class without a nap.

My next class was modern theory, where we are currently studying Benjamin. Let me just take a moment to say, even though I haven't read much of him, he might be one of my favorite theorists. He leaves all of the wet complexity in sociology, that too many theorists extract for the sake of clarity. Sometimes things are MORE clear when they are left murky. I actually was able to stay awake, and mostly engaged, for most of that class. There was a long section that the professor explored an example in Turkish, which happens often with that professor, but other than that I was having a grand time. I had even done the readings, for once, and was excited about having a quiz, which she unfortunately put off until Wednesday. (sigh)

After that class I walked down to the south campus. I know that I have described the Bogazici South Campus hill before, but I feel like I have to explain it once more, because it struck me as altogether new today. The hill looks out over Bebek, a more affluent bay of the Bosphorous, where there are many adorable sailboats tethered about. Beyond the bay are many free boats and ships moving about the channel, and in the further distance a bridge, and the Asian side. The view is usually a little treat, no matter how fast you pass it. Today, however, I was more enchanted with the greenery that has completely taken over the hill beside the sidewalk. Trees, bushes, and grasses are overflowing. Flowers are in bloom. Today every leaf looked particularly crisp and clear. Every dew drop looked heavy, and with a gentle glance I could measure its weight, and not just its absolute weight, but the relationship of weight that it had with the leaf holding it. The greens were more vibrant than usual. Everything seemed healthy, full and growing. Nothing seemed to be in a state of decay. I did not even see the scalloped tell of a caterpillar marring a bit of green. As I began to descend the hill I was thinking about the tragedy of sociologists, and how any good sociologist would never be accepted by the dominant hegemony, because in reality we always have to go against the dominant, and how far separate theory is from applied sociology. It is tragic. But the greenery pulled me out of those thoughts, and before I could understand the transition I was busy appreciating the moment, and life, and my surroundings. It was one of those moments that makes life altogether worthwhile.

I ate a quick lunch in the cafeteria. It was nothing spectacular. Lately it hasn't been, and I think I miss having my campus friends that I used to eat with. After that I had another coffee and did some research into moving to Bulgaria. (Although I should have done homework). Then I had one more class- learning about poetry as a form of hope in central asia, which was a difficult class, because my professor was speaking about a particular tragedy that has been so silenced that no one even really knows how many people died. We hear these things and I think as students they go in one ear as facts, and out the other, as facts. We have a sterile approach to such tragedies, which is necessary in sociology because some group is almost always oppressed, or dying. But for some reason today that sterility was lifted, just a bit. My professor cried as she told the story. She cries in class sometimes, and apparently got a poor review for it last semester, but I am actually very thankful for it. It shows that yes, a sociologist can still be a human. These are events that are worth getting upset about and I appreciate her bravery in allowing them to remain painful instead of just turning them into facts. Still, it was a difficult class.

After class it was back on the bus, and an hour later I met up with Nikola for a coffee and sushi. Unfortunately sushi isn't nearly as good when you are sick :( We are both hurting pretty bad. He has a fever, I have a runny nose. It is his birthday and I would have loved to have done something truly special, but it looks like cuddling away the sickness wins.

So yeah, not the best day, but with a life when that is among the worst days, how can I be unhappy? 

A Perfect Day

I am really enjoying my new location. Last night I had to stay late at school, so I met my husband at the metro and we went down to Taksim together. Neither of us are much for going out in the expensive Istanbul nightlife, and so we just got some junk food for dinner, and wandered down the crowded Iskital street, popping into bookshops to look for a children's book in English that I want to introduce him to for his coming birthday. (We didn't find it, unfortunately) The weather is finally warm enough for a light jacket in the evenings, and it felt very freeing to wander among the throngs of people, not rushing from one warm place to the next. The lights came up, and a band played on the old trolly car, advertising for some festival of dolls this month. It was a jovial atmosphere, and both the boy and I wanted it to continue, but I am coming down with a cold, so he tucked me away for the night.

In the morning I was supposed to go to a class, but I could not bring myself to leave the bed, so playing up my sore throat I decided to stay at home. Eventually hunger drove us from the bed, and we went for a duner for lunch. The duner was spicy and greasy and among the best that I have had in Istanbul. I drank an orange juice, to counteract the sore throat, and he drank an ayran, and I was very happy. We walked down the road to do a bit of grocery shopping and the boy got an ice cream. As he ate it we strolled around the neighborhood, trying to get to know it a little better. We wandered up a side street and found a very quiet, relaxed nargile cafe. We ordered two teas and a mint/lemon water pipe. The young men working at the cafe we absolutely polite, and chill, and we played tabla, drank our drinks, and puffed away on the pipe. Everything was wooden, and lightly green due to the plants all around the windows.

I can't capture exactly what was so perfect in that moment, in that place. Perhaps it was being able to share it with a man that I absolutely love. Perhaps it was that I felt absolutely no pressure and no stress, which is difficult to come by in a city this large. Whatever it was, I look forward to many more lazy saturdays in my lifetime. 

A Period Piece: Normalizing the flow

Yesterday I got my period. The running, the environment, my changing body... for whatever reason I am only getting it once every five or six weeks these days, but it is still annoyingly incapacitating. Yesterday was actually better than most experiences. I was able to move. I even went to school. However, by the time I got back home I was exhausted, with a lower back-plate (this is how I have affectionately started calling that ache that makes your lower back feel like a single steel plate rather than a flexible, supple conglomeration of collaborative muscles), and I immediately went to sleep for four hours. I skipped making dinner, skipped doing homework and just slept. It was relieving, or would have been if I didn't have that insistant guilt that a period is not a valid excuse to bow out of your obligations. 

Appropriately, at the same time that I was going through this monthly ordeal some acquaintances of mine were discussing their experiences with their periods while camping at a festival. I sometimes like to imagine what it must be like to go to the bathroom as a man at burning man. It seems so very simple. Sitting down is not really required, except occasionally, and that can usually be regulated to times when the potties have just been cleaned. (I say usually, but I have seen the mess of shit in the potties in the middle of the night that betray the fact that substance-filled people have issues controlling their bowels, and apparently issues sitting down. I assume this goes for men and women). Adding yet another thing that men don't have to deal with there is the period. Think about this for a second. Women have to figure out some way to deal with the blood flow... this means pads, tampons, or cups, generally. Sometimes it means stopping the flow altogether with hormones. Pads ruin a lot of costuming choices for women, and they can be uncomfortable. Tampons can't be thrown into the porto-potties, and so they require consideration to their disposal. Burn them? How do you keep them from smelling in the desert heat until you reach a fire that you can discretely add them to? How do you walk from the pottie to your tent with a large, blood-soaked tampon? What about questions of hygiene. Fingers being inserted places. It IS an ordeal. These are just things that men don't have to consider. Part of me wants to throw a tantrum because it just isn't fair. 

But I wont. 

It's fine, I suppose. After all, the men aren't the ones that are bleeding. 

What really gets me is that women are expected to act as if this completely inconvenient, sometimes altogether painful event doesn't happen every month. We are expected to show up at school and at work. We are expected to cook and clean, all as if we are feeling perfectly normal. Of course, we can take a "sick" day, but I am NOT sick when I am on my period. I am going through a natural process that needs more attention and energy than other things in my life. That is not being sick. I consider it being normal. Then, if we are in public spaces, we are expected to be discrete about it. No one can know, especially men, because, "That's disgusting!" We pass tampons to each other on the sly, under the table, asking for them in hushed, embarrassed whispers. We transport our used items in black bags so that they are not offensive to others. (And to ourselves?) We are having, "Monthly troubles," or "women's sickness." We are not shedding the inside of our uterus in slightly disturbing amounts of blood. Of course we aren't! 

This morning I woke up and I pulled out my cup. I have a lot more blood this week, and as the cup popped out of me the blood made a bit of a splash. I quickly cleaned it up and sanitized the area, but not before looking at the colors, and being filled with a bit of wonder towards the human body. I don't usually consider myself a traditional feminist. I am not usually into the worshipping of the "goddess body," but I will say that something needs to change in the way that women relate to the world, to men, and to each other, and that it begins with something as simple as the recognition, and consideration of the period. It begins by normalizing the flow, rather than casting it into the space of embarrassment and disease. From there... well, there are many things that I can refuse to be sanitary about. 

Knowledge Desire

Yesterday I was considering an application, yet again, for a research grant in Bulgaria. (It is disheartening that American institutes want to fund Americans who are in America and will return there, or foreign scholars, but in no way would fund a new researcher who is an expat.) While doing so I stumbled upon the Bulgarian journal of Sociological Questions. It is the first thing that has actually made me want to move to Sofia. I had romantic imaginings of sitting in a high-ceiling library, and hearing my thoughts echo against the marble floors, and then having dinner or coffee with a tight-knit group of people who are passionate collaborators in the pursuit of sociological understanding. In just seconds I imagined years of debate over nationalism and youth issues, over education systems and sources of political power. I doubt I will act in that desire,  as my loathing of Sofia is too deeply ingrained in me, but it is comforting to know that there are people in Bulgaria pursuing similar academic thought as me, and that not all of the research is conducted externally.

When I found that journal I wanted to have the time to read the whole thing, all 60 years of publication. Now, obviously that is absurd. We don't read whole journals. We use searches to pick out only the parts that we really need. I will admit that I often do this lazy bit of cutting corners. Yes, I know the keyboard shortcut for 'find on page' but sometimes I wish that neither the opportunity, nor the necessity for such scanning was there. Sometimes I wonder what it would be like if I could devote myself to understanding rather than production- if I had the time to dialogue rather than disseminate.

Of course all of this pointless wistfulness ultimately leads me back, yet again, to a question that has been surfacing too often lately. Why don't I have the time and freedom to do the things that I love? What is it about society that forces me to become a worker in a job I don't like, or in a low-paid job that takes all of my energy instead of letting me develop social relations, be a mother and a wife, and give time to issues that I consider important? And, why am I only asking this now, at age 29, when I have been making similar complaints and engaging in everyday resistance since a young age regarding these same issues.

More and more I am considering university, especially university in the united states, to have been a ridiculous choice for myself. The debt that I 'start' my adult life with is quite constraining, and ultimately I am unsure if my degree in Sociology will help me in any way in Bulgaria. However, I cannot imagine not being composed of some of my academic experiences. My Shakespeare class that I took freshman year taught me a certain amount of passion, and gave me a schema for inspiration that I still regularly employ in my philosophical and spiritual musings. My Sociology of Utopia course introduced me for the first time to a professor who was crazy with passion for her subject. My experience in  Istanbul has completely challenged my understanding of the world and sociology in general. The courses that I have taken here have made me feel, for the first time in my life, like I am an academic adult. So, whether it was a financially smart decision or not, the time invested in the experience has been worth it, for me. 

I guess this comes back to the tired question of what education is all about. Unfortunately, individuals, society, politicians, and institutions all seem to have very different answers regarding that question. Is education about getting a job? Is it about personal development? Is it about social control and the continuance of hegemonic structures? What is its function?

For me education has been a bumpy journey, longer than usual and with many detours. I usually say that I wouldn't have it any other way, and although I appreciate what I have learned, I think I would have preferred a more direct, short route, with fewer student loans, or perhaps to have skipped the whole ordeal altogether. 

The things you own.

Being constantly on the move for the past 29 years has allowed me to reflect on this concept quite often. Every time I have to pack up my things and move them across the state, or country, or world, I get the opportunity to consider each object, and to weigh its role in my life against the effort that I expend on its upkeep. Right now Nikola and I are starting to get ready for our move back to Bulgaria. He came here with most of the stuff that he owned, and I had no small amount either. Since we have been here we have accumulated a lot in the way of dishes, small furnitures etc. Now we have to consider each thing and question whether it is worth it to move it back to Bulgaria with us, or to leave it here and replace it when we get to Bulgaria, or to leave it out of our lives forever. These are little things that should not be a big decision- clothes drying rack, shoe rack, brushes I don't use now that I am dreading my hair etc. However, I come from a background of scarcity that promotes hoarding things once I actually have them. So, even though I have not used that round brush in months, it is still there, because hey, it cost me 10lv and I *MIGHT* need it someday.

I remember the conversation that I had with Cyrano back in the day when we were taking her jeep on a road trip. We discussed ownership and responsibility. I am not sure if we were talking more about the car or about our relationship, but now I am concentrating just on the material side of the conversation, and not on the interpersonal allusions within it. Everything that we purchase is a tiny investment. Some things we don't even realize that we are investing in, while others have immediate value. However, the investment is not just one of finances. It is an investment of the space that they take up in your home, and an investment of the time that they take out of your life- in upkeep and actual use. Eventually, when you buy things you have to ask yourself whether they are actually adding to your life, or are distracting you from living a happy life by adding more responsibility without enough of a return. A bike was a great investment for me. I get such joy from it, despite the pain of having to store and move it. A bag of beauty supplies accumulated over the years really just serves to make me feel guilty everytime I look at it, and to consider my ideals of beauty. Do I really need nailpolish? But do I really not need it?

My camera decided to have a little freakout over the sand on the beach, and my first instinct was to start looking up new compact dslr's. I didn't even stop to really consider how often I use my camera and whether I actually believe in this false, documented life that is currently popular. Once upon a time I decided that I was against cameras, as they pull you out of the moment that you want to capture, but now I realize that cameras have become so ingrained in society that I cannot imagine not being able to upload my pictures to facebook and "let everyone know what's going on." Why?

Part of me is really aching for the minimal life again. Maybe I have been out of the field too long, I am not sure. But more and more often I find myself daydreaming of a life where I do not check my email more than once a week, and where I do not even have lights in most of my house, so that I can enjoy the rhythm of the world rather than conquering it. I dream of not owning a cell phone, and of gardening and doing yoga and talking with the same people every day instead of trying to hold ties that are stretched out over the atlantic and two continents. I somehow don't think that Nikola would appreciate that lifestyle though. Something tells me that he needs his computer/technology in order to be happy, which makes sense. Taking away his computer would be a lot like taking away my writing. The only difference is that I am able to extract my expression from technology whereas he does not get to choose his medium. 

An Anarchist Weekend

This weekend we decided to go camping with some folk from couchsurfing. Everything was arranged and it was the most simple task, for us, payable in cash instead of effort. We were picked up with our flatmates in front of our new place, squeezed four deep into the back of a car, and driven an hour to reach the edge of Istanbul. There we were met by the classic long-haired, hippy-pants wearing organizer with the most inviting smile, and another couple. Altogether there were 9 of us in a van for 15. The trip to the campsite should have taken about 2 hours, but we stopped often, breaks for beer, for the bathroom, for random views... it was leisurely to say the least. Finally, we arrived at the beach. It was deserted, except for a few people working to get the campground open for the season, and after some bickering we decided to set up our tent on the beach instead of in the wooded campground. Nikola and I used our new tent from our wedding, which was awesome (but highly dependent on proper staking, which is difficult in sand) and then we went about starting a fire, in proper scout fashion. That evening was food and conversation, and a bit of wine, around a campfire. I am not sure how late we stayed up, but even after the boy and I went to bed we could hear the voices of our campmates lingering on in gentle laughter for several hours.

In the morning I woke up to relieve myself, as I usually do when camping, and was greeted by the most serene sea (we were on the black sea, at a little cove where the waves couldn't get above 2 inches) and a soft pink, cotton candy sun casting all kinds of princess-esque shadows around. It was altogether lovely. I then went back to sleep, and when we woke up for real around 9 the beach was already crowded with weekend day-users. Despite the number of people the place didn't seem overly crowded, and everyone kept to themselves, doing their own thing, very joyfully. Our group swam in the cool, refreshing water, ate breakfast, and laid in the sun until the burns on our exposed skin sent us under the shade of trees. There we stayed for the rest of the afternoon, playing cards and chatting, cooking lunch, and then eventually packing up. The ride home was similar to the ride out, except everyone was more relaxed, and more exhausted.

On the ride back to the city I was overwhelmed with a huge, dreadful desire to simply not return. I looked out the passing trees and in the van that I shared with these strangers. For two days they had seemed so happy, and I was certain that I had seen little glimmers of joy and passion that are simply not allowed in polite society. Well, maybe polite society is just not worth it anymore! I think of all the weekend warrior trips that I have been on throughout the years, most specifically places like RWB and Burning Man, but also just these little weekend getaways to no-name campgrounds with nothing more planned than how to start a fire, and I realize that the people were almost always loathe to leave. Back in the RWB days I floated so much on the externals of reality that I did not recognize the life that my friends were returning to. Lives of suits, and lies, lives of law and secrets, lives where they cannot be themselves because they all play the same game to function in a society that very few people actually enjoy. It is ridiculous. I always thought of myself as more of a communist than an anarchist, but I am starting to realize that if anarchy can be a non-system achieved non-violently then I might be more of a primitive anarchist. Of course, I don't think that the people who join me for the weekend and look so free and happy under the sun and in the sea would really want to live that way forever. The creature comforts of showers and kitchens are a bit too ingrained in most people, and maybe even in myself. All I know is that I hated the feeling of leaving. I saw the skyrising apartments as we entered the city and I felt physically ill at the cramped, quiet lies of lives that people live in order to make urban centers work. I don't want that for me, or my children. I don't want to have to pay ten lira a night to access a bit of wild, because the whhole world has been divided up and can be owned for the profit of the powerful. These are not acceptable times.

Dread Update, Week 3

BIG NEWS!!! I grew a Nikola shaped dread, like, overnight!!!

No, but in reality there is still not a whole lot going on up there. You may think it is getting a whole lot messier and loopy, which it is, but that picture happens to be fresh from waking up. Usually throughout the day it calms down, and then after a shower it is back to normal people hair. On a happier note, after the shower it messes and curls up much faster than it did three weeks ago. 

A different city

Maybe it is just the summer time creeping in on alternating hot and cold sea breezes that carve out the space around the channel with freshness. Maybe it is just the finally shining sun that illuminates the dirty, gritty grim held between cobblestones and on every public surface. But I don't think that is the case. Life up in Ferahevler was too sanitary. People mainly kept to themselves and there was not a whole lot of diversity. I am not saying that people weren't nice enough, but really, it felt like everyone else wanted to do exactly what Nikola and I wanted to do: be left to their own devises and live their own lives. Down here it is very different. The layering of the people, the engagement, the eye contact. It is invigorating after an entire winter of missed conversations and interactions.

Today I was getting on the tram to come home when I glanced to the side and saw a young woman wearing shorts and large sunglasses, with her slender fingers wrapped around a large frappicinno. (I can't even spell the word it has been so long since I thought about it.) The entire moment seemed so foreign and out of place to me. Now, I know that Istanbul is a metropolitan place, and there are starbucks, and every copycat that can pretend to be starbucks, and I know that plenty of people here have the money to spend on those drinks. But it has been so long since I have had one- years- that the size of it struck me as grotesque, and I could not imagine drinking one. Strange that now things that are normal in a foreign land, from my homeland, have become foreign to me?  

Alternative Ways of Being

I think that I have spent most of my life unsatisfied with society. This dissatisfaction has been a driving force in me. It caused me to do things that many people would never dream of- from moving to Guam on a whim, to working in a conservation corps, summers at summer camp until the age of 24, joining the Peace Corps, moving to Turkey, getting married within six months of meeting my husband- everything except the last little bit is not even strange to me, and it is the fact that I got married at all rather than getting married so quickly that surprises me. The people that I tend to surround myself with also live similar lifestyles- fast, hard, and a little quirky. I move around, and I keep trying new things because deep down I am terrified that the things I hate about life will never change. Now, I am not exactly frozen with pessimism over this. I realize that the only way a change can come about is if people act out the change they want to see, and voice their discontentment with the status quo, often and loudly. For change there need to be people who take risks, and go against the grain. People who may even do illegal activities, and try to build an alternative rather than just destroy what is already in place. I realize this and so I do my part, as best as I can. I am not particularly social. I am not a charismatic leader. But in many ways I am a revolutionary. In my refusal to submit to the social pressures to behave, and my constant questioning I am not only seeking a solution, but I am protesting, quietly, the things that I cannot stand. Now, I know that this sentiment will be accepted by most of my friends, and sometimes it is even supported. But it is a scary thing to vocalize and post on the internet. It is scary because once it is posted there is no going back.

There is a certain safety on being an invisible rebel. A weekend warrior for change. It is an important safety. It keeps you employed. It keeps you out of jail. It keeps you safe from the retaliation from the state. No, not just the state, but the conservative standards that people constantly adopt. People say that they don't want to live in a 1984 society, and that capitalism protects us from that. Well, no, it didn't do its job because your neighbors and friends are still willing to rat you out, right down to your room 101, rather than risk association with a deviant.

Ohhhh... that is what this is all really about. Deviance. Standard acceptable deviation. I am a deviator. The thing is that I KNOW many other people are deviators. In fact, I think that if everyone was honest about their feelings and desires for just a year or so, there could be huge changes in this world. Until that day, while we live in fear of self-exposure, nothing will happen.

I am taking a class on social change. It is depressing. We are studying a different form of protest and change every week. Last week it was co-operatives and surplus. This week it is primitivism. I am not sure what the answer is, and I know that nothing will ever be perfect, but I am sure that it is just going to get worse until people start talking, start acting, how they want the world to actually be. Otherwise, living, just wont cut it.