Since my last entry, a bit has changed. I closed out my Peace Corps service in Kiev in November, spent three weeks in India, a few days in Bangkok and South Korea, and returned to Georgia in time for the holidays. It's been a whirlwind couple of months, to say the least. One week ago, I was ringing in the New Year at the Chick-Fil-A Bowl between Clemson and LSU. One month ago, I was walking through the Dharavi slum in Mumbai. Two months ago, I was recovering from the flu and huddled in my apartment in Pavlograd in the midst of packing all my things.
It's at once strange and comforting to be back home. There are a lot of people, places, and things I've missed in the last two years. Yet you really can't go home again. A lot has changed since I left in 2010. Life moves with or without you. I've changed as well, in both big and imperceptible ways. The peculiarities of suburban life have been both comforting and aggravating. I've enjoyed luxuries here that will forever be beyond the reach of most people in the world, let alone Ukrainians or Indians. A spacious, well-furnished house with a yard and central air and heating. My choice of several cars to take me wherever I want along fast, smooth roads. Practically any food imaginable within reach. A mild, clear winter. Clean, tasty tap water. Washing machines, dryers, dishwashers, wine coolers, modern shower heads, massive refrigerators, and ovens, stoves, and microwaves I can operate by tapping a few buttons. But even with all this, I find myself longing for the features, idiosyncrasies, and aggravations that had become part of my daily life. Carrying my groceries all the way from the cash register to the kitchen table. The uneven sidewalks and pavement surfaces that I knew better than my own hand. The table of ice that covers everything from December to March. The barely adequate gas heating. Cheap, creaking, crowded public transit to take you anywhere, provided you already know where you're going. Stone-faced and reserved people who nonetheless will give you directions and inquire about your accent. Crumbling Soviet monuments and apartment blocks. People who dress by the calendar, not the weather, and who would never even think of wearing shorts or no hat in January. A baffling yet rewarding language that can sound like the gentlest cooing or the harshest invective.
Even with this mixed bag of feelings, the main one is overwhelmingly excitement. Excitement at both being home and for what the next few months will bring.
It's at once strange and comforting to be back home. There are a lot of people, places, and things I've missed in the last two years. Yet you really can't go home again. A lot has changed since I left in 2010. Life moves with or without you. I've changed as well, in both big and imperceptible ways. The peculiarities of suburban life have been both comforting and aggravating. I've enjoyed luxuries here that will forever be beyond the reach of most people in the world, let alone Ukrainians or Indians. A spacious, well-furnished house with a yard and central air and heating. My choice of several cars to take me wherever I want along fast, smooth roads. Practically any food imaginable within reach. A mild, clear winter. Clean, tasty tap water. Washing machines, dryers, dishwashers, wine coolers, modern shower heads, massive refrigerators, and ovens, stoves, and microwaves I can operate by tapping a few buttons. But even with all this, I find myself longing for the features, idiosyncrasies, and aggravations that had become part of my daily life. Carrying my groceries all the way from the cash register to the kitchen table. The uneven sidewalks and pavement surfaces that I knew better than my own hand. The table of ice that covers everything from December to March. The barely adequate gas heating. Cheap, creaking, crowded public transit to take you anywhere, provided you already know where you're going. Stone-faced and reserved people who nonetheless will give you directions and inquire about your accent. Crumbling Soviet monuments and apartment blocks. People who dress by the calendar, not the weather, and who would never even think of wearing shorts or no hat in January. A baffling yet rewarding language that can sound like the gentlest cooing or the harshest invective.
Even with this mixed bag of feelings, the main one is overwhelmingly excitement. Excitement at both being home and for what the next few months will bring.
Welcome back!
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