Yo-yos

Subject: Yo-yos

Dear friends,

Fall Break!!

Independence Day is October 27 and to celebrate we have
a week off school.

I'm still crazy busy with tying up loose ends, but I came up to the city this afternoon for an evening with friends and cold beers.

I'm having a pizza party for my younger students this Friday
and a big going away party on Halloween. It'll be lots of fun -- some
other volunteers are coming, the women teachers were all invited, and
we're going to have dancing and a videographer so I can show all of
you a little Turkmenistan.

Anyway. I don't have any deep thoughts on culture this week; ran out
of time. I'll try to get at least one more email out before I leave.

Instead, I hope you'll be satisfied with a note on the erratic Turkmen
weather and my concerns about leaving my desert home.

Lots of love,
Jess


My life in Turkmenistan has been that of a yo-yo: I've been jerked
around by my emotions and I've been jerked around by the environment.
I know I sound like I'm stuck on repeat about this, but you would not
believe how sudden the weather changes here. Yes, we have had a few
autumnal days in the past month, but for the most part, October felt
like September. Which is to say, cool in the morning (60 degrees or
so) and hot in the afternoon (over 80). I could walk outside in the
middle of the night in a t-shirt and cropped pajama pants and not feel
chilled. There was nothing that prepared us for yesterday morning –
no wind storm, no subsequently cooler days, nothing. Instead, I woke
up and it was 50 degrees outside. And I thought, well it'll warm up
this afternoon. It did not. The whole day was breezy and cool. I
had to sleep in socks, pants, and a long sleeved t-shirt. This
morning I was hit in the face with cold when I walked outside. I saw
my breath when I yawned. Garagoz was feeling super frisky as cooler
weather suits his thick pelt. I threw a stick for him, went to the
outhouse, peeked at the temperature, and returned inside rosy cheeked
and marveling at the fact that a mere two days ago I was putzing
around outside in a t-shirt and shorts and now I would have to bust
out my fuzzy slippers and pack my shorts because 40 degrees is too
cold for bare feet and knees.

40 degrees. 40 degrees. The morning temperature dropped 20 degrees
in two days. Does that happen at home? Does it? In the desert –
places similar to my Turkmen environment? It must; certainly this
can't be a global anomaly, but I come from a place where the
temperature gracefully rises and falls with the changing seasons. The
sudden yank of the yo-yo string that is Turkmenistan's temperature is
unsettling.

Anyhow.

I've gotten a lot of emails recently that say, "It sounds like you're
ready to come home!" And I suppose I am to an extent. I mean, yeah,
it'll be nice to start my next adventure – I'm going back out to
Colorado (where I will suffer shock at the low temperatures, I'm sure)
and applying to graduate school. But I'm also sad to leave. I have
established a life here and it's not one I'll be able to recreate ever
again. I would love to return to Turkmenistan in the future, but that
depends on the visa gods and their whimsical benevolence.

October has felt like an hour glass: you know those sand timers you
get in board games? The grains of sand always seem to be moving
slower when you first turn it over, but as the sand runs out, the
grains go faster and faster? October started out slow as molasses
and now it's the end of October and I think, "Gosh, where has the time
gone?"

How does it make me feel? I don't know. I don't feel anything. I'm
not bored anymore and that has quenched most of my deepest longings to
come home. And I'm comfortable here. Despite all the quirks in
Turkmenistan, and often because of them, I like it here. It's a
simple life, but there's so much to learn and see. What will I have
to write about when I get home?

Obviously I'll be comfortable at home, too. Of course I'll like it (I
hope so anyway). And I am so looking forward to picking up my
friendships that have been put on pause due to slow mail delivery, my
lack of access to communication devices, and high long-distance
prices. It'll be great to talk to my parents more than once a week.
It'll be nice to dry my laundry in a dryer and not have it freeze
overnight. And, ooooh, the cheese.

Yet, I worry: Visions of home dance through my head – of going to the
library, of buying organic greens at the grocery store, of driving
back roads, of walking through crunchy fall leaves in Masonic Homes,
of driving the back roads I know by heart. I yearn for these memories
to become truth once again, but today as I was squatting in the
outhouse, I began to wonder if I wouldn't be disappointed when I got
home. We have this image of "America" that we hold and cherish and
idealize for two years; I worry that it won't live up to our
expectations. I worry it won't live up to my expectations. I'll go
to the grocery store and think, "This is it? I imagined this moment
for two years and this is it?" And really, what should I expect?
It's just a grocery store after all. I am trying to be realistic. I
want my homecoming to be this bombastic affair, but I have a feeling
that my return to my oft dreamed about motherland will be much more
whimper than bang.

Sigh. I don't have a choice though; my visa expires on December 5 and
no one in our group has been allowed to extend for a third year. And
it could be worse, right? I mean, I am going home after all. Even if
it's boring, I'll still have access to uncensored internet, libraries
stocked with books, seatbelts, and mozzarella.

Oh, America. May you live up to all my hopes and dreams.