Two days ago, I taught English at Apne Aap for the first time. When I first spoke with Mahua Sur Ray (...the woman about whom I recently wrote an entire research paper...omigosh she actually exists...), I thought I would be helping with a class that already existed. She said that they had English classes on Monday and Tuesday, and that I could help with them if I liked. Not a big deal. Right?
Wrong.
I got to the Topsia center, and waited for about an hour (as usual, everything in India (with the exception of the Missionaries of Charity) seems to run an hour late, thank God I'm so Type B), and was then sent to the sewing lab with around seven young women. And two older Indian women, who would serve as my translators. This is when I first started feeling like something was a little strange. I don't speak Bangla. Zareen speaks English and Bangla. The young women speak Bangla. Why doesn't Zareen teach them English? I don't know. I'll get to that later.
So we sat down in a clump, and everyone looked at me. And I looked at Zareen for a moment, and said something like, "wait, am I teaching?" And she gave me the Indian-head-wobble, which means either yes, no, maybe, later, or anything in between. In this case, it meant "yes." Uhhhhhokay. So I asked her to translate for me, and spoke directly to the girls / young women (I think ages 16-22, maybe), and said "amar naam Ani." My name is Ani. Bangla. Step one. And they all smiled. And then I said, in English, "just as you are learning English, I am learning Bangla. So I know how it feels to learn something new. Please be patient with me as I learn." And *click*, connection panda. Awesome. So then I motioned for them to make a circle. Step two. Sit in a circle instead of a clump. Some of this memory is a little muddled, because I had to think very quickly, so I apologize if I write inaccurately. I grabbed a notebook and a bunch of pens from my bag, tore out paper, handed a piece of paper and a pen to everyone, and wrote my name in big, red crayon on a piece of notebook paper. In Bangla. And English. Ani. Once I figure out how to upload Bangla here, I'll do that. Promise. I asked them if they knew the English alphabet, and they all did. They'd learned it when they were little. So they all wrote their names, and we pronounced them back and forth.
Then I tore out another piece of paper, and asked them, with Zareen's help, if they knew any English. The group head-wobbled at me, this time meaning "no" or "maybe, but we're embarassed to try." I went with the latter. I think I'm getting better at head-wobble-speak. Then I smiled, and asked again if they knew any English words at all. Anything. This time, they threw out words seemingly at random. Car, bus, pen, water, cat, dog, lion, etc. We made animal noises for the animals to communicate understand beyond smiles and wobbles. That was fun. They reminded me a lot of me learning Spanish - words picked up from the street, from children, words that are fun to say, but really mean nothing useful - yo tengo una gato de fuego en mi corazon. I have a firecat in my heart. I water the lion bus.
I told them this was good, they knew a lot of English. And they all knew the alphabet. You are smart! You know much. I asked Zareen how much time we had left. Head-wobble. No idea what that meant. So I turned to the girls and said "let's learn something useful. Repeat after me." Zareen translated. Then "Bangla - kamon acho?" Repeated. "English - how are you?" Understanding. Further - "Bangla - ami bhalo achee." Repeated, certainty. They know this. "English - I am fine." Repeated, Indian tongues and teeth pronouncing English syllables. They copy my accent - the halfway between theirs and my real dialect, which has been lost somewhere on Sudder Street. I had them write both down - the Bangla in Bangla, the English in English, and I did the same. I explained, without Zareen's help now, which words matched up to which. Made sure they knew which letters matched with which. They knew that, shakily. Thank God I only have to reinforce the alphabet, rather than teach it from nothing. Then I asked them all, as a group, "kamon acho?" And they responded "ami bhalo achee" and giggled. Then, "how are you?" "I am fine." Applause. Then, with Zareen's help, I explained that we would, individually, turn the the woman to our right, and complete the exchange, in Bangla and English. I turned to Zareen. "Kamon acho?" "ami bhalo achee." "How are you?" "I am fine." And then Zareen to the next girl, and so on. And we went all the way around the circle, all of us in English and Bangla, practicing pronounciation. They learned quickly. Most had good pronounciation. My pronounciation. I had a few speak louder.
Somewhere in the midst of this, Zareen told me the girls had decided to call me "didi." Big sister. :-)
Then nine other girls came in, late, but on time if you're in India. So I introduced myself, checked how much English they knew, whether they knew the alphabet (they did!), had them write their names in Bangla and English, and ran them quickly through what I had just taught, while the other girls practiced writing "how are you" and "I am fine." Then I asked all the new girls to sit between the girls who had been there, so we alternated newer / older. And we went around the circle and did Bangla / English "how are you" again. By the same Bangla-English repeat, write, around-the-circle method, I taught "what is your name?" (apnar naam ki?) "my name is..." (amar naam...). And it went really, really well. And Zareen barely had to speak. And then I taught no (neh-hey) and yes (ha). And asked them at random what their names were and how they were. In English. And they responded, in English. Occasionally, they responded with "I am fine" to "what is your name," but not often.
After all of this (45 minutes? an hour? i don't know) I asked Zareen when we were finished. Head-wobble. Meaning "now, but take your time." Can I give them homework? Sure. Homework: decorate a namecard, using your name in English. Bring it with so I can learn your names. Also, collect five English words that you hear or see, from anywhere. Write them down. Know how to pronounce them. Know what they mean. Bring them with, and be ready to introduce them to the class. This should be easy, because you all know the alphabet, and there's English all over the city. Tik ache? Tik ache. Giggles, at the American casually using Bangla phrases at random. It's okay.
I decided that next week, I will teach them "it's okay," "where is the...," and some other phrases yet to be determined. I have until Monday to decide.
In the taxi on the way home, I exhaled. Something ridiculous had just happened. Originally, I was told I could help with the English class, if I liked. Then, I got thrown into a room of twenty young women who have clearly never taken an English class, and two older translators, who could clearly teach English if they wanted to. And then, teach.
Have I taught English before? Yes. ...English as a second language? Not even slightly. Did I say I wanted to help with the English class? ...yes. And honestly? That class went well. Really, really well. And it's not because I know how to teach English as a foreign language. I had no freaking idea what I was doing. Our God is an awesome God, and He was pretty specific about telling me to go teach English...so I'm just going to plan as much as I can for the next lesson, ask for advice, and go go go.
Also, class number two is in four days. And I'm gonna know a ton more Bangla by then. If any of you have advice on teaching a language, or on teaching in general, or on following God when I have no idea what I'm doing...yeah, that'd be appreciated.
Tik ache? Tik ache.
(Also, I ate Domino's pizza for dinner. Tomato, green pepper (called "capricum" here), corn. And Coke. Best. Comfort food. Ever.)
Showing posts with label nom nom nom. Show all posts
Showing posts with label nom nom nom. Show all posts
Wednesday, January 7, 2009
Saturday, January 3, 2009
James 1:27, pistachio-cardamom kulfi, and I've got some friends that you should meet. Not in that order.
Oh wow. I have no idea how I'm going to write a sufficient update for the past few days. I think I'll organize it by topic. And add some bolded words and phrases. Yeah. Here we go........
Well, first off, I'm not sick anymore. I've been sick for the past week and a half, and I finally figured out why. Actually, that's a lie. Emilio (Spain) figured out that it was because I was taking my malaria meds at night, right before sleeping, with no food. And thus, every morning, I was sick. Good job, Stephanie. So now I take my meds with dinner, and I feel fannntastic! Hooray!
Lately, especially after starting at Apne Aap, I've had a few different concerns - all of which have been completely warped around, so don't worry, I don't think like this anymore. :-)
1. That I would be no help at all at Apne Aap, because I don't speak Bangla (yet).
2. That I wasn't actually helping anyone at Daya Dan, because I have no freaking idea what I'm doing, the kids don't listen to me, and there are seemingly an infinite amount of much more interesting, older, more capable volunteers.
3. That I would never make friends here, because I'm shy (surprise!) and bad at finding groups of people.
Uh...then I prayed about all of this. And now...
Apne Aap really wants me to teach English. Last I checked, that was my major. I'm planning on going to English class on Monday. More on that after it happens. Also, every kid I meet at Apne Aap is consistently fascinated by me, and gets super-excited when I talk with them / make silly faces at them. I don't know what it is. Maybe they're just not used to people paying kidlike attention to them. And I'm good at being a kid. And you don't have to speak the language to connect with kids. I learned that in Mexico. :-) It works to grab a sweatshirt and throw it in the air and pretend to be a bird.
Yesterday, I played guitar for meditation at Daya Dan. Meditation is when the hyperactive boys are all forced to sit in a room in the dark. Still. Quiet. Nearly impossible. So…sister had me play guitar! And it was wonderful! And everyone was so good! The two boys who seem to be the most severely autistic – Joy and Annan - both LOVE the guitar. They sit still and quiet (unless they're rocking a little, trying to touch the guitar, or singing) and smile smile smile. And Sister Jonifer was in meditation with us, and she saw how good they were. If I end up doing music therapy with Annan and Joy, that'd pretty much be the best thing ever.
Today, after arriving at Daya Dan, playing with the kids for awhile, and praying, Sister informed us that we were going to the park. With the kids. And we had to walk there. Sounds like trouble. But it was probably one of the most fun I've ever seen the kids have. Sister assigned each kid to one volunteer - there were a lot of us today. I got assigned to Annan, with whom I’ve never really done anything. He’s autistic and Albino. Before we left, he was singing, and I leaned in to listen, and then he peed on the floor. And me. So Jill and I changed his clothes, and then walked to the park. He was stared at a lot, but honestly, I get stared at just as much for being a single, white woman in Kolkata. So we're kinda in the same boat there. Annan and I held hands on the way to the park, ran around, and he found a stick! Hooray! So he tapped out rhythms with the stick on every surface he could find, and I repeated them back to him. And then we took turns singing back and forth to each other. I'm telling you, autism + music = good idea. He repeats musical patterns really well. And he seems to enjoy it a lot. He only got difficult to handle after awhile. He started climbing things, and I had to pull him down. But we made jokes out of it, so it was okay.
I talked with Rohid for a looong time today. He's eighteen, has cerebral palsy, and can't speak. But he clearly understands everything. So I sat with him for awhile and talked with him. And every time I walked somewhere else in the room, he stared at me and smiled. And he loves it when I sing to him. So I sang Come Thou Fount. Hehe. And he got annoyed with me when I stopped singing.
Also, this morning, Ankur decided it would be a good idea to climb on my shoulders (acceptable), ask me to stand up and run around (also acceptable) and pull my hair and try to bash my head in (unacceptable). Corner for Ankur. He refuses to apologize to anyone - he just throws massive temper tantrums and beats his head against the wall. This is the same kid who ran in front of the autorickshaw. I realize now that he's a huge ball of hyperactive, danger-seeking doom in a cute little eight-year-old costume. I have no idea how to help him, how to get him to behave safely. If he wasn't at Daya Dan, he would have gotten himself killed years ago.
Which leads me to a verse that’s really been convicted me to work my butt off lately. See quote at the top. "Religion that God our Father accepts as pure and faultless is this: to look after orphans and widows in their distress and to keep oneself from being polluted by the world." - James 1:27. This verse is changing my entire perspective on working here. The kids with whom I work are orphans, and I always forget that. They live at Daya Dan. A few days ago, I heard another volunteer say that if they weren’t at Daya Dan, they’d be dead in trash cans. That’s where a lot of the kids were found. Trash cans. Gutters. Alleyways. Their parents are the Sisters, Mashis (paid workers) and volunteers. But if the volunteers weren't there...the place would be a mess. I mean, God would provide. But God has provided already. Sister Jonifer talked with the long-term volunteers about this in meditation yesterday. We were all brought to Daya Dan, right now, for a reason. God knows what He's doing. And as I looked around the room at those of us who will be staying until March, April (Lydia, Amy, Jake, Me, Cecil, Jill), I realized that I'm not the 19-year-old girl who doesn't know what she's doing. We're a group of people all responding to God's call to take care of the orphans, and although I have no clue what I'm doing, God brought me, and the rest of the group, here anyway. And He's going to provide wisdom, patience, and all those other parts of the fruit of the Spirit. Yesterday, during lunch, I told Amy that I felt completely inept, and she said that's the best way to feel while working here. It's the only way to be completely open to God's direction. And my main prayer upon leaving Chicago was that God would wreck my pride. ...and now I'm working with unpredictable, hyper-active, autistic orphans, and a bunch of women whose language I don't yet speak. I feel my pride get a little more destroyed every day.
Also, for the first time today, I consciously tried to focus entirely on the kids. Sounds basic, but I've been having difficulty doing that. Today, rather than worrying that I wasn't doing something correctly, I changed Annan's clothes when he peed on the floor, fed Siban as slowly as he could handle ('cause he's small, and doesn't move other than chewing, and chokes easily), and firmly told Joakim that yes, he needed to use a spoon, I use a spoon, the kids who can barely walk alone use spoons, and you can easily hold a spoon. Use the spoon. Now. And no, Joakim, you cannot have a balloon, and I'm going to ignore you until you stop screaming and rolling on the floor, because I know you're faking it because you're obsessed with balloons. So deal with it and eat your food. ...and Joakim used a spoon. And stopped trying to get a balloon, for a little while. And I taught him "thumbs-up" and smiled at him. And he smiled back. I adore that kid.
As for friends - haha. God provides. :-) About a week ago, an entirely new group of volunteers started arriving. ...many of whom are in their early twenties. Yesterday, (oh gosh this is wonderful) this girl at Daya Dan and I started talking, and quickly realized that we had the same accent. And both freaked out. Her name is Jill, she's from Maine, and she’s here until April! Aaaaaaaah hooray! Two of her guy friends and her brother came with her, but one of her friends leaves in a week. So there'll be space in her room, which is a room for four, two separate bedrooms, and TWO bathrooms. And rent is 900, split four ways is 225. And after a day of working together, Jill and I were both like "okay, you're wonderful, let's live together kthanks." ...and her entire family is nurses. And she's currently a nursing major (but will be changing to counseling or something like that). Go figure. Also, Peter and I have started talking and Bible studying and such. And today, the first day that I've poured as much as I could into the kids, other volunteers and I really started getting to know each other. Focusing on the kids, and in the process, working together. It was wonderful. Everyone at Daya Dan right now seems to be so dedicated to the kids. Aaaaaaaaaah it's such a great atmosphere.
I should be done writing. I've written a ton. ...but I'm not.
I know I'm forgetting something.
Hmmmm.
Oh gosh! I just remembered. Okay, so this is a crazy story, but bear with me. When I moved into Paragon yesterday, I had to check in before ten, and before work, so I moved in at seven in the morning. And whacked some guy in the head with my bag as I walked in, and woke him up. It was a cramped, full dorm room with 8, 9, 10 (I don't remember) beds and a small table. Maybe two feet of space (oh imperial system, I'm used to meters now) between the beds. Tiiiny. But I figured I could deal with it, and I had prayed about going to the right room, the right bed…and I felt that God had been pretty clear on this room. So I apologized to the Korean guy who was swearing at me, left my stuff on the bed, paid the rent, and went to work. I came back later, and there were two very drunk Irishmen in the room, one on the floor, leaning on my bed. A few minutes later, the more sober one left, and Peter walked in. This was odd, because I purposefully didn't choose his room, because that would have been creepy and stalker-ish. Nice to meet you, that was a good talk we had, now I live with you. Nope. So anyway, Peter walked in, sat down, welcomed me to Paragon, and looked at Mark the Irishman and was like "hey man, how you doin'?" Apparently Peter and Mark are friends. So Mark wanted chai, but couldn’t really walk, so we tried to get him to stay in the hotel. He asked me how much I thought I was worth. And told me I was beautiful. And talked about how no one ever lets him do what he wants to do. Uh. So Peter, Mark, and I went out to get chai on the street. Mark stumbled a lot. Got chai. Got stared at. Went back to Paragon. Mark refused to stay there, so, after much effort of trying to get him to sit, and much protesting from Mark about how no one ever lets him do what he wants to do, he ventured out on his own. Another guy followed him. And I asked the front desk if any other 110 rupee rooms were free. Three people just left India and went back to wherever. ...all from Peter’s room. So I moved all my stuff, and now live with Peter, an old Japanese woman, and two empty beds. I did all my laundry and bug-proofed the window last night, and am in the process of getting over the fact that my underwear is hanging on a clothesline, outside, with everyone else’s underwear.
I write all this for a few reasons.
1. To explain why I live with Peter. I tried not to. But really, the first conversation we had in the room was about trying to find something Jesus said in one of the Gospels, and the old Japanese woman makes us go to bed early. So I think it’s fine.
2. My friends at school are right. I suck at taking care of drunk people. I'm just plain bad at it. I'm condescending, I don't know how to talk with them - it's just not good. Peter was awesome. Talked with Mark like he was sober. I need to learn how to do that.
3. What happened with Mark kept echoing in my mind as an image of me and God. I complain often that God doesn't let me do what I want to do...and then do the spiritual equivalent of stumbling into the street by myself. All the time. And I need to learn to trust God anyway, even if I don't want to, and think I have better ideas. Step one, come to India. Done.
One more thing. I found cardamom-pistachio kulfi today. It is my new favourite ice cream.
Okay. Now I've written way too much. This took me two hours. If you read it all, thanks. :-)
Love and learning (alliterative and cliché, but true),
Stephanie
[edit] And a few hours after I made this post, Amy was like "please live with me, Paragon's gross." Not quite in those words. And I'm living with Jill in a week. So now, after one night of living with Peter and a woman who constantly chops vegetables with a disconcertingly large knife and pretends she doesn't speak English until she says "i think you should not play guitar in the room," I'm moving back to Modern Lodge for a week.
Well, first off, I'm not sick anymore. I've been sick for the past week and a half, and I finally figured out why. Actually, that's a lie. Emilio (Spain) figured out that it was because I was taking my malaria meds at night, right before sleeping, with no food. And thus, every morning, I was sick. Good job, Stephanie. So now I take my meds with dinner, and I feel fannntastic! Hooray!
Lately, especially after starting at Apne Aap, I've had a few different concerns - all of which have been completely warped around, so don't worry, I don't think like this anymore. :-)
1. That I would be no help at all at Apne Aap, because I don't speak Bangla (yet).
2. That I wasn't actually helping anyone at Daya Dan, because I have no freaking idea what I'm doing, the kids don't listen to me, and there are seemingly an infinite amount of much more interesting, older, more capable volunteers.
3. That I would never make friends here, because I'm shy (surprise!) and bad at finding groups of people.
Uh...then I prayed about all of this. And now...
Apne Aap really wants me to teach English. Last I checked, that was my major. I'm planning on going to English class on Monday. More on that after it happens. Also, every kid I meet at Apne Aap is consistently fascinated by me, and gets super-excited when I talk with them / make silly faces at them. I don't know what it is. Maybe they're just not used to people paying kidlike attention to them. And I'm good at being a kid. And you don't have to speak the language to connect with kids. I learned that in Mexico. :-) It works to grab a sweatshirt and throw it in the air and pretend to be a bird.
Yesterday, I played guitar for meditation at Daya Dan. Meditation is when the hyperactive boys are all forced to sit in a room in the dark. Still. Quiet. Nearly impossible. So…sister had me play guitar! And it was wonderful! And everyone was so good! The two boys who seem to be the most severely autistic – Joy and Annan - both LOVE the guitar. They sit still and quiet (unless they're rocking a little, trying to touch the guitar, or singing) and smile smile smile. And Sister Jonifer was in meditation with us, and she saw how good they were. If I end up doing music therapy with Annan and Joy, that'd pretty much be the best thing ever.
Today, after arriving at Daya Dan, playing with the kids for awhile, and praying, Sister informed us that we were going to the park. With the kids. And we had to walk there. Sounds like trouble. But it was probably one of the most fun I've ever seen the kids have. Sister assigned each kid to one volunteer - there were a lot of us today. I got assigned to Annan, with whom I’ve never really done anything. He’s autistic and Albino. Before we left, he was singing, and I leaned in to listen, and then he peed on the floor. And me. So Jill and I changed his clothes, and then walked to the park. He was stared at a lot, but honestly, I get stared at just as much for being a single, white woman in Kolkata. So we're kinda in the same boat there. Annan and I held hands on the way to the park, ran around, and he found a stick! Hooray! So he tapped out rhythms with the stick on every surface he could find, and I repeated them back to him. And then we took turns singing back and forth to each other. I'm telling you, autism + music = good idea. He repeats musical patterns really well. And he seems to enjoy it a lot. He only got difficult to handle after awhile. He started climbing things, and I had to pull him down. But we made jokes out of it, so it was okay.
I talked with Rohid for a looong time today. He's eighteen, has cerebral palsy, and can't speak. But he clearly understands everything. So I sat with him for awhile and talked with him. And every time I walked somewhere else in the room, he stared at me and smiled. And he loves it when I sing to him. So I sang Come Thou Fount. Hehe. And he got annoyed with me when I stopped singing.
Also, this morning, Ankur decided it would be a good idea to climb on my shoulders (acceptable), ask me to stand up and run around (also acceptable) and pull my hair and try to bash my head in (unacceptable). Corner for Ankur. He refuses to apologize to anyone - he just throws massive temper tantrums and beats his head against the wall. This is the same kid who ran in front of the autorickshaw. I realize now that he's a huge ball of hyperactive, danger-seeking doom in a cute little eight-year-old costume. I have no idea how to help him, how to get him to behave safely. If he wasn't at Daya Dan, he would have gotten himself killed years ago.
Which leads me to a verse that’s really been convicted me to work my butt off lately. See quote at the top. "Religion that God our Father accepts as pure and faultless is this: to look after orphans and widows in their distress and to keep oneself from being polluted by the world." - James 1:27. This verse is changing my entire perspective on working here. The kids with whom I work are orphans, and I always forget that. They live at Daya Dan. A few days ago, I heard another volunteer say that if they weren’t at Daya Dan, they’d be dead in trash cans. That’s where a lot of the kids were found. Trash cans. Gutters. Alleyways. Their parents are the Sisters, Mashis (paid workers) and volunteers. But if the volunteers weren't there...the place would be a mess. I mean, God would provide. But God has provided already. Sister Jonifer talked with the long-term volunteers about this in meditation yesterday. We were all brought to Daya Dan, right now, for a reason. God knows what He's doing. And as I looked around the room at those of us who will be staying until March, April (Lydia, Amy, Jake, Me, Cecil, Jill), I realized that I'm not the 19-year-old girl who doesn't know what she's doing. We're a group of people all responding to God's call to take care of the orphans, and although I have no clue what I'm doing, God brought me, and the rest of the group, here anyway. And He's going to provide wisdom, patience, and all those other parts of the fruit of the Spirit. Yesterday, during lunch, I told Amy that I felt completely inept, and she said that's the best way to feel while working here. It's the only way to be completely open to God's direction. And my main prayer upon leaving Chicago was that God would wreck my pride. ...and now I'm working with unpredictable, hyper-active, autistic orphans, and a bunch of women whose language I don't yet speak. I feel my pride get a little more destroyed every day.
Also, for the first time today, I consciously tried to focus entirely on the kids. Sounds basic, but I've been having difficulty doing that. Today, rather than worrying that I wasn't doing something correctly, I changed Annan's clothes when he peed on the floor, fed Siban as slowly as he could handle ('cause he's small, and doesn't move other than chewing, and chokes easily), and firmly told Joakim that yes, he needed to use a spoon, I use a spoon, the kids who can barely walk alone use spoons, and you can easily hold a spoon. Use the spoon. Now. And no, Joakim, you cannot have a balloon, and I'm going to ignore you until you stop screaming and rolling on the floor, because I know you're faking it because you're obsessed with balloons. So deal with it and eat your food. ...and Joakim used a spoon. And stopped trying to get a balloon, for a little while. And I taught him "thumbs-up" and smiled at him. And he smiled back. I adore that kid.
As for friends - haha. God provides. :-) About a week ago, an entirely new group of volunteers started arriving. ...many of whom are in their early twenties. Yesterday, (oh gosh this is wonderful) this girl at Daya Dan and I started talking, and quickly realized that we had the same accent. And both freaked out. Her name is Jill, she's from Maine, and she’s here until April! Aaaaaaaah hooray! Two of her guy friends and her brother came with her, but one of her friends leaves in a week. So there'll be space in her room, which is a room for four, two separate bedrooms, and TWO bathrooms. And rent is 900, split four ways is 225. And after a day of working together, Jill and I were both like "okay, you're wonderful, let's live together kthanks." ...and her entire family is nurses. And she's currently a nursing major (but will be changing to counseling or something like that). Go figure. Also, Peter and I have started talking and Bible studying and such. And today, the first day that I've poured as much as I could into the kids, other volunteers and I really started getting to know each other. Focusing on the kids, and in the process, working together. It was wonderful. Everyone at Daya Dan right now seems to be so dedicated to the kids. Aaaaaaaaaah it's such a great atmosphere.
I should be done writing. I've written a ton. ...but I'm not.
I know I'm forgetting something.
Hmmmm.
Oh gosh! I just remembered. Okay, so this is a crazy story, but bear with me. When I moved into Paragon yesterday, I had to check in before ten, and before work, so I moved in at seven in the morning. And whacked some guy in the head with my bag as I walked in, and woke him up. It was a cramped, full dorm room with 8, 9, 10 (I don't remember) beds and a small table. Maybe two feet of space (oh imperial system, I'm used to meters now) between the beds. Tiiiny. But I figured I could deal with it, and I had prayed about going to the right room, the right bed…and I felt that God had been pretty clear on this room. So I apologized to the Korean guy who was swearing at me, left my stuff on the bed, paid the rent, and went to work. I came back later, and there were two very drunk Irishmen in the room, one on the floor, leaning on my bed. A few minutes later, the more sober one left, and Peter walked in. This was odd, because I purposefully didn't choose his room, because that would have been creepy and stalker-ish. Nice to meet you, that was a good talk we had, now I live with you. Nope. So anyway, Peter walked in, sat down, welcomed me to Paragon, and looked at Mark the Irishman and was like "hey man, how you doin'?" Apparently Peter and Mark are friends. So Mark wanted chai, but couldn’t really walk, so we tried to get him to stay in the hotel. He asked me how much I thought I was worth. And told me I was beautiful. And talked about how no one ever lets him do what he wants to do. Uh. So Peter, Mark, and I went out to get chai on the street. Mark stumbled a lot. Got chai. Got stared at. Went back to Paragon. Mark refused to stay there, so, after much effort of trying to get him to sit, and much protesting from Mark about how no one ever lets him do what he wants to do, he ventured out on his own. Another guy followed him. And I asked the front desk if any other 110 rupee rooms were free. Three people just left India and went back to wherever. ...all from Peter’s room. So I moved all my stuff, and now live with Peter, an old Japanese woman, and two empty beds. I did all my laundry and bug-proofed the window last night, and am in the process of getting over the fact that my underwear is hanging on a clothesline, outside, with everyone else’s underwear.
I write all this for a few reasons.
1. To explain why I live with Peter. I tried not to. But really, the first conversation we had in the room was about trying to find something Jesus said in one of the Gospels, and the old Japanese woman makes us go to bed early. So I think it’s fine.
2. My friends at school are right. I suck at taking care of drunk people. I'm just plain bad at it. I'm condescending, I don't know how to talk with them - it's just not good. Peter was awesome. Talked with Mark like he was sober. I need to learn how to do that.
3. What happened with Mark kept echoing in my mind as an image of me and God. I complain often that God doesn't let me do what I want to do...and then do the spiritual equivalent of stumbling into the street by myself. All the time. And I need to learn to trust God anyway, even if I don't want to, and think I have better ideas. Step one, come to India. Done.
One more thing. I found cardamom-pistachio kulfi today. It is my new favourite ice cream.
Okay. Now I've written way too much. This took me two hours. If you read it all, thanks. :-)
Love and learning (alliterative and cliché, but true),
Stephanie
[edit] And a few hours after I made this post, Amy was like "please live with me, Paragon's gross." Not quite in those words. And I'm living with Jill in a week. So now, after one night of living with Peter and a woman who constantly chops vegetables with a disconcertingly large knife and pretends she doesn't speak English until she says "i think you should not play guitar in the room," I'm moving back to Modern Lodge for a week.
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