Voyage Home

Over the Pond and Back Again

            Given the nature of my surprise visit back home, no previous blogs mentioned the intent or destination of my trip; it was all kept general enough to show true excitement, but not specific enough as to indicate why.  The veiled nature of my actions will now force me to summarize in retrospect. 

             Initially, I had every intention of going to Germany.  I had specific flights targeted, the budgetary outlays accounted for, and a pretty detailed itinerary.  The “Purchase Now” button was all that needed to be pressed to make my German excursion a reality.  Despite my intrigue with the country and satisfaction with what I had planned, something wasn’t cliquing.  It just didn’t feel right.  In an unexpected turn of events, at about 3am on a random evening, I decided that I would surreptitiously abscond home instead. 

            It had been a while since I had seen my family, a lot has changed since then, and a lot of new changes were on the horizon.  Grandparents had passed, new ones were about to made, and, to be frank, I couldn’t justify spending the money to vacation alone while all of this was taking place.  To make my surprise visit successful I had to let a few people in on my true plans.  This would ensure that at every leg of the trip someone was there to coordinate my arrival and subsequent SURPRISE to an oblivious family member.  Lindsay, Matt, Maureen, and George all knew of my plans well in advance.  To their credit, not one of them blew the surprise and they maintained absolute silence. 

            My journey home was your run of the mill 30-hour trip with multiple car rides, planes, and layovers.  At this point I feel that I can travel almost anywhere in the world with the utmost of patience because of these embarkations.  Once I touched down in NYC the hugest of smiles lit up my face.  Not only could I understand everyone around me, but I could read again!  The greenback supplanted the Iraqi Dinar in my wallet, and I wasted no time heading to Chili’s for a Buffalo Chicken Sandwich…mmmm. 

            When I finally had arrived in Boston a few hours later I had a surprise of my own waiting for me: Dave.  He was supposedly unaware of my impending visit, but due to logistical concerns he had to be told of my trip.  Nevertheless, it was great to see Lindsay, Matt, and Dave waiting for me.  Damn it felt good to get home (after stopping to eat at Kowloon, of course). 

Time in NH

            The rest of my time in NH can adequately be described in one word: excess.  Just like before I left to come to Kurdistan, my return home was filled with attempting to satisfy every desire I would be or have been without.  Drinks flowed on a daily basis; my plate was never empty; and my lungs, well, they were kept in a state which certainly affected my portion sizes.  I made little to no attempt to work out, and made every effort to sit on the couch and soak in March Madness or play video games with Paul, Jeff, Corey, and Matt.  I did play tennis a few times as well as basketball, football, and soccer; however, it was nothing quite intensive enough to cancel out the exorbitant amount of indulgence that categorized my visit. 

            When I saw my Mom for the first time it was by surprising her at work.   Matt and Lindsay were standing in the office lobby and I sat in a chair slightly off to the side.  As the secretary called my Mom to the front she spoke to them, glanced over at me, and then talked to them again.  After a second of thought, and another double take, she finally realized it was me.  The ensuing excitement in the air was palpable. 

            Spending time at her house is growing ever more comfortable.  I am always reticent in any “new” situation like that, so it takes some time, ok a lot of time, to completely warm up.  It seems like they will stay together for a while, and I pray that it works out.  I like George as well as the rest of his family, and the overall situation seems to be going smoothly for everyone.  Maintaining continuity in the family has, for years now, been a goal just out of reach.  Now resting on the near horizon, I hope that these same people stick around for quite some time.  The dynamics of family change, but the people in it don’t have to. 

            There are many differences at the house in Raymond which are worth mentioning.  Lindsay, and now Aria, are moved into Papa’s old apartment.  Much of Papa’s old material possessions are now scattered across the house, awaiting their fate at a yard sale or elsewhere.  My room is still very much the same, although half of it now resembles a UPS store due to stacks of boxes.  In my deepest heart of hearts I know that we won’t be able to stay there forever, so I like to be prepared, despite my desire to maintain the beacon of stability at 3 Glen Ridge Road.   

            No matter where I voyage in the world and what I experience, and regardless of any changes that take place, things in Raymond still by and large feel the same.  My own journey continues to meander along some unbeknownst path, but Raymond, and my friends in it, always remind me where I came from.

Mass

            After spending some time in NH I made the trip down to Massachusetts to see the rest of the clan.  Maureen told the kids that there was a surprise for them, and they naturally presumed that it was a present.  Seeing their faces undoubtedly showed that they were not disappointed, and neither was I.  When my Dad came home from work Maureen had told him that I emailed from Germany and wanted to Skype.  As he sat at the kitchen table waiting for me to sign on, I strolled out of Kyle’s bedroom and asked, “Waiting for me?” 

            Seeing everyone was great for a number of reasons.  At times it is difficult to not feel that I am missing Kyle and Kory grow up.  I see them every 4-6 months and only for a few days at a time.  I cherish those moments, and they are quite enjoyable, but the daily grind of seeing and hearing about their experiences is curtailed due to distance.  Trying to balance time home, my sense of adventure, and building a career isn’t easy.  It is a constant journey of evaluation, re-evaluation, and self discovery. 

            Since my grandmother’s passing I have spoken to my grandfather quite a few times, but it was good to be able to see him.  Life is a gift that can be taken at any time, as was made clear in a short period, and I need to be even better about seizing opportunities to spend time with loved ones.  His spirits seem ok, but the feeling of overall resignation is clear.  When I go home again I will need to think of something random to add a spark to an otherwise mundane schedule.  I can add that to the list of things I am already planning for when my “university deployment” in Iraq is complete.  There are about 6.5 months left on my contract and although I have no inclination of what’s next, yet, I know one thing for sure….I am going home for at least 1-2 months first.  

Finding the Groove

            Listening to lectures on culture shock in my English class is actually proving to be quite relevant to me as well.  The reader of the passage, being played from a CD, mentions 4 main stages of culture shock: Excitement, Rejection, Acceptance, and Acculturation.  When someone takes the leap of faith and moves to another country they generally travel through these 4 phases, depending on how long they are away.  Initial excitement about the possibilities that lie ahead is followed by rejection of all things new and different; once the realization of cultural nuances set in you accept your surrounding and appreciate them.  The final stage, acculturation, comes after some time and is when you are fully acclimated to your surroundings and consider yourself a “part” of this foreign culture. 

            As I played the lessons aloud to the class I was internally debating my own stage of progression.  I have probably just left the Rejection stage and am now in the beginning stages of Acceptance.  I no longer question things when they happen, despite how irreconcilable they are with some of my own values and desires.  I have learned to maintain an open mind and see things for what they are, not what I would have them to be.  There are obvious pros and cons, but the vital point from the lesson, in my opinion, is that cultures are not worse or better; just different. 

            About 6 months into my Kurdish adventure I am now really finding my groove.  I not only have a set routine, but my group of people I can rely on is expanding more quickly now.  I not only feel comfortable out and about in the community, but I feel as if I am becoming more and more a part of that community.  Granted, the language barrier still glares down upon me, but it has taught me the value of patience.  One of the lagging factors in my acceptance of the society was the lack of fun extracurriculars to partake in.  At home I would indulge in a regular bevy of activities which included: basketball, football, bars, nights out in the city, sporting events, video games, ice skating, you name it.  In Kurdistan my options have been constrained to soccer, the gym, or restaurants.  However, to the chagrin of my attempted purity, I have found some new friends to play poker and enjoy beers with; and there is a possibility that I won’t be quite as lonely either (due to cultural sensitivities, I will stop this part here).  NOW I can finally enter the acceptance stage.

            Speaking of poker, I have to show these pictures of where we played.  It honestly felt like a room from the movie “Taken.”  It was shady, fairly run down, compartmentalized, and in a dark corner of the street.  There were about 7-8 little rooms of a trailer, each equipped with a small table, a few chairs, and a heater.  Each room is served by a bartender and you are left completely to your own vices.  You could drink, gamble, whatever; all things that run counter to Islam.  It seemed that many a Kurdish man found a quiet escape in this dark building.  Despite the shady ambiance of it all, it was actually really fun. 

            One last tidbit, here are some more pictures of Chucky.  I love that dog, but man does he shed.  He took many naps in bed with me in the two days he was here, and when I had guests for American style hamburgers ( thick and juicy as opposed to pancakes) , I made one for him as well.  When he left I was a little sad as he really is an awesome dog, but once I cleaned up a wigs worth of hair from the floor the feelings subsided.  I think I’ll stop here for today, but my trip is coming up and I CAN’T WAITTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT!

Some Randoms

          Tonight should be a fun night as I am getting to play some Texas Hold ‘Em with my students.  It is funny because they asked me to play at a bar and mentioned not to say anything to anyone about it lol.  Everyone is turning into rebels. 

            An additional source of joy today is getting to FINALLY play with a dog.  I have always had a dog ever since I was a little kid and I love their companionship.  Paige recently asked one of our students if we could have a “sleepover” with his little Jack Russell terrier named Chucky.  He is a spunky little rascal, and his presence in our apartment, despite his incessant shedding, is most welcome.  Chucky was already jumping all over my bed until I kicked him off for humping my arm. 

            Lastly, here are a few pictures from a couple of days ago.  The female political science students organized a party where they all cooked traditional Kurdish food and brought it into the cafeteria for the whole program to enjoy.  They did a fantastic job and really had an impressive array of food.  This is another instance of Kurdish hospitality which exhibits the mindset of looking at things from a community perspective; otherness as opposed to “me”ness. 

           

 Here are some good pics of Duhok after a recent dusting of snow.  The mountains surrounding the city looked really pretty.  

It Was Bound to Happen...

           Sooner or later, it was bound to happen.  By “it” I mean that despite my well-intentioned and overall successful effort to acculturate to life in Kurdistan, I am still an American and need to let loose every once in a while.  Last night was the culmination of what has been building up for some time.  What was supposed to be a night out chatting over a drink and food turned into, in my mind at least, a golden opportunity to get fall down drunk. 

            Mohammed, one of the professors in our English course for faculty members, was nice enough to invite us out.  At first I just wanted to go home and relax, or even play poker with my political science students, but he was quite persistent so I acquiesced.  After a fairly regular week, with typical stresses and enjoyments, I was looking forward to starting my weekend with a solid session in the gym followed by a pleasant dinner. 

            In the evening the upstairs classroom of the Cultural Center transforms into a restaurant.  The overall ambiance is very relaxed with dim lights and shades of red everywhere.  Tables are plenty spread out so even if the place is full, which it never is, you still maintain a level of privacy.  The night started out with just Paige, myself, and Mohammed.  He is a jovial man, probably mid 40s, and his English skills are around the high-intermediate level.  His invitation to dinner was not surprising since it has become common to receive them from students, but it was also an opportunity for him to brush up on his conversation skills. 

Upon taking our seats I had already decided my drink of choice for the evening: whiskey.  I didn’t want to ruin my gym session by consuming excessive calories from beer and, to be frank, I wanted to get inebriated as quickly as possible.  I asked the waiter for my beverage and was absolutely delighted when he returned with Johnnie Walker: Black Label.  Not only was my food going to be delicious, but I could wash it down in style.  Like a boss.  To make it even better, they don’t mix drinks for you at many places here; they bring you a small bottle (20 cl) of booze and some soda.  For any of my friends from home who have experienced a “Ryan mixed drink” they know that it is 60%+ alcohol with a dash of soda. 

After chatting with Mohammed for about 30 minutes he told us that two of his friends would soon be joining us.  When they arrived I was surprised to see that one of the men, Sherzad, was someone I had spoken to in the gym before.   Sherzad is an older gentleman, probably over 55, who is originally from southern Iraq but fled to the UK when Saddam came to power.  He has traveled extensively, also teaches at the university, and speaks perfect English (in addition to Arabic, Kurdish, Turkish, and French).  The other gentleman, Jalal, is also from the southern part Iraq but, similar to Sherzad, fled the country many years ago; his destination of choice was Denmark.  Jalal and Sherzad were both highly personable, engaging in conversation, and intelligent individuals. 

By the time that they arrived I had already downed my first bottle of JW and was working on a second.  Any sense of being tired or stressed was washed away and replaced with a cheery gregariousness.  Conversation and drinks flowed and time was essentially nonexistent.  I felt bad that Mohammed’s ability to communicate was severely limited as we spoke quickly; but it was also nice to speak in a normal tongue and not a slower, modified version.  When you are constantly surrounded by people who have little capacity for understanding what you say, it is quite refreshing just to talk normally.  Ease of communication is certainly something we take for granted. 

Within a few hours, and after two more 20 cl bottles of JW (roughly a water bottle and a half full of just whiskey), it is safe to say that I was hammered.  Despite this, I was still able to maintain the ability to have an intelligent conversation; this is mostly because I was in my element talking about world affairs, politics, and challenges facing Iraq.  However, if we stayed much longer I probably would have slipped into the zone of yapping about unintelligible nonsense, aka jibba jabba.  Honestly, we left at the perfect time because this is when the rest of the night becomes a blur. 

Two of our students came and picked us up at the Cultural Center.  In hindsight, this was probably a bad idea, but it happened nevertheless.  I have no recollection of what happened after.  After piecing the story together we evidently drove around for a little while, stopped to buy a CD so we could listen to American music in the car, and then went home.  I don’t know what time I got home or went to bed, but similar to the pop-classic “The Hangover,” I was only left with some scattered clues. 

As I opened my eyes and realized I was in my bed, shirt off as always, I had a brief feeling of confidence that everything was normal.  It all went south from there.  I felt a slightly uncomfortable bulk near me and then I realized that I had in all likelihood spent part of the night sleeping on top of my laptop.  Luckily, my internet USB did not break.  After removing the blanket I then found that I was sleeping in my dress pants, belt and all.  I had taken the liberty of removing my shirt, but the pants were clearly way too much work.  I then look to my right and find pages of my daily planner torn and scattered on the floor (which is now quite inconvenient); my notebook is ruined and in the garbage (also inconvenient); and there are remnants of vomit on the floor and on the side of my bed (just plain gross).  Ouch.

After seeing the disaster that my room had become I promptly began cleaning up.  My phone was dead but still working, and since I woke up at 8:30am I imagine that I was in bed before midnight.  After all, we started drinking at 7pm.   I feel pretty good today, and there have already been numerous occasions where I just think about last night and laugh.  I think that was exactly the type of release that I needed.  I am no longer the type of person who parties every weekend, but I do value occasionally being able to just say, “Fuck it.  I’m getting drunk and we’ll see where the night takes me.”   Sometimes good, sometimes not, but always a story to tell J

My Thoughts Exactly

“Do not be too timid and squeamish about your actions. All life is an experiment. The more experiments you make the better. What if they are a little coarse, and you may get your coat soiled or torn? What if you do fail, and get fairly rolled in the dirt once or twice. Up again, you shall never be so afraid of a tumble. ”

Ralph Waldo Emerson

Updates

Things are clearly all settled in now as posts are becoming more sporadic and increasingly difficult to come up with anything, “new and inspiring” to say.  I pretty much know exactly what to expect, what frustrations I will face, and what joys I can take out of this experience.  Although my vacation to Sweden and Estonia was not even two months ago, I feel the need for another vacation brewing.  Nawroz break starts on March 7^th and I truly cannot wait.  Time has slowed and each day is merely building in anticipation of my next trip. 

            Similar to my angry venting about the blue towel crafted by the hands of Hades, I must now lament about the production of lids.  Yes, that is right, lids.  Whether it be Tupperware style containers or large bowls to store leftovers, the producers seem entirely unable to craft lids that fit.  There was some sort of miscalibration which has effectually rendered the products useless because they cannot close properly.  Unwilling to throw them away, I have resorted to wrapping uncovered edges in tin foil so that the food does not spoil.  Add this to my list of other “repairs” around the house: stuffing paper towels into a large hole in the wall so that mosquitoes do not enter; tying our broken drying rack to the railing on the balcony with a garbage bag so that it doesn’t fall over; creating a suspension weight with a large wedge so that the flap to the bathroom fan can properly close; and hiding our toilet paper under the lid of the washer machine so that water from our free flowing shower does not soak it.  Ah yes, a regular MacGyver. 

            There is no doubt that I could find a better way to repair things, but my methods, while probably not the most efficient, are certainly the most cost effective.  You can pretty much buy anything here in the market, bazaar, or seikh (spelling indefinitely wrong).  But there are always lingering questions about whether or not you are buying a real product or some cheap knock-off from China or Turkey.  It is common knowledge that most products made in China are of poor quality, aka, pieces of shit.  But for many common uses they will do the trick and will only cost a few bucks.  The cost of living is already cheap, but you can REALLY save some money here if you do it right.  The markets offer shops where you can buy clothes by the kilo (I got a warm, fall jacket for about $6); dress clothes for discounted prices; and anything else you can think of (except pets as they don’t have any). 

The only reoccurring problem is if you want to buy something genuine but are unable to discern whether it is real or an artificial copy.  Store owners will constantly tout products as being made abroad, namely in Turkey or Germany, as if that automatically gives a seal of approval.  The owners themselves may not even be knowledgeable about whether the product is fake or not.  For example, I want to take whey protein after the gym, but I could be just taking Kool-Aid mix and be entirely unaware.  It isn’t really possible to conduct an experiment on the powder to check its ingredients, and newly printed labels can be easily affixed.  So I am left wondering, hoping that the placebo affect is just as valuable. 

On a more encouraging note, I finally worked up the gall to test out the Iraqi banking system.  To my pleasant surprise, there were no problems in my transfer and the money was in my American account in about 72 hours.  I used a government bank which charges a $25 flat rate in addition to .1% of the total transaction.  Due to the accusations of corruption and mistrust silently hurled at everything government related, I almost went with a private company, the Kurdistan Investment Bank.  However, they charge a $100 flat rate and .3% of the total transaction.  Given the discrepancy in prices, I decided to take the risk.  First time worked like a charm, and I will certainly be using the government bank again. 

University Life

At school things are going pretty well.  Classes seem to be progressing, and although correcting papers can be a drag, lessons seem to be going well.  In all of my classes there seem to be three main levels: the top 10% who are cruising along and can hold their own with most English terminology; the middle 80% who constitute a mix of a) those who can do the work but are middling along, and b) those who level of English is almost up to par but not quite; and the bottom 10% who can barely construct a complete sentence.  It makes for an interesting dynamic to say the least.  They should probably be split into different English courses by their current level, but the administration didn’t want to do that so this is the path we travel. 

It is evident that views on education here are much different than they are in the United States, and this is probably due to a confluence of social, societal, and cultural factors.  Education seems like it is important to some students, but most don’t seem to take it that seriously.  I have often seen laughs at complete abominations of test scores.  In the US, those people would be weeded out or it would be more of a badge of shame to score so low, not humor.  I have tried to combat this in a number of ways.  I have pressed on them perhaps harder than any other teacher, or so they tell me, to really impress upon them the importance of hard work.  I consistently tell them that they will not get an A simply for showing up, and they will not charm me into giving them a good grade by their personality alone.  Whatever they get, they will earn it.  I assign homework nearly every night, which is proving to make my life more difficult as well, and grade rather harsh.  “Sink or swim” is what I tell them. 

After about a month in class I have a nearly 40% fail rate for Terminology and 35% for English.  It seems high at first, but the people who are currently under 50%, the minimum score to pass here, honestly do not deserve to be here.  In my opinion, it is better to trim the bottom layers now rather than later.  But at other times I feel that I am constantly straddling a fine line where I ask myself, “Am I expecting too much? Or are they just giving too little?”  Time will tell, and the mantra I heard while at City Year certainly proves to be true here as well: working with youth is like throwing seeds over a wall; you will never know which ones will be eaten by birds, washed away, or take hold and grow. 

Socially, the students have really taken to Paige and I.  We are near the same age as them, are both gregarious, and don’t elevate ourselves to the status of, “all powerful professor.”  This has allowed them to feel quite comfortable with us and has given many of them additional confidence to speak in English and trust us as people.  Outside of class, although they still call me Mr. Ryan, they are more akin to friends than students.  There is obviously a gap in the levels of maturity, but this is an area that I can, perhaps, impart some of my experiences on them....if they stop flirting with me.    

The students here inhabit a place that is very different from the one that their parents grew up in.  Their parents lived through the struggles of Saddam, fighting for independence, and atrocities against the Kurds to get where they are.  Compared to the sparse villages and minimal public services of the past, Kurdistan has seen dramatic growth.  Despite the growth, the older generations still very much place an emphasis on traditional values.  Younger people don’t compare Kurdistan to how it was in the past; they compare it to the West and think of how undeveloped the country still is.  They look at the values system as antiquated and long for change.  These students are at the middle of a cultural divide that will effectively shape and define this area’s future. 

            This is perhaps another contributing factor to the lack of real output in the classroom.  The traditional economy has always been shaped by familial relations. We call it nepotism; they call it the way of life.  Many of the students probably don’t see a reason to work any harder than is absolutely necessary because they know that hard work isn’t going to be their key to getting ahead.  In the US we opine that it isn’t what you know, it is who you know.  While networking certainly maintains value and influences our success, amplify that by 100x to understand how it is here.  The formal economy is still developing, and at every level you will hear stores like this. 

            What I find interesting, and I have pressed my students on this, is that a healthy majority of people readily admit that corruption is rampant.  Yet at the same time, the people want the government to do more and they trust the government the most out of any institution.  This type of cognitive dissonance has yet to register in the minds of many people here.  In their defense, they don’t have much to compare to.  They were ruled by a dictator for decades and it has barely been 20 years since they managed to break away.  The American experiment in democracy has arguably taken over 100 years to iron out some of the major kinks, and we are still doing it today.  Change never comes easy, and it is often in the shape of a slowly trudging snail rather than a speedy freight train bringing all our aspirations to reality.  

Journey of Exploration

            For years now I have toyed with the idea of embarking on a weekend vision quest; just me, alone in a tent with some water, and mother nature.  The isolation was supposed to be a way to find myself.  By secluding myself from the trappings of “normal” life, I would be able to find clarity and decipher what was truly important as I defined what I wanted out of my existence.  Time has come and gone and, despite my longings, I have never acted on this desire.  In thinking about what this Native American influenced experience was supposed to offer, I have come to realize that my time in Kurdistan could be providing everything I was looking for and then some. 

            In the hustle and bustle of daily life it can be difficult to take a step back and truly embark on a journey of exploration and reflection.  There are always things to do, people to see, places to go, deadlines to meet, etc.  When one to-do list is completed another one promptly replaces it in the daily planner.   Everyone around you is mired in a similar labyrinth of decisions and goals.  How can I make my life better?  What should I be trying to do?  How can I get ahead?  These questions constantly pervaded my mind and I am certain that this fixation on future results afflicts many others in our society as well.  Results, results, results.  But in our single minded focus, heavily influenced by societal expectations, I believe we are beginning from the wrong starting point. 

            From the very beginning we are influenced by what others think we should do.  Their visions of our future, in conjunction with the images society deluges us with, contribute to our mental concoction of what we deem a, “good life.”  Our true dreams die at an early age, and that bitch called reality slowly shakes the idealism from our souls.  We settle into daily routines we often don’t like, become trapped by possessions we often don’t need, and focus on things that, in essence, don’t matter.  And all the while we avoid inquiring of ourselves the answers to questions we should have been asking all along: Who am I? What do I really like doing?  What kind of people do I want to surround myself with?  Who are the most important people in my life, and do they know that? 

            Life is a journey of self exploration that never stops.  In a letter to his son in 1751, Lord Chesterfield wrote, “Study the heart and the mind of man, and begin with your own. Meditation and reflection must lay the foundation of that knowledge, but experience and practice must, and alone can, complete it.”  After 4 years of undergraduate, one year in an NGO, and 3 years in graduate school, it became evident that I needed a time-out to reflect on my experiences thus far.  I do not mean a simple recounting of memories; rather, a deeper look within myself to see how they have shaped me, and where my soul yearns to go from here.  My time in Kurdistan is providing the perfect combination of unaccompanied time with my thoughts; the challenge of acculturation, enabling me to truly question my own beliefs and habits; and the time to analyze what I truly want out of life. 

            Save for a few drawbacks, living in Duhok has really provided everything that I am looking for.  The people are genuine, kind, and well-intentioned.  This makes for a pleasant and safe atmosphere to live.  Regardless of age, soccer is played all around town on a daily basis.  Not a day goes by in which the covered turf fields are not stirring with activity.  Playing sports and maintaining a healthy lifestyle are incredibly important to me, and to have this many options at my fingertips provides a sense of real contentment.  My work feels important and the students sincerely appreciate my efforts to teach them.  Additionally, work is not so pressing that it loses its luster and becomes a chore; the overall laid back attitude towards employment prevents that from happening.  These factors, combined with a picturesque mountain backdrop, give Duhok a charming feel that I absolutely want to recreate in the place that I call home. 

            If Duhok were not 6,000 miles away from my family, there is a good chance I would already consider staying for a bit longer.  But this time away has also reinforced the essential nature of friends and family.  With so much time to think about what I truly value, certain relationships are shining brightly in my mind.  Only about 4.5 months in, I still have 10 months left in Kurdistan.  The journey is far from over, and I still have much to learn about myself.  I guess I didn’t need a tent in the forest after all, just an apartment in the Middle East.