A progression of understanding

Many who have learned a new language tell you that it happens suddenly. Usually, there is a day were it all seems to make sense. The months of constantly hearing the different sounds, the strange pronunciations, the common words and phrases, all come together unexpectedly and you start to understand. I am not really sure that I have hit the point of sudden revelation in my Czech language, but I am pretty positive that slowly, yet surely, my comprehension is rising.

Yet, what came in instant, surprisingly for me, was my change of mindset.Much like learning a new language, adjusting to a new culture can be a long process of pain and confusion, culminated by a sudden release from apprehension and an acceptance, no, appreciation of one's new place in the world. I think that this has happened to me in a very strong way.

It has been almost three weeks since I last posted on this blog. Normally, I get the urge to write about once a week; however, these past two weeks have been full of befuddled clarity, like I couldn't actually think about anything. Maybe it was the lull in responsibility that comes from a two-week Christmas break, or my own inherent laziness in regards to reflection and critical thinking, but I was unable to express myself, nor did I want to tell others how I as feeling. I knew that I wasn't taking time to reflect, and if I take no time to wrestle with my own issues, then what do I really have to say about the circumstances affecting me? You know, the stories that you all want to hear: how life is, what my language is like, who my friends are, where I think my relationships are going....etc. So,

I am writing now and I am happy that I am. I have thought and wrestled with myself and have come out the other side refreshed and excited about my opportunities. When I leave in two years I want to know that I am leaving true friends behind. I want to know that I took chances and lived in the community, as a part of the community. I want to know that I smiled at old ladies and I hiked in Slovakia. I want to know that Jamie and I grew from this experience and that we are stronger as people, not easily shaken or frustrated by situations where we must rely on just ourselves. Yet, to get to this point, I had to leave the Czech Republic.

Jan tells me that Kati had the sudden moment of acceptance when she was at a cottage in January of 2006. For me, the moment came when I went to Budapest. The city was wonderful: there were spas, beautiful buildings, a lot of history, great people (hostel dudes and dudettes) and wonderful food. But, the language was completely confusing. I remember going into a grocery store and not recognizing ANYTHING at all. I needed help, but I really had no idea how to even handle myself. It was so lonely, so disorienting and horribly embarrassing; this feeling had not been near me for a very long time. Many of you might be wondering how this can be, considering I live in a foreign country now. But, I found out, through the experiences in Budapest, that I am no longer living in such a different land anymore.

The Czech Republic is not the same place I stepped into way back in July.Well, the country probably really is the same. The climate is probably similar to what it was in July, the Czechs still use the Krown, the people still can be a little reserved, the flag still has a big blue triangle in it, Prague still is the capital city of college-aged tourists, they still grown wine in Moravia and many cars are still skodas. One thing has changed though; Czechs are the President of the E.U., but this is for a different conversation... Anyways, I guess it is me who has changed. When I stepped off the airplane in Prague, I remember being amazed that Kati could make sense of the mumbling over the loud speaker. It really seemed completely incoherent to me. They were talking quickly and I couldn't tell if they were saying words or just making "shhhe" sounds with their lips; I was convinced it was the later. I loved the cobblestone streets of Prague, and, the fact that the electricity lines that run the public trams gave the city a back-in-the-day look. I was horrified at how the Czech people drive and I remember thinking that the fields and trees look really different. The houses were all covered in a thick layer of concrete and I saw no wood or brick fronts. Today, none of this shocks me.

Back to Budapest, I remember being young and my mom telling me that one doesn't know what they have until they lose it. I have since grown to hear this phrase repeated countless ways and in thousands of circumstances. Often times I associated the statement with a sudden disappearance of material prosperity or the loss of friends and family, but I never imagined that I would experience the weight of its truth in the realm of cultural comfort, yet, that is exactly what happened, when I took the train and headed back toward Brno.

Once we crossed the border I looked out the window and saw a sign indicating the first town in Slovakia. I had never heard of it before, but the letters suddenly didn't seem so foreign to me. As you know, Czech and Slovak are written with accents above the letters, which gives the language an intimidating look upon first seeing it, but in reality, it makes pronunciation much easier. I never thought that these letters would be a sign of comfort to me, but in Slovakia it was: I was finally done with the impossible spelling and mile-long words of Hungarian. Then, over the intercom, the train conductor greeted us all to Slovakia and told us that we were going to Brno; I understood him and it was in Slovak (Czech and Slovak, at the basic level, are mutually intelligible languages).

Suddenly, I had a vague sense of home, of belonging and understanding. I never realized how much I really rely on my basic knowledge of Czech to get me through the everyday social interactions like going to the store or asking for what I need in the restaurant, but it came full force when it was taken from me. There are still many things that I am continuing to learn about this culture that are very different and there is still a yearning for a deeper relationship with people. When speaking another language you can only express yourself so far; there is always an element of you that is unable to fully be realized, and I do miss this. However, for now, the Czech Republic is becoming my new home, even if it is for only two years. Two years is not a life time, but it is long enough to go through the emotional ups and downs of being separated from normalcy, placed in the new and coming out on the other side mixed with a sense of both, together. I said a couple of weeks ago that the longer I am here, the more Czech I become. It really is true.

I am so excited to see what next year will bring when my Czech is much better. What friendships will I make? How will the Czech people be defined in my eyes? How will they have changed me?

My perceptions are changing. For the past three months I have been in a mentality of criticism. Now, I feel myself coming out on the other side with new energy and a deeper understanding of what it means to cherish the 'now.' I don't really want to focus on where I was last year or where I will be in two years; I want to appreciate and get to know the people who are around me. I want to see the culture and know that while it might not make sense, it is how they live.

I think part of what I need to work harder on is becoming more a part of the church community that IS here. Most of the people that I talk to are young and often times they are not regulars to our church services. I would even say that many are not Christian (not that this lessens my admiration and love for them as people). But, there are a group of older Czechs here who come EVERY Sunday rain, snow or heat. I see them walking to church when it is -10 and when it was 70. I love their faith and their determination. They might seem like a closed off bunch, but I really want to relate and speak with them. I want to learn Czech, not to glorify myself, but to relate to the older people. I'm sure that they can teach me so much.

Just this past Monday, I made my first attempt at speaking with some of the old ladies in the congregation. They were upstairs washing the tea cups and dishes and chatting amongst themselves. When I was about to leave, I found myself doing something that I haven't done since I arrived: I approached them and said good bye. They all gave me a HUGE smile and told me to have a nice night. I tried to shake all of their hands, but one of them had wet rubber gloves on. She smiled and looked a little confused, until she offered me her forearm. I grabbed it and shook her whole arm up and down. It might have been a little bit silly, but they all start laughing really hard. I don't know if they know how much their smiles and laughter meant to me that day, but it was the jump I needed.

What community do I belong to? Is it Waynesburg? Is it Pittsburgh? Is it Bellefontaine? Yes, they are all my home, but soon I want to add Policka to the list. I hope I am on my way. My goal next is to ask one of the older women if I can go over to her house and learn how to make her wonderful little "chlebicky." She told me two Sundays ago she would let me wear her pretty apron and even give me a cook’s hat for the job. I think I might take her up on the offer