Home Again.

I admit. I have been avoiding the blogosphere because there have been no new updates in my life. I still miss Russia with all my heart, and it still hurts. I am struggling through my last quarter of university. Things have been pretty dim... until Friday. 

My brother had just flown up from California to hang out in Seattle for the weekend, and our tummies were full of wonderful thai food from a local restaurant in Fremont. Hoping to burn off some calories from the thai feast, I suggested a walk along the canal. Cyclists were zooming by us on the bike trail and the water was lapping on the edge of the canal. The sun was just beginning to set and all was well with the world as I looked to my right to find a cafe that I had never seen before.  Excitement overwhelms me as I sprint across the bike path, nearly getting hit by some hardcore cyclists. 

As I enter Cafe Babel, a band is setting up over the the right. The homey lighting invites me in further as my curiosity drives me to the register. Multi-cultural snacks entice me to ask about the cafe.  Local pastries and coffee beans supply me with abundant hope. A counter over to the left tells me that the cafe is associated with the Seattle Language Academy. Together they host multi-cultural events that encourage language and cultural understanding. Tonight, the barista told me, would be a night of African drumming.

Later that night Neal, Zach, and I headed over to my new favorite cafe, Cafe Babel. Upon approaching the cafe, we are bombarded with African drums and happy voices. My heart began to swell as we entered the multi-cultural dance party in the cafe. Kids danced in the middle of the circle as the old folks cut a rug. It didn't matter how you danced to the beat, it just mattered that you danced. It felt like I was crashing a multi-cultural family reunion simply because everyone was so comfortable with themselves and around each other. 

The band is lead by Ibrahima Camara who lead the band's vocals, sabar, djembe, and the tama.  They play awesome Sengalese pop music with traditional West African roots.  People in the cafe enjoyed bottles of wine and pastries. Some people even brought their own food. It was a gathering of friends who acted like family.

After some prodding from my two favorite men (Neal and Zach), we all went out on the "dance floor" and danced anyway we felt like. It was a release to move my body without any restraints. No one was looking at me, we were all just having a great time. Asians were dancing with Caucasians, and Caucasians were dancing with Africans. The best part of the evening was that the multi-cultural integration was not forced or hostile. It was just a bunch of people gathering together to dance and let loose. 

All of a sudden, I felt at home. 

Home, being a loose term, means a piece of heaven where people of all nations can just gather together in joyful noise. I felt at home in the Vineyard church plant of Nizhnii Novgorod, and I felt at home in Cafe Babel during the multi-cultural dance party. Cafe Babel has been the only speck of home since I left Nizhnii Novgorod on that gloomy Sunday, and somehow my faith has been restored. Nizhnii Novgorod is not the only place I can feel at home. I simply must seek these new places with an open heart. 

Check out Cafe Babel at www.cafebabelseattle.com and expect to see me there! 

With love and hope in Seattle, Seh Veh

Culture Shocked in Seattle.

I entered the doors of a church I once called home. Nearly killed with kindness, hugs and kisses, I thought I was going to be okay. I thought that I could somehow swallow the tears, or make believe that I didn't hurt inside. I plastered a smile on my face when people said, "Welcome back to America. Aren't you glad to be home?" My stomach dropped and my head was dizzy.

The lights dimmed and the service started. The tunes of the worship songs are now unfamiliar to me as I look around the group population. I tried to find my family amidst the new faces. My eyes darted around the sanctuary as my eyes welled up with tears. Not here, not now. Please don't do this to me. I felt lost in a sea of worshippers. I felt suffocated by the worship music. My heart ached for the Vineyard Church of Nizhnii Novgorod. Tears silently spilled down my face, taking my so-called waterproof mascara with it. 

As the unfamiliar music heightened and the worshippers' claps only grew louder, I sunk down into my seat. The silent tears turned into an uncontrollable bawling sensation. I lost control of my emotions. I missed my church family. I missed the flags waving in the air during worship. I missed Eva. I missed Olya. I missed long walks. I missed cooking at Eva's apartment after church on Sundays. I missed the multi-cultural bilingual service. I missed singing worship songs in Russia. I missed making silly faces at the little kids running around during service. I missed tea and cookies before church. I missed every little thing about my home church in Russia. To me, this church was and still is home.

Home is where the heart it, and it is evident that I left my heart in a little rundown theater on Prospekt Prokovskya, Russia. 

Overwhelmed with emotions and culture shock, I grabbed my coat and my boyfriend as I ran out into the foyer. I couldn't even make it outside before he wrapped me up in his arms and I bawled like a little baby. I lost complete control as my tears dropped onto his clean linen shirt. No words could comfort me as I expressed the sadness of my heart. 

After my tears ceased to flow, we jumped in the car and I didn't want to go anywhere. I just wanted to go home to Russia. Neal insisted as he turned the ignition. As we approached our destination, I realized that I couldn't read any signs because they weren't in English. We arrived in at the International District close to Little Saigon. 

As I opened my door, I heard passerby's speak in a language unfamiliar to me. I was a minority among the crowd. My heart swelled as we entered the Hao Hao market. My hands ran through the grains, and my mind wandered as I touched the unfamiliar fruits. I smiled as I laid down my American dollar bills to pay for such an imported item. It felt like I was using Monopoly money in a 7-11. I felt like a foreigner as I asked questions in English. I stood out as the token white girl, and somehow I felt comforted by such a feeling. 

Although my friends said I looked Russian, I still felt like an outsider when I couldn't understand what the babooskha was asking me on the bus.  I felt like an outsider when I had to hold out a wad of rubles in the grocery store because I couldn't understand how much to pay. I still felt like an outsider when I picked up my cell phone and spoke in fluent English. 

Somehow I learned to be comforted by feeling like a foreigner. And in Little Saigon, I felt at ease when I felt like a foreigner. Sometimes I still feel like a foreigner in my own country. I feel a dual responsibility to love, defend, and support both countries. I feel torn between my two countries of citizenship. I love Seattle. I love the United States of America. But I love Nizhnii Novgorod, and I love Russia. I don't know if this feeling will ever go away, but for the moment I am embracing both cultures as I readjust to the American way of life.

Love from Seattle, Seh Veh

2008 was great.

Ups and Downs of 2008:

+fell in love.

+got accepted to the Russia Studies Program

+went to Russia.

+fell in love with Russia.

+met some amazing people.

+gained a global perspective on God's love.

+hiked some Washington mountains.

+hiked a small California 'mountain'.

+bought a new purple phone.

+moved in with my wives.

+fell in love with baby xana.

+went to some beautiful weddings.

+discovered a love of journalism.

+discovered a love of photography.

+discovered a love for teaching english.

+went gluten-free

-went gluten-free.

-lost a few friends.

-missed out on memories in seattle.

-Patrick Hickey's death.

-Jay Jaeger's death.

-the economy crashing.

-seeing my friends stressed about money and jobs.

-Dr. Dealia Nuesch-Olver leaving the theology faculty.

All in all, 2008 was great. But in 2009, I'm going to shine.

(cheesy, I know.)

Family Matters.

This holiday season has been different for a number of reasons. Different, but good. As I get older, the meaning behind Christmas changes into something beyond face value. No longer is Christmas about Santa and his reindeer. No longer is Christmas focussed around my mile long wish list. No longer is Christmas about ripping off the covers on Christmas morning to run downstairs for presents. No longer is Christmas about caroling or candy canes. 

Instead, Christmas has been about spending enormous amounts of time with family. Christmas has been about cooking and dishwashing. Christmas has been about learning God's love. Christmas has been about sharing God's love with other people. Christmas has been about mimosas and wine. Christmas has been about being older in the holiday season. 

No longer do I expect gifts from under the tree, but rather from the heart. I have finally recognized that Christmas is a time to reconnect with the family you haven't seen. It's a time to serve others. It's a time to love on others. It's a time to give outrageously with your time and energy. 

A few snapshots of my 'grownup' Christmas:

Having a dishwashing competition with my cousins. My cousin Billy and I each man a section of the sink. We both have our designated dryers, and we compete to see who could wash the dishes the fastest. Unfortunately I got held up with a 'soaker' and the mashed potato pan. Anthony and I lost, but I blamed it on the fact that I'm a girl--therefore I have no muscles--therefore Billy automatically will win. We laughed.

Watching the Will Ferrel movie Old School with my Hodgson family. My grandfather laughing at the jokes, while telling my thirteen year old cousin to cover his eyes. The commercial advertising the 'Flirty Girl Fitness' which is basically a striptease aerobic exercise video, and then later having my two uncles try and reenact some of the dance moves at a commercial break.

Playing Catch Phrase for an hour and a half with a majority of my family on the Hodgson side. The most enthusiastic player being my six-year-old cousin whom i previously assumed was mute; now she was the most intensive player on my team. We yelled and screamed and laugher. Neighbors said they could hear us from a block away. 

Sitting around the fire on Christmas morning, having mimosas and coffee without any urgency to the presents under the tree. Of course, since we had our first 'homemade Christmas,' we all knew what was under the tree anyway. Heather and her new husband Fabio said, "To our little sister, a date night for two." As they handed me a basket of yummy food, and a bottle of wine. This was the first time they referred to me as a sister and I melted with joy.

Learning how to make a Christmas dinner from my mother. She taught me how to prepare, baste, and cook a turkey. We made a feasting as we felt like it. There was no pressure in the kitchen, only to cook what we felt was doable. The food was delicious, and for the first time in a long time, I was happy to cook with my mom. She imparted her cooking wisdom upon me as I made my first Happy Birthday Jesus cherry cheesecake. We made cranberry sauce out of leftover jam and dried cranberries. We made a gluten-free creamed corn dish. We had turkey and mashed potatoes. We had a feast.

Playing dominoes with my family on Christmas day. Even though we had no idea what we were doing, having never played dominoes before, we had a great time trying a new game together. 

Spending Christmas morning with my father for the first time since the divorce. We opened presents together and took silly, funny pictures together. We laughed as the dogs ran through the discarded Christmas wrapping paper. We had coffee and a large feasting of food. We felt like a family.

Love from Orange County, Chelsea Beth

Back to California.

Returning to the States was more difficult than I had imagined, both emotionally and physically. 

My adventure back to California started at 4 o'clock on Thursday morning, Moscow time. I made the choice to refuse sleep before we left, simply because I wanted to spend the last few hours in Moscow with my newfound siblings. Throughout the semester our group had seen high times and hard times, and there wasn't anyway that I would spend our last night together sleeping. No way, Jose! So we spent our last few hours in Moscow reminiscing over the semester, laughing and trying not to cry. The end was near. 

4:00 am-- Time to depart our hotel in Moscow. Brittany was staying behind so that she could catch her train to Ukraine. Saying goodbye to her was more difficult than expected. She had been there through every crisis; we were bonded through the unsuspected dramas of Russia. And for this I can only be grateful to the Motherland. Thank you, Mother Russia. We embrace in the freezing Moscow morning. Until January, I tell myself. Saying goodbye to Brittany made all the other goodbyes seem real. I began to bawl; Brittany did too. Tears rolled down my face as I boarded the bus. 

5:00 am-- We arrived at the Moscow airport, and I carried my 50 pound bags off the bus. We checked in and headed to Passport Control. Our group formed in a line as we entered into the 'Authorized Personnel Only.' This is where Harley says goodbye. I hugged Harley one last time; over the semester he was not only my educator within the classroom, but he was also my educator about life. He taught me life lessons that will never be forgotten. As my passport got stamped, I turned around a waved goodbye to Harley. He smiled and waved back like a proud grandpa sending off his granddaughter on a grand adventure. 

6:30 am-- Our plane takes off, saying goodbye to Moscow for the last time. Or so I thought.

7:30 am-- Our plane makes an emergency medical landing back to Moscow. Someone in business class was having heart palpitations.  Our flight was delayed by two hours as we waited for the passenger to be escorted away and for legal papers to be signed. No one was very happy. In fact, flight attendants offered hard drinks to every one just to keep the plane happy and quiet. 

11:30 am-- We arrive in Frankfurt, Germany with no planes to catch. Stranded in Germany. I cried and begged and pleaded to Mr. Weber at the Lufthansa counter. He got the group the first flight out of there to JFK; he also gave us food vouchers.

4:30 pm-- Germany time. We fly out of Frankfurt on our way to New York, New York.

7:30 pm--New York time. We arrive in the United States. Successfully make it through Passport Control and Customs. For the first time, I am seeing my country through a new set of eyes. I feel like an immigrant in my own country. I feel like a foreigner, an outsider. I am being yelled at in an unfamiliar language; i am being herded by unhappy men in black uniforms. I felt uncomfortable as I held out my United States passport. It felt like a lie. It felt as though the name on the passport was mine, but I had nothing in common with the girl in the photo. I felt so out of touch with the American Dream. I didn't want to be rich and famous. I don't care about money or cars or clothes. I care about food on the table and tea in the tummy. I want relationships, not the flat screen television. 

9:00 pm-- We check into the Best Western by JFK. I lay my Visa down for the hotel room, while the girls give me cash. I held fifty dollar bills in my hand for the first time in four months. Overwhelmed and over exhausted  we fell into bed, barely caring who shared a bed with whom. Each girl left at a different time. Rachael at 3:30 am; Laura at 4:30 am; Alicia at 5:30 am; Myself at 6:30 am; Spenser at 8 am. We parted ways in the middle of the night. I kept thinking of Agatha Christie's And Then There Were None, as we trickled to the different parts of the world. 

6:30 am-- December 12th. Having eaten my continental breakfast, I boarded the free tram to the airport. I held my carry-on on my lap as I tried to keep my eyes open. I checked into my flight no problem, and this time I checked my coat with my luggage. California, here I come.

12:00 pm-- California time. My heart was beating out of my chest as I waited for people to disembark the plane. My legs shook as I grabbed my carry-on from under the seat in front of me. My head felt dizzy with anticipation and anxiety as I walked on the tarmac to the terminal. I saw him. I dropped my bag. And I ran. We embraced. He cried. This was the moment I had waited for. I was home.

Fourty-three hours of travel and I was finally home in California with my family, my boyfriend, and my favorite food--tacos. My heart (and stomach) no longer missed California, but instead it ached for Russia. My heart will forever love Nizhnii Novgorod, and I will never forget the beauty of Russia.

 

Love from California, Chelsea Beth

Childhood Complete at the Circus

As our group of American college students piled into the doorway of the theatre, I had no idea what to expect. The only words to describe the happenings in the lobby were sheer chaos. Painted faces, balloons, and light wands. Children, cheetahs, and camels. Cotton candy, popcorn, and ice cream. 

Ladies and Gentlemen, Welcome to the Circus!

Our eyes dart around the lobby in amazement and overstimulation. Children weave in and out of our legs. Painted faces attempting to sell us light wands or glow in the dark swords. Camel rides available for a hefty price; tame cheetahs to pet. More children running in excitement. The circus was about to start.

We check our coats and head upstairs. Before we enter the theatre, Harley hands us each an ice cream cone. I felt like little orphan Annie going to the theatre with Daddy Warbucks as he handed out those ice cream cones. We find our seats as the lights begin to dim. Brittany and I are sitting next to this precious little girl who laughs at everything. 

The stereotypical circus music starts as the two head clowns enter the ring. They introduce act after act of entertainment. My mouth gaped in awe over the trapeze artists as they twirled in the air; when two guys performed a basketball routine in perfect unison; when two acrobats flew through the air, holding onto strips of fabric connected to the ceiling; when different acrobats did flips and turns in unison on a moving horse. 

I laughed until I cried when the toy poodle kept falling off his little metal barrel, he was resilient and continued to try and then fall off; when the head clowns asked a child to assist in an act, she was the one jumping while the dog just sat there; when the silly clown accidentally dunked his face in the cake, leaving him absolutely covered in frosting; when the silly clown ran around the rink with a foam stick, he hit little kids over the head and said, ‘Не болная! (It doesn’t hurt!)’

I honestly felt like a little kid again. I laughed at the most глупий (silly/stupid) things. I felt free from everything that had ever told me to hold back. I let it all go and I laughed and laughed and laughed.

The circus was the most wonderful experience, and my childhood now feels complete! 

<3>

Dancing Through Life.

Straightening my hair last night felt like a dream. I wore my Russian heels and Natalie’s leg warmers. We put on makeup and had a small photo shoot before we left. Our heels clanked on the cement as we made our way to the Metro station. The strong Russian wind blew our skirts up. We giggled as we walked arm and arm. Old men gave us ‘up downs’ as we passed. It was a girls night on the town. We were on our way to the ballet at the Bolshoi Theatre. 

Upon arrival to the Bolshoi Theatre, we were greeted by men in suits and women in glittering dresses. We entered the metal detector into the beautifully extravagant lobby. Crystal chandeliers sparkled with every photo flash. Women in dresses, men in their suits. It was a extraordinary sight to be seen. 

We begin to take photos of our group, and this Asian tourist begins to take a photo of us. He takes a few more as we look at him awkwardly. Eventually he asks to take a photo with us as he looks up at Laura and says, “Tall girl.” We laugh; Laura turns red. He goes to check his coat and we follow his lead. When we check our coats, the lady speaks to us in English. I don’t think we’re in Nizhnii anymore. We grab our opera glasses and head up to the first balcony where we discover that our Asian tourist friend is only one row in front of us.

The orchestra begins to tune as beautiful dresses and suits take their seats in the extravagant theatre. The grand chandelier dims and the orchestra strikes up the first measure of music; the green curtain parts in the middle and the ballet begins. Giselle takes the stage and the audience bursts out in wild claps. With each turn and twist, the audience is captivated by the graceful movements of the ballerina. Random shouts of ‘Bravo!’ are to be heard after every impressive move she makes. As I sit on the first balcony leaning forward with my opera glasses, I think to myself: I have arrived. I’m sitting here with Moscow’s elite watching Giselle at the best ballet theatre in the whole world. 

Ballerinas dance around Giselle and her lover as the music escalates, and their toe shoes echo with the music as they gracefully float around the stage. Their tu-tus glitter in perfection and their smiles reveal their gleaming white teeth. Giselle runs toward her lover and he lifts her with ease as if she were a feather. Their emotions linger in the air as Giselle gracefully touches the stage once again. Her toe shoes make two small and beautiful thumps on the hollow stage. Arms at perfect angles and her toes as a point, and she’s off. The stage is her playground as she expresses her love through dance. 

The ballet ends tragically beautiful, and standing ovations occur. As the lead characters take their bow, Giselle is given three large bouquets of flowers from the audience. Her small arms can barely wrap her arms around the roses. They take their bow several times. The curtains open and close. ‘Bravo!’s were being shouted as the crowd clapped in unison. Giselle and her lover crept out of the closed curtain for one final bow. The grand chandelier lit up once again; Moscow’s suits and dresses exited the theatre. We grabbed our coats and embraced before we left the theatre. My heart was filled with joy as we entered the Metro station and headed back to our hotel for some peaceful dreams. I only wish that I could dance through life as Giselle had done.