Another week, another series of events, experiences and activities that make me feel as if I've been here for years. I hung out and slept a lot on Tuesday, following our family group, community week and our day at Knocklayd. I then went to the pub with four other LTVs, which was nice, if fairly short, owing to the fact that Ballycastle's approximately 14 pubs all close at 11 on weekdays. Awesome. In any case, I ended up going to Belfast the next day, catching a ride with a community member and spending the day on Wednesday just wandering the streets, checking out our old haunts in South Belfast (Clement's was as awesome as I remembered!) and relishing being around lots of strangers I didn't have to introduce myself to! A few of the other LTVs spent their time off camping, biking and being in nature--it's funny to think that I have to recharge by heading to a big city and being in an urban environment with concrete and bustle and noise. Corrymeela is by far the most rural place I've ever lived, and I really miss being in or just outside of a major city, though I am enjoying the alternate opportunities living in such a gorgeous place provides. I met up with Nancy, an MTV, and we saw a very interesting documentary as part of Belfast Age Awareness Week entitled Gen Silent, which examined the crisis faced by aging LGBT people. The film followed several gay, lesbian and transgender senior citizens as they try to negotiate placement in senior care facilities when the people entrusted with their lives may have serious prejudice that sometimes goes as far as trying to "cure" the seniors in their care. Many older people in the LGBT community even find themselves going back in the closet to ensure that they receive unbiased care, including couples that pretend to be non-romantic when one visiting each other in nursing homes. It was an American film that took place entirely in Boston and its suburbs, but was especially poignant to watch in Northern Ireland, where, in my opinion, the culture is much more conservative and repressive of LGBT issues. Even being in the audience was unusual in that I was around more openly gay people than I had been possibly in my entire time in Ireland. As much as I enjoy being here and as secure as I am in (most of) my multiple identities, the film also articulated issues for me about inclusion, exclusion, categorization and bias that have not been at the forefront of my mind for a while as I try to focus on acclimating to this community and surrounding. This was especially striking during a conversation the other day with a few other LTVs about Christmas. I discussed the experience of feeling excluded from Christmas as a child, wishing I could have a Christmas tree, lights, Santa Claus and took it a step further by suggesting that the length of time and degree to which Christmas is celebrated excludes many people that live on the margins of expected societal and cultural norms. The four other people I was talking with agreed that Christmas was way too commercialized, and as a result of the general detachment from the religious aspect of the holiday, it was open to anyone who wanted to celebrate it. Therefore, I, as a Jew, was excluding myself by choosing not to participate in Christmas, and that I was always invited to celebrate Christmas in a non-religious manner (i.e. tree, lights, etc.). How could I explain to them that a sign that says "Happy Holidays" doesn't mean anything to me when it's up two weeks after the minor holiday of Hanukkah and colored in red and green? Can that really be considered an act of inclusion? Partly because I wasn't in a very serious frame of mind and partly because four people were in agreement without me, my attempts to represent my point of view were framed in a joking, lighthearted manner. I tried making an analogy to a group of popular kids in school that invite you to hang out with them, provided you change the way you dress and other representations of your personality. The fact is, though, that I couldn't draw a comparison to something that a group of middle class people of European descent would be comparably excluded from. When I suggested that gay people are another group marginalized from the holiday, one girl disagreed strongly. I stated how I felt, that the mainstream definition of a family and togetherness as being exclusively heterosexual is concentrated and especially emphasized around the Christmas season, and the fact that many people, align themselves against/don't like gay people/homosexuality becomes very clear (to me and others on the outside) during the Christmas season. One girl became very offended by my characterization that "many people don't like gays," saying that her sister is gay and that she's found more acceptance than not in a very conservative society. The others piped in with the myriad of gay people they know who love Christmas and therefore if someone feels excluded it's just their own fault. I said that while I couldn't speak to her sister's experience, I know that in the US the number of places where gay people can live an open lifestyle without having to obscure their identity to most people is limited, and that I was not saying that no gay people like Christmas, but rather that the perception of the holiday as being inclusive is, in many cases, misguided.
In any case, I the Christmas conversation came to a close, but it wasn't until the following night that I realized how affected I had been by it. As we sat around a lovely bonfire, one of the people who had taken part in the conversation spoke brought up the subject, saying I had been "complaining" about Christmas and something about my being bitter about the holiday. Not wanting to be misrepresented, I reiterated how much I like some aspects of the season, such as the trees, the lights and the music, but that I couldn't help but feel excluded by something that almost everyone else takes part in except for me and a handful of others. The team started piping up with the "you do it to yourself" spiel, until someone else in the group (who happens to be gay but isn't out to most people here) called them on their crap and expressed their frustration with placing the blame on those in the minority. "It's not a choice," this person said, "and I hate it when everyone says that it is when really it would require you to give something up in order to join in." Hearing someone else validate my point of view as reasonable was a wake up call to me. It was only then that I realized how much I had been doubting myself, thinking about whether or not I was doing this to myself. I have always been fortunate to live in exceptionally open-minded, accepting places, in which there was an awareness about issues of inclusion and exclusion, particularly in terms of religion and sexual identity. Having people I like and respect tell me that my feelings of exclusion as a member of a minority religion/culture were my own fault had been so unusual for me that I didn't know what to do with the feeling at the time. I am hoping to have another, more focused conversation about the issue at some point, having thought about my feelings and position. Hopefully it can be a learning experience for people other than myself.
It seems that opinions about foreign cultures are held on to for dear life whether or not they are based on experience. A few days later I was talking with another LTV and somehow the issue of Mormons came up. She had read several books about the early church (read: polygamy) and was suddenly saying all these things about the modern church, how some Mormons are still polygamous, how they "propagate" (yes, she used this word) because they believe you need a number of spirit children to get into heaven--I didn't even know what she meant--and how demeaned women are within the belief system. I related my experience of living with and surrounded by very devoted members of the Church for a year, having had many conversations and asked many questions about their beliefs and come to have a lot of respect for the way in which many people of this faith live their lives with great integrity and care for their children. I told her about how people found to be polygamous are excommunicated from the Church and that the lifestyle is in no way acceptable within the modern structure. This girl kept referring to books she had read and "articles on the internet," because clearly, reading about something on the internet is waaaaay more informative than asking many people, over a long period of time, whose lives are devoted to the religion, specifically about their beliefs. I would never read a book written by someone who left her hometown for having a negative experience and then her life in her hometown, thinking that my understanding was more informed based on this book I had read. Why hold on to this? I'm not claiming to be a theological scholar by any means, but seriously? You're going to argue with me about whether Mormons are still polygamous when I lived five minutes from BYU? So frustrating.
And truly, the icing on the cake came yesterday when I went with Valentin, Sara and Anthony, volunteers from Germany, Hungary and Ghana, respectively, to hang out in Derry for the day. After a beautiful, scenic bus and train ride, we arrived in the middle of town and started walking around Shipquay Street, the main drag within the old city walls. As we passed by a seasonal Halloween store, we notice, among the costumes for kids to dress up like a pirate, a policeman or a skeleton, a Gestapo costume. Now, just to be clear, this wasn't a soldier's uniform that happened to look like a Nazi; rather, the label read "Gestapo" and the suit consisted of a grey uniform with a black hat and boots and a red armband (sans swastika--really?? That's the line they draw?). The four of us stopped walking and Valentin and I in particular were absolutely speechless. Part of me felt like crying while another part felt like breaking the window and a third part just wanted to keep walking and pretend I had not seen it. Yet, knowing myself, I knew that I could not pretend I had not seen it, nor was I willing to release emotion then and there. Of course, being incapable of keeping my mouth shut (for better or for worse), I walked in the store. I asked the older man behind the counter if this was his shop and he said yes. I mentioned that he had a Gestapo costume in the window and he turned around to hand me one to buy. No, no, I said, I just wanted to let you know that I find the costume very offensive. He put the package back on the shelf, shrugged his shoulders and said "that's just the way it is here. Sorry, love, that's just the way it is." Before I opened up with my whole life story, I just told him again how offensive it is and walked out. Valentin and I recalled the episode a few years ago when Prince Harry dressed up like a Nazi at a Halloween party and he noted that he could not understand how anyone could have a sense of humor about this, which made me think more about the costume. Who would buy such an outfit? Who would want to wear it? I concluded that it would either be someone who somehow thought it was funny, or someone who didn't know what Gestapo meant and just thought they were buying a soldier's uniform. Which was worse? An offensive sense of humor and poor judgement or complete ignorance to something so recent, significant and threatening? What was the thought behind the marketing? One of the effects was that it made an integral figure in mass murder colloquial and insignificant. I reflected on how scary this process is of forgetting just enough of the real meaning to make us ignorant on a daily basis to horrific, violent events that have shaped the world and our lives. While I knew that telling this shopkeeper how I felt would not cause him to take the item off the I think I would have felt a sense of self betrayal had I not said anything. At the same time, if there had been a costume in the window of an IRA volunteer or an RUC (notoriously sectarian police force in Northern Ireland prior to the peace process) officer, the display would have lasted about five seconds before people came out to demand its sale stopped. What did he mean when he said "this is the way things are here"? That people in Northern Ireland only care about their own tragedies? That offending people doesn't matter if they're not from around here? Or, most likely, that being offensive doesn't matter if the only person giving you shit for it is a tourist from New York who wouldn't be a potential customer anyway. Though I'm sure that some might say I am too sensitive, politically correct or naive, I don't feel that I am overreacting in any way. The bottom line is that seeing that costume made me feel more than uncomfortable, it hurt me to think that the Holocaust, or any genocide for that matter, is so unimportant to people that they would dress up as its perpetrator for fun.
Living in a small, diverse (Christian) community in a small, socially conservative country with many people who have been sheltered from conflict other than their own has its ups and downs. I am glad I'm here to have these conversations with people about Christmas, to share my experiences with others and have others share with me, but sometimes it's hard to do this much learning and teaching. This weekend I am working with the SIT group, the study abroad program that brought me to Northern Ireland and to Corrymeela for the first time. Should be fun and exciting and interesting to share where they are on their educational journey.
Monday, October 4, 2010
Friday, September 24, 2010
Messy and Beautiful
Wow, has this been a busy week! After facilitating our first family weekend we participated in the Community Weekend, in which the 150 or so community members come up for a conference-type meeting and schmooze-fest, and then spent the night at Corrymeela's retreat cottage (Knocklayd, all you sit-showers!) to do life maps and share.
The group was from Quaker Cottage, an awesome cross-community organization in Belfast that works with low-income women with a history of trauma and their kids over the course of a year. There were seven or eight moms, five kids ages 6-11 and 9 kids under the age of four. Andrew and I were teamed up with the "afterschools"--elementary school kids--and Michaela and Roland went with the babies. Quaker Cottage has been coming to Corrymeela for years now so they know the drill very well and bring several of their own staff as well as volunteers, so it was a good group to have first. The three days we spent with them were very intense and full of activity from 8:30 AM to 10 PM at night. Coming to Corrymeela is the culmination of their year-long program and is a real highlight for them, as it's a kind of relaxing getaway for the moms--they are barely around the kids--and a fun vacation for the kids as we do lots of awesome programming with them. Day one involved going down to the beach to do a "treasure hunt" created by Phil, their primary worker from Quaker Cottage. The kids were so thrilled to find the clues, and for children from inner-city Belfast, the opportunity to run around on a beach and get treats like that is all the more special. We then went to Dunluce Castle, the ruins of a medieval fortress located on the edge of the most picturesque cliff you can imagine. We spent some time at a playground, spent the whole time on the bus singing fun songs (they know the moose song here, mom!) and just enjoying the beautiful day. In the evening we played some games, Phil told some stories, and after the kids went to bed we had a debrief. It was strange to suddenly work with kids with whom I had no relationship after working for the past year with the same group of 10 every day and then at camp where I have known most of the kids for a year. It was a challenge to set boundaries with them despite not knowing them, but it's amazing how receptive kids can be to adults who show genuine interest in them. By the second day I already had a much more comfortable footing. Day two had us on the bus again, this time headed for an open farm where both the kids I was working with and the toddlers were able to feed the sheep, pigs, and rabbits, get their hands dirty, and take a hay ride on a paddywagon. I got to hold the youngest of the group, a teething 16-month-old who promptly fell asleep in my arms and was out cold for the duration of the ride, despite constant screaming children around him, the putrid smell of exhaust from the 27189246-year-old truck and the farmer's voice on the loudspeaker on the back of the truck. Best part of mt day! (Read: I miss Kerem). The kids were thrilled, especially by the kitten in the barn that they found and immediately began fighting over. Ah, youth. After a pit stop, we headed to a playground, where spinning the kids on tire swings made me completely nauseated, and headed for a beautiful beach just past the castle we had been to on the previous day. We had with us sleds to zoom down the 40 foot sand dunes, kites, shovels and pails for playing in the sand, and a variety of other accoutrements (fancy!), all of which we had schlepped 50 yards down the beach before it began to pour rain like it was going out of style. Within a minute we were soaked and headed back to the bus, where we had to change the kids out of their wet, sandy clothing, quiet the complaining, and catch our own breath before Phil announced that we would head to a chippy (takeout place that serves fried anything) for a warm snack in lieu of our beach outing. The fries, cooked right there in the shop on the spot, were heaven to us in our cold, wet, harried state. By the time we had finished eating, the rain had stopped and the rainbow had appeared, and we had decided that the beach was worth another try. The two six-year-old girls played in the sand while me and the Quaker Cottage volunteer failed miserably at kite flying and Andrew and Phil took the 8-year old boys and 11-year-old girl to sled down the dunes. The two little girls made sure to come over to criticize our inability to fly the kites before insisting on trying it themselves and then concluding to us "the kite wants you to fly it." Thanks, small child! You singlehandedly proven the worthlessness of my college degree!
The next day began with a "Monster Hunt," a popular Corrymeela activity in which volunteers dress up like monsters and hide around the site. Upon finding a monster, the kids ask the monsters their name, age and favorite food, before shrieking and finding the next monster. I was Forestina, the forest witch, Andrew was Reptalien, the reptile alien, and Valentin, our resident German, was a ninja (pronounced "ninya"). The whole rest of the day the kids were like "you were the witch! we know you were!" Hilarious. After I washed (most of) the green off my face, we took the kids to the Giant's Causeway, an amazing natural wonder of the world consisting of hexagonal stones in a staircase-like formation at the ocean's edge. I had been there before, but never with kids, and it was totally amazing to see their reactions, to hold their hands as they tried to climb up the slippery, wet rocks without falling, to hear the myths of the formation's origins in awestruck silence. Each of the four adults took a kid or two each, and I ended up holding the hand of one of the six-year-olds, the child most prone to bolting whenever possible. The one time I let go of her hand for a second, she made a beeline for the emergency use only phone, forcing poor Andrew to chase her down. The kids were full of personality and were very lovable in many ways, but clearly were not without considerable issues, from attention-seeking behavior and hyperactivity to plain old teasing each other. In the evening we put on a "disco" for the kids and moms, which we prepared the kids for by having a face painting session in which Phil painted the faces of two three-year-olds like tigers--Adorable!
The group left Friday morning, leaving us about four hours to clean up the entire site before the community members arrived for one of their four or so yearly members' weekends. That evening saw many introductions (read: pronouncing my name 23685428745 times) an adorable four-year-old named Finn who told me I was his favorite cousin less than 15 minutes after meeting me (yessss!) and meeting Finn's father, Michael, who grew up in New York on 92nd and Columbus and whose mother still lives there. You should have seen his eyes when I told him my grandparents live on 97th and Central Park West! Teeny tiny world.
Meeting the members was fantastic and made me feel much more a part of this place, in addition to realizing how comfortable I have become in this space. It was inspiring to hear about the work they do and fairly touching to see how excited they were to meet all of us volunteers. I was glad I had already met quite a few members at the barbecue my first weekend, when I stayed with Judith and Johnston (who regrettably weren't there). I also became friendly with a former LTV named Conor, who is the youngest member of Corrymeela. He was able to talk critically about Corrymeela in a way that I hadn't really heard up until this point, identifying some of the realities of the center's inner politics and composition. There was a way in which hearing an insider perspective on what's wrong with the place made me feel more secure about the place; I knew there are inevitable flaws and problems with the place and I was glad to get an introduction to them in this way rather than find out only on my own. The LTV team was excused from responsibilities so we could attend the sessions on the center's ongoing programs. The sessions I attended included a program new this year and adapted from a US Holocaust education organization entitled Facing History and Ourselves, a primary school program on forgiveness education, and a program run for refugee and asylum seekers in Northern Ireland. It was cool to hear about them and made me excited to get involved.
After cleaning the center in preparation for an incoming group following the departure of the members, we headed with Aileen, Tim and Tiffany and Paul, the center director, to Knocklayd, a house bequeathed to Corrymeela by a member located on Knocklayd mountain, just eight miles from the center. Incidentally, when I first to came to Corrymeela three years ago with my study abroad program, we stayed at Knocklayd, where I found out the hostel in Belfast had generously shared their bedbugs and conjunctivitis with me! Not only this, but the couple that had been living in and maintaining the house at the time, a retired couple from North Carolina, Mary Ann and Chris, are back and doing what they were then! It made me very nostalgic for my abroad group from three years ago, though I was happy not to have to experience the bedbugs again. Yay.
After a lovely dinner and a brief LTV snugglefest, we got to work on our life maps. This is a project in which you are told to make a poster mapping out your life, however you interpret the meaning of the statement. This isn't to say make a plan for your life, but more to reflect on where you've been and where you might be going. I started with an outline of a tree, collaging images that represented various people, places and events significant to my life, adding some drawings and working as quickly as I could, as we only had an hour and I had a lot to do. As with most other 2-d projects I do, I tried to get rid of as much negative space as I could, filling every empty gap with a clipping or some crayon color as I frantically tried to include as much as possible. I started getting stressed and emotional as I thought about the past few years and my adolescence in general, where I've been, what I've witnessed and accomplished, mistakes, disappointments and losses. When Paul came over to check on my status as almost everyone else was finished, tears came to my eyes as I continued to cut and paste, thinking about my family, my house, my cousin David and where to go from here.
"It's messy and beautiful," said Paul, as he looked over my shoulder.
"What?" I asked, not sure what he was referring to.
"What I'm looking at," he replied, motioning to the poster paper. I knew the task of a life map would not be easy, but the other time I did a life map, I had been in a very different place and it had been more uplifting than anything else and made me feel more secure in myself. On the contrary, this life map left me with a sense of feeling fractured, unsure and lost in some way. I am still coming to terms with the difficulty of this past year, which I am only realizing now that I look back on it, from transitioning to post-college life to my cousin's death and everything in between. I pulled myself together, finished the life map a good half hour after everyone else, and ended up having a nice night with the group playing Apples to Apples and Broken Picture Telephone.
The next day, after an awesome breakfast of French toast, courtesy Chris, Paul and Aileen kicked off the day of sharing by discussing their own maps. Everyone had twenty minutes to describe their map/life in whatever way they wanted to, and it was very interesting to hear about everyone's lives. It was amazing how well the maps represented their makers (takers?), in that I felt that even without the people-specific posts, I feel I would have been able to identify which map belonged to whom based on the way they looked. The rules of listening were that we weren't to make comments or ask questions, just really listen. It was amazing to hear about everyone's lives in such a straightforward way and I learned a lot about everyone. It's a funny thing to spend every second with seven other people for an intense month in a new country, because in some ways you get to know them so well, while in others you realize that you know nothing. In any case, I was anxious all day about sharing my life map and told the group early on that I wanted to go 8th or 9th-ish (out of 12), and I ended up being the last to go before lunch. I started crying almost immediately after I began talking and essentially didn't stop, only getting even more upset when I talked about David. It felt good to cry, and Aileen was very supportive afterwards...I did feel a little more exposed than I was comfortable with, but I feel OK being outside my comfort zone and am glad I won't have to explain some of the experiences, events and people I spoke about to each team member individually, I can just reference it and have them know what I'm talking about.
In any case, the day of listening completely wiped me out and I am ready to have the next three days off, maybe go to Belfast and be in the city a bit. Though I feel a bit more messy than beautiful right now, it's good to sometimes regain perspective about how young I am and how much I still have to grow.
Take care, xox
The group was from Quaker Cottage, an awesome cross-community organization in Belfast that works with low-income women with a history of trauma and their kids over the course of a year. There were seven or eight moms, five kids ages 6-11 and 9 kids under the age of four. Andrew and I were teamed up with the "afterschools"--elementary school kids--and Michaela and Roland went with the babies. Quaker Cottage has been coming to Corrymeela for years now so they know the drill very well and bring several of their own staff as well as volunteers, so it was a good group to have first. The three days we spent with them were very intense and full of activity from 8:30 AM to 10 PM at night. Coming to Corrymeela is the culmination of their year-long program and is a real highlight for them, as it's a kind of relaxing getaway for the moms--they are barely around the kids--and a fun vacation for the kids as we do lots of awesome programming with them. Day one involved going down to the beach to do a "treasure hunt" created by Phil, their primary worker from Quaker Cottage. The kids were so thrilled to find the clues, and for children from inner-city Belfast, the opportunity to run around on a beach and get treats like that is all the more special. We then went to Dunluce Castle, the ruins of a medieval fortress located on the edge of the most picturesque cliff you can imagine. We spent some time at a playground, spent the whole time on the bus singing fun songs (they know the moose song here, mom!) and just enjoying the beautiful day. In the evening we played some games, Phil told some stories, and after the kids went to bed we had a debrief. It was strange to suddenly work with kids with whom I had no relationship after working for the past year with the same group of 10 every day and then at camp where I have known most of the kids for a year. It was a challenge to set boundaries with them despite not knowing them, but it's amazing how receptive kids can be to adults who show genuine interest in them. By the second day I already had a much more comfortable footing. Day two had us on the bus again, this time headed for an open farm where both the kids I was working with and the toddlers were able to feed the sheep, pigs, and rabbits, get their hands dirty, and take a hay ride on a paddywagon. I got to hold the youngest of the group, a teething 16-month-old who promptly fell asleep in my arms and was out cold for the duration of the ride, despite constant screaming children around him, the putrid smell of exhaust from the 27189246-year-old truck and the farmer's voice on the loudspeaker on the back of the truck. Best part of mt day! (Read: I miss Kerem). The kids were thrilled, especially by the kitten in the barn that they found and immediately began fighting over. Ah, youth. After a pit stop, we headed to a playground, where spinning the kids on tire swings made me completely nauseated, and headed for a beautiful beach just past the castle we had been to on the previous day. We had with us sleds to zoom down the 40 foot sand dunes, kites, shovels and pails for playing in the sand, and a variety of other accoutrements (fancy!), all of which we had schlepped 50 yards down the beach before it began to pour rain like it was going out of style. Within a minute we were soaked and headed back to the bus, where we had to change the kids out of their wet, sandy clothing, quiet the complaining, and catch our own breath before Phil announced that we would head to a chippy (takeout place that serves fried anything) for a warm snack in lieu of our beach outing. The fries, cooked right there in the shop on the spot, were heaven to us in our cold, wet, harried state. By the time we had finished eating, the rain had stopped and the rainbow had appeared, and we had decided that the beach was worth another try. The two six-year-old girls played in the sand while me and the Quaker Cottage volunteer failed miserably at kite flying and Andrew and Phil took the 8-year old boys and 11-year-old girl to sled down the dunes. The two little girls made sure to come over to criticize our inability to fly the kites before insisting on trying it themselves and then concluding to us "the kite wants you to fly it." Thanks, small child! You singlehandedly proven the worthlessness of my college degree!
The next day began with a "Monster Hunt," a popular Corrymeela activity in which volunteers dress up like monsters and hide around the site. Upon finding a monster, the kids ask the monsters their name, age and favorite food, before shrieking and finding the next monster. I was Forestina, the forest witch, Andrew was Reptalien, the reptile alien, and Valentin, our resident German, was a ninja (pronounced "ninya"). The whole rest of the day the kids were like "you were the witch! we know you were!" Hilarious. After I washed (most of) the green off my face, we took the kids to the Giant's Causeway, an amazing natural wonder of the world consisting of hexagonal stones in a staircase-like formation at the ocean's edge. I had been there before, but never with kids, and it was totally amazing to see their reactions, to hold their hands as they tried to climb up the slippery, wet rocks without falling, to hear the myths of the formation's origins in awestruck silence. Each of the four adults took a kid or two each, and I ended up holding the hand of one of the six-year-olds, the child most prone to bolting whenever possible. The one time I let go of her hand for a second, she made a beeline for the emergency use only phone, forcing poor Andrew to chase her down. The kids were full of personality and were very lovable in many ways, but clearly were not without considerable issues, from attention-seeking behavior and hyperactivity to plain old teasing each other. In the evening we put on a "disco" for the kids and moms, which we prepared the kids for by having a face painting session in which Phil painted the faces of two three-year-olds like tigers--Adorable!
The group left Friday morning, leaving us about four hours to clean up the entire site before the community members arrived for one of their four or so yearly members' weekends. That evening saw many introductions (read: pronouncing my name 23685428745 times) an adorable four-year-old named Finn who told me I was his favorite cousin less than 15 minutes after meeting me (yessss!) and meeting Finn's father, Michael, who grew up in New York on 92nd and Columbus and whose mother still lives there. You should have seen his eyes when I told him my grandparents live on 97th and Central Park West! Teeny tiny world.
Meeting the members was fantastic and made me feel much more a part of this place, in addition to realizing how comfortable I have become in this space. It was inspiring to hear about the work they do and fairly touching to see how excited they were to meet all of us volunteers. I was glad I had already met quite a few members at the barbecue my first weekend, when I stayed with Judith and Johnston (who regrettably weren't there). I also became friendly with a former LTV named Conor, who is the youngest member of Corrymeela. He was able to talk critically about Corrymeela in a way that I hadn't really heard up until this point, identifying some of the realities of the center's inner politics and composition. There was a way in which hearing an insider perspective on what's wrong with the place made me feel more secure about the place; I knew there are inevitable flaws and problems with the place and I was glad to get an introduction to them in this way rather than find out only on my own. The LTV team was excused from responsibilities so we could attend the sessions on the center's ongoing programs. The sessions I attended included a program new this year and adapted from a US Holocaust education organization entitled Facing History and Ourselves, a primary school program on forgiveness education, and a program run for refugee and asylum seekers in Northern Ireland. It was cool to hear about them and made me excited to get involved.
After cleaning the center in preparation for an incoming group following the departure of the members, we headed with Aileen, Tim and Tiffany and Paul, the center director, to Knocklayd, a house bequeathed to Corrymeela by a member located on Knocklayd mountain, just eight miles from the center. Incidentally, when I first to came to Corrymeela three years ago with my study abroad program, we stayed at Knocklayd, where I found out the hostel in Belfast had generously shared their bedbugs and conjunctivitis with me! Not only this, but the couple that had been living in and maintaining the house at the time, a retired couple from North Carolina, Mary Ann and Chris, are back and doing what they were then! It made me very nostalgic for my abroad group from three years ago, though I was happy not to have to experience the bedbugs again. Yay.
After a lovely dinner and a brief LTV snugglefest, we got to work on our life maps. This is a project in which you are told to make a poster mapping out your life, however you interpret the meaning of the statement. This isn't to say make a plan for your life, but more to reflect on where you've been and where you might be going. I started with an outline of a tree, collaging images that represented various people, places and events significant to my life, adding some drawings and working as quickly as I could, as we only had an hour and I had a lot to do. As with most other 2-d projects I do, I tried to get rid of as much negative space as I could, filling every empty gap with a clipping or some crayon color as I frantically tried to include as much as possible. I started getting stressed and emotional as I thought about the past few years and my adolescence in general, where I've been, what I've witnessed and accomplished, mistakes, disappointments and losses. When Paul came over to check on my status as almost everyone else was finished, tears came to my eyes as I continued to cut and paste, thinking about my family, my house, my cousin David and where to go from here.
"It's messy and beautiful," said Paul, as he looked over my shoulder.
"What?" I asked, not sure what he was referring to.
"What I'm looking at," he replied, motioning to the poster paper. I knew the task of a life map would not be easy, but the other time I did a life map, I had been in a very different place and it had been more uplifting than anything else and made me feel more secure in myself. On the contrary, this life map left me with a sense of feeling fractured, unsure and lost in some way. I am still coming to terms with the difficulty of this past year, which I am only realizing now that I look back on it, from transitioning to post-college life to my cousin's death and everything in between. I pulled myself together, finished the life map a good half hour after everyone else, and ended up having a nice night with the group playing Apples to Apples and Broken Picture Telephone.
The next day, after an awesome breakfast of French toast, courtesy Chris, Paul and Aileen kicked off the day of sharing by discussing their own maps. Everyone had twenty minutes to describe their map/life in whatever way they wanted to, and it was very interesting to hear about everyone's lives. It was amazing how well the maps represented their makers (takers?), in that I felt that even without the people-specific posts, I feel I would have been able to identify which map belonged to whom based on the way they looked. The rules of listening were that we weren't to make comments or ask questions, just really listen. It was amazing to hear about everyone's lives in such a straightforward way and I learned a lot about everyone. It's a funny thing to spend every second with seven other people for an intense month in a new country, because in some ways you get to know them so well, while in others you realize that you know nothing. In any case, I was anxious all day about sharing my life map and told the group early on that I wanted to go 8th or 9th-ish (out of 12), and I ended up being the last to go before lunch. I started crying almost immediately after I began talking and essentially didn't stop, only getting even more upset when I talked about David. It felt good to cry, and Aileen was very supportive afterwards...I did feel a little more exposed than I was comfortable with, but I feel OK being outside my comfort zone and am glad I won't have to explain some of the experiences, events and people I spoke about to each team member individually, I can just reference it and have them know what I'm talking about.
In any case, the day of listening completely wiped me out and I am ready to have the next three days off, maybe go to Belfast and be in the city a bit. Though I feel a bit more messy than beautiful right now, it's good to sometimes regain perspective about how young I am and how much I still have to grow.
Take care, xox
Monday, September 20, 2010
Rathlin Island
What a beautiful weekend we spent as a group! Rathlin Island is a small island just off the coast of Corrymeela; even on the foggiest of days you can still see it out the dining room window of the center. Our two-day excursion there was planned for us to reflect upon our hectic first two weeks of induction and spend a little time together in nature outside the center.
There are two ferries that shuttle between Ballycastle and Rathlin Island: one takes 20 minutes, th other, 45. Tiffany, half of the resource couple, had been on both and recommended the slower boat for a smoother ride. It's a pretty treacherous stretch of water, despite being small, because it holds the convergence of seven major currents, including the Gulf Stream, the North Atlantic, and the Irish Sea, among others, squeezed in between two pieces of land. We knew that the ferry company canceled the boats when the water was too rough, but little did we know that the ferry we took was one of the only ones to sail that day--the sea was not at its smoothest, to say the least. The crew wouldn't let us stay on the deck so all 11 of us, plus the 8 or so other people on the boat, had to stay in a cabin that could not have been larger than 6 square feet at the most. Two or three people squeezed onto the back deck, but everyone else was stuck crammed into a tiny, smelly space. As we set out from the harbor we could tell that the water was rough, but it wasn't until about 10 minutes later, when we were no longer sheltered from the wind by the mainland, that the boat fell victim to the ruthless waves that LITERALLY were 5-7 feet high. Within seconds, everyone on the boat turned green, the water was splashing over the side onto the back deck where Tim, Tiffany and Roland were standing until it was about knee high (could I make this up? Thank goodness there were openings at the bottom of the rails!) and the ferry shook so violently that you literally could neither stand up nor sit without bracing yourself/hanging on for dear life.
WARNING: HILARIOUS VOMIT STORY AHEAD; NOT FOR THE FAINT OF STOMACH.
Kat, a fellow LTV, and Aileen, our coordinator, sat next to each other puking into these paper sick bags that looked like they were swiped from a local gift shop to wrap postcards. Andrew, the only one who had admitted being prone to seasickness prior to the fateful voyage, planted himself in front of one of the portholes and did not move for fear of barf, while Michaela's face was literally whiter than a sheet. Sara, everyone's favorite Hungarian, was the third to toss her cookies, and turned a shade of ochre before emptying the contents of her stomach into one of the available paper bags. Twenty minutes in, I glanced at Aileen and Kat, who were vomiting into bags in their left hands, while holding filled bags in their right. Valentin and I handed them tissues and I wanted them to be able at least to throw away the horrible dripping bags of sick they were forced to hold. I went into the bathroom, grabbed the trash can, and held it out for them. Unfortunately, as Aileen tried to throw hers away, she missed the trash, dropping the bag on the floor, where it split open and exploded on my shoes and the floor. An astute crew member had the wisdom to throw bleach on it , which, as you can imagine, served only to increase the awesomeness of the smell taking hold of the tiny, rocking cabin, at which point it was all I could do to keep the morning's toast in its place. Tiffany was the last to lose it, hurling over the back rail as the waves continued their threat of swallowing whole the whole shebang. When we finally landed at Rathlin, all of us practically ran off the boat, except for Aileen and Kat, who stayed with their heads between their knees until they heard the crew chatting about getting us to take them off the boat already. We helped the poor things hobble off the boat and into the office building of a man who used to be a Corrymeela volunteer and now works in Community Development on Rathlin. We had some tea, dried our socks and recovered for the most part (well, except for Kat, who continued her barf crusade for a couple of hours), before listening to a boring talk (no offense! He was very nice! but his voice was soothing and made me want to nap), and starting the walk to our accommodation.
To get to where we were staying, we took a beautiful three mile hike on Rathlin's only road through the most idyllic green hills dotted with purple heather, yellow forsythia and the occasional cow or donkey. We had been told we would be staying in a "camping barn" but we arrived . at a lovely cottage with hardwood floors, nice beds, a kitchen and a full stock of board games--hardly the barn we'd imagined. While half the group stayed in the cottage to drink tea and continue to recover from the traumatic journey, I went with a few others on a walk through the bird sanctuary that occupied half the island. In the summer there are puffins there (puffins!) but this time there were a few birds, a couple of cows and a lot of sheep. We reached the edge of a cliff overlooking an upside-down lighthouse and watched as the deep water crashed against the rocks below.
We returned, played some trivial pursuit and made dinner while I asked questions about Jesus (didn't someone have to betray him? How come Judas gets a bad rap?), the pope (why are people so pissed off about him coming to England? Also I ended up defending John Paul II from the wrath of the resident Catholics. HA!) and whether people thought Harrison Ford was really a robot in Blade Runner. You know, the important stuff. We did some reflecting as a group and were given journals to write in...sometimes it's so nice to do solitary activities like writing while together as a group. After dark, Tim and Tiffany set up an amazing walk on the trail behind the house, guided only by small glow sticks in the ground. Each person started several minutes after the previous person so we were each on our own in the dark, walking through the grass and overlooking the ocean for a large part of it. It was pretty terrifying for me, as I'm still afraid of being alone in the dark, but at one point I looked at the sea and the clouds had opened just where the moon was, causing a beautiful halo of light on the water from the moon. We got back, had a bonfire, played some games together using glow sticks, and I laughed so hard for so long I almost peed my pants.
The next morning, Andrew and I made porridge (oatmeal) for everyone and we spent a relaxed morning hanging out, talking all together, packing up and going over some silly songs and games we had learned for working with kids. After our beautiful walk back to the harbor, we ended up catching the express ferry back, which was a sparkling brand new boat. We sailed over a calm sea, puke free. It was such a great two days just spending time with my fellow volunteers and staff, sharing and reflecting and enjoying the beauty of the natural world around us.
It took washing my hair three (3) times to get most of the smoky smell out of it, and I had the foresight to get my clothes straight in the washing machine before everyone else realized the urgency of the odor situation (thanks, mom!). Yesterday I spent a relaxing day doing not much of anything and tomorrow we are working with our first group! Andrew and I are in charge of 9 5-11-year-olds for three days! Wish us luck! xox
There are two ferries that shuttle between Ballycastle and Rathlin Island: one takes 20 minutes, th other, 45. Tiffany, half of the resource couple, had been on both and recommended the slower boat for a smoother ride. It's a pretty treacherous stretch of water, despite being small, because it holds the convergence of seven major currents, including the Gulf Stream, the North Atlantic, and the Irish Sea, among others, squeezed in between two pieces of land. We knew that the ferry company canceled the boats when the water was too rough, but little did we know that the ferry we took was one of the only ones to sail that day--the sea was not at its smoothest, to say the least. The crew wouldn't let us stay on the deck so all 11 of us, plus the 8 or so other people on the boat, had to stay in a cabin that could not have been larger than 6 square feet at the most. Two or three people squeezed onto the back deck, but everyone else was stuck crammed into a tiny, smelly space. As we set out from the harbor we could tell that the water was rough, but it wasn't until about 10 minutes later, when we were no longer sheltered from the wind by the mainland, that the boat fell victim to the ruthless waves that LITERALLY were 5-7 feet high. Within seconds, everyone on the boat turned green, the water was splashing over the side onto the back deck where Tim, Tiffany and Roland were standing until it was about knee high (could I make this up? Thank goodness there were openings at the bottom of the rails!) and the ferry shook so violently that you literally could neither stand up nor sit without bracing yourself/hanging on for dear life.
WARNING: HILARIOUS VOMIT STORY AHEAD; NOT FOR THE FAINT OF STOMACH.
Kat, a fellow LTV, and Aileen, our coordinator, sat next to each other puking into these paper sick bags that looked like they were swiped from a local gift shop to wrap postcards. Andrew, the only one who had admitted being prone to seasickness prior to the fateful voyage, planted himself in front of one of the portholes and did not move for fear of barf, while Michaela's face was literally whiter than a sheet. Sara, everyone's favorite Hungarian, was the third to toss her cookies, and turned a shade of ochre before emptying the contents of her stomach into one of the available paper bags. Twenty minutes in, I glanced at Aileen and Kat, who were vomiting into bags in their left hands, while holding filled bags in their right. Valentin and I handed them tissues and I wanted them to be able at least to throw away the horrible dripping bags of sick they were forced to hold. I went into the bathroom, grabbed the trash can, and held it out for them. Unfortunately, as Aileen tried to throw hers away, she missed the trash, dropping the bag on the floor, where it split open and exploded on my shoes and the floor. An astute crew member had the wisdom to throw bleach on it , which, as you can imagine, served only to increase the awesomeness of the smell taking hold of the tiny, rocking cabin, at which point it was all I could do to keep the morning's toast in its place. Tiffany was the last to lose it, hurling over the back rail as the waves continued their threat of swallowing whole the whole shebang. When we finally landed at Rathlin, all of us practically ran off the boat, except for Aileen and Kat, who stayed with their heads between their knees until they heard the crew chatting about getting us to take them off the boat already. We helped the poor things hobble off the boat and into the office building of a man who used to be a Corrymeela volunteer and now works in Community Development on Rathlin. We had some tea, dried our socks and recovered for the most part (well, except for Kat, who continued her barf crusade for a couple of hours), before listening to a boring talk (no offense! He was very nice! but his voice was soothing and made me want to nap), and starting the walk to our accommodation.
To get to where we were staying, we took a beautiful three mile hike on Rathlin's only road through the most idyllic green hills dotted with purple heather, yellow forsythia and the occasional cow or donkey. We had been told we would be staying in a "camping barn" but we arrived . at a lovely cottage with hardwood floors, nice beds, a kitchen and a full stock of board games--hardly the barn we'd imagined. While half the group stayed in the cottage to drink tea and continue to recover from the traumatic journey, I went with a few others on a walk through the bird sanctuary that occupied half the island. In the summer there are puffins there (puffins!) but this time there were a few birds, a couple of cows and a lot of sheep. We reached the edge of a cliff overlooking an upside-down lighthouse and watched as the deep water crashed against the rocks below.
We returned, played some trivial pursuit and made dinner while I asked questions about Jesus (didn't someone have to betray him? How come Judas gets a bad rap?), the pope (why are people so pissed off about him coming to England? Also I ended up defending John Paul II from the wrath of the resident Catholics. HA!) and whether people thought Harrison Ford was really a robot in Blade Runner. You know, the important stuff. We did some reflecting as a group and were given journals to write in...sometimes it's so nice to do solitary activities like writing while together as a group. After dark, Tim and Tiffany set up an amazing walk on the trail behind the house, guided only by small glow sticks in the ground. Each person started several minutes after the previous person so we were each on our own in the dark, walking through the grass and overlooking the ocean for a large part of it. It was pretty terrifying for me, as I'm still afraid of being alone in the dark, but at one point I looked at the sea and the clouds had opened just where the moon was, causing a beautiful halo of light on the water from the moon. We got back, had a bonfire, played some games together using glow sticks, and I laughed so hard for so long I almost peed my pants.
The next morning, Andrew and I made porridge (oatmeal) for everyone and we spent a relaxed morning hanging out, talking all together, packing up and going over some silly songs and games we had learned for working with kids. After our beautiful walk back to the harbor, we ended up catching the express ferry back, which was a sparkling brand new boat. We sailed over a calm sea, puke free. It was such a great two days just spending time with my fellow volunteers and staff, sharing and reflecting and enjoying the beauty of the natural world around us.
It took washing my hair three (3) times to get most of the smoky smell out of it, and I had the foresight to get my clothes straight in the washing machine before everyone else realized the urgency of the odor situation (thanks, mom!). Yesterday I spent a relaxing day doing not much of anything and tomorrow we are working with our first group! Andrew and I are in charge of 9 5-11-year-olds for three days! Wish us luck! xox
Thursday, September 16, 2010
Mercy, Truth, Peace and Justice
It's been a good but busy past few days as we draw nearer to the end of the "induction" period for me and my fellow long-term volunteers (LTVs). Yesterday we had a very interesting session with Paul, the center director, about a little bit of the history of Corrymeela and the role of Christianity in both its history and philosophy. He ended up talking very little about the religious aspect and instead told some fascinating anecdotes about his work as a mediator and facilitator over the past 20 years in Northern Ireland. Paul talks a lot about the importance of stories, which, as anyone who witnessed my academic journey at college would know, is right up my alley. He often references the fact that no matter what, people approach the subject, symbol or event at hand based on their own experience. For example, when he walked into the room yesterday I, along with Sara and Tiff, was singing songs from the Sound of Music. He explained that his father, who hated musicals, would turn off the TV when he saw Julie Andrews come on, and that walking into the room like that brought him right back there to his living room as a kid. A symbol that is specifically endowed with meaning, like the Bible, will evoke a huge range of reactions based entirely on that person's context and experience. Such is the challenge, he discussed, when mediating conflict--everything, from the terms used, to the venue, to the affiliations of those involved, will have an impact great or small on the discussion. He also told us about Ray Davey, the founder of Corrymeela, who was greatly impacted by his witnessing of Dresden three days after it was fire bombed when he was a POW in Germany. As he witnessed the massive death and destruction around him, he questioned what it meant that he was in the British Army, fighting for the "good guys" that were also capable of committing such horrendous crimes against civilians. What does that say about those considered "good"? The center was founded in 1965, prior to the start of the "Troubles" in Northern Ireland, but as a direct result of the sharply segregated society that created such ready antagonism.
As he talked about reconciliation, I wondered a lot about letting go, how people are able to move past all the hurt and trauma of the conflict, violence, war. He said that in the case of a post-conflict society, peace and justice stand at odds to one another, as do mercy and truth. There are those who demand for only the truth, only mercy, and neither alone will leave anyone feeling healed or able to move forward. Likewise, those who demand justice may never feel satiated if they do not also have a desire for peace. Those who aim to quiet people down for the sake of peace without addressing the issues of justice are not facing the issue at all.
Then tonight we were given a talk by Derick Wilson, one of the first members of Corrymeela, a university professor who is truly inspirational in his involvement not only with the peace process but in his general involvement in creating a just society. He also talked about Ray Davey, about the experience of growing up in a place so segregated, where difference was absolutely not tolerated when the "other" was a political threat, and was politely tolerated when the "other" was a minority too small to be threatening. He talked about rather than fixing relationships between people of creating patterns of relationships in which people interact and mix with one another. He spoke beautifully and i tried to take as many notes as possible. At one point, when he talked about the importance of Corrymeela as a safe and private space for those seeking sanctuary from the conflict, be it political leaders who needed to meet in secret with the opposing party or families that were literally exiled from their neighborhoods by paramilitaries, he cautioned us against wishing we had been a part of Corrymeela then: "You do not need to be in the middle of the sorrow of naked violence that occurs when people go to those measures to scapegoat and blame." He encouraged us to be a "community that learns together", emphasizing that having highs and lows is OK as long as we have them together. "Your being together in a diverse community," he said, "is gold dust for what the world needs." We need to redefine "community" as it often stands as determining a group apart from, and often better than, others. "This is not a place for experts," Derick asserted, adding that the fact that we are young and inexperienced, that we are seeking to find ourselves and looking to grow mirrors the experience of those that come here who are also trying to find new ways to grow and be. With a laugh he insisted that "everybody's not the same! If we were all the same, we'd fight more!" because isn't it the case that we fight with those who remind us of ourselves deep down, whether or not we admit it. Corrymeela needs to be a place where each person is viewed as a gift to one another--not as a problem, as many groups of people are (such as those in prison, for example). It is our role as part of Corrymeela to help people experience what it is like to be a potential gift to other human beings. Derick also placed an emphasis on facilitating processes between people who are different in order to foster new relationships and, ultimately, new structures. The value of a residential experience in a world where people don't live together is that it provides a space for the head (thinking) to meet the heart (feeling) and the gut (believing). If victims can come here and reconcile, the rest of us have no excuse. Finally, Derick ended with the thought that real change happens when people truly commit themselves to one another and take risks for one another.
Much food for thought, which I will have time to contemplate over the next few days as we go camping as a group on Rathlin Island, a small island just off the coast that we can see from the center. Whee! Peace be with you xox
As he talked about reconciliation, I wondered a lot about letting go, how people are able to move past all the hurt and trauma of the conflict, violence, war. He said that in the case of a post-conflict society, peace and justice stand at odds to one another, as do mercy and truth. There are those who demand for only the truth, only mercy, and neither alone will leave anyone feeling healed or able to move forward. Likewise, those who demand justice may never feel satiated if they do not also have a desire for peace. Those who aim to quiet people down for the sake of peace without addressing the issues of justice are not facing the issue at all.
Then tonight we were given a talk by Derick Wilson, one of the first members of Corrymeela, a university professor who is truly inspirational in his involvement not only with the peace process but in his general involvement in creating a just society. He also talked about Ray Davey, about the experience of growing up in a place so segregated, where difference was absolutely not tolerated when the "other" was a political threat, and was politely tolerated when the "other" was a minority too small to be threatening. He talked about rather than fixing relationships between people of creating patterns of relationships in which people interact and mix with one another. He spoke beautifully and i tried to take as many notes as possible. At one point, when he talked about the importance of Corrymeela as a safe and private space for those seeking sanctuary from the conflict, be it political leaders who needed to meet in secret with the opposing party or families that were literally exiled from their neighborhoods by paramilitaries, he cautioned us against wishing we had been a part of Corrymeela then: "You do not need to be in the middle of the sorrow of naked violence that occurs when people go to those measures to scapegoat and blame." He encouraged us to be a "community that learns together", emphasizing that having highs and lows is OK as long as we have them together. "Your being together in a diverse community," he said, "is gold dust for what the world needs." We need to redefine "community" as it often stands as determining a group apart from, and often better than, others. "This is not a place for experts," Derick asserted, adding that the fact that we are young and inexperienced, that we are seeking to find ourselves and looking to grow mirrors the experience of those that come here who are also trying to find new ways to grow and be. With a laugh he insisted that "everybody's not the same! If we were all the same, we'd fight more!" because isn't it the case that we fight with those who remind us of ourselves deep down, whether or not we admit it. Corrymeela needs to be a place where each person is viewed as a gift to one another--not as a problem, as many groups of people are (such as those in prison, for example). It is our role as part of Corrymeela to help people experience what it is like to be a potential gift to other human beings. Derick also placed an emphasis on facilitating processes between people who are different in order to foster new relationships and, ultimately, new structures. The value of a residential experience in a world where people don't live together is that it provides a space for the head (thinking) to meet the heart (feeling) and the gut (believing). If victims can come here and reconcile, the rest of us have no excuse. Finally, Derick ended with the thought that real change happens when people truly commit themselves to one another and take risks for one another.
Much food for thought, which I will have time to contemplate over the next few days as we go camping as a group on Rathlin Island, a small island just off the coast that we can see from the center. Whee! Peace be with you xox
Tuesday, September 14, 2010
First Day Off
The past few days have allowed me to get closer with several of my fellow volunteers, especially Sara, a woman from Hungary, and Nancy, a mid-term volunteer here til December from the US. Sara (prounounced "shah-ra" but we call her "shah-ri" which is her nickname) is 27, from Budapest and returned in January from ten months in India and Nepal. Of the group, I'd say she is one of the more religious people, in that her knowledge of the Bible and commitment to the church is stronger than that of most others'. She is lovely, very smart, has spent time living in England and Denmark and speaks with a combination English/Hungarian accent. When we watch movies all together, she and Valentin, the volunteer from Germany, usually sit next to each other so they can fill in the holes in each other's English vocabulary. For example, during the Breakfast Club, when Emilio Estevez explains that he was sent to detention for "taping Larry Lester's buns together," Sara had the honor of explaining to Valentin what exactly was taped. She brought with her a bottle of palenka (sp?) a form of "Hungarian moonshine," as she called it, made from apricots, plums or other fruit that literally smells like impending death. Sara spent time in India at various meditation centers and Ashrams, has a very calming presence and practices a type of exercise that preceded Tai Chi.
Nancy is in her early seventies, a retired social work professor from Minnesota. Incidentally, as we discovered the first time we met, her son Robert was my brother's "big sib" in the SAE fraternity at Occidental! Such a small world--it's nuts. She is super smart and interesting, had a brief stint in the 50+ Peace Corps program in Jamaica before teaching English in Mexico and then heading here. She is certainly an anomaly in terms of her age as a mid-term volunteer but she's a very nice presence and both me and Andrew, the other American long-termer, have taken to having long chats with her in the evenings.
I have found since being here that I cherish my alone time more than I ever have. The living situation is not tremendously different from college in terms of constant proximity to other people, how quickly we felt like we'd known each other forever and the way in which we are living this year of our lives completely together. At the same time, I never felt the need to get away and be on my own so urgently sometimes as I do here. For some reason I feel in a very pensive state of mind, like I need to take time out to process what goes on as opposed to needing to process it with other people. Am I becoming an introvert?!?! Probs not:)
We had our first day off today and I walked into town with Sara and my roommate, Jeni. It;s about a 20-30 minute walk to Ballycastle and we walked along the beach on the way there which was very beautiful. It was nice to walk around and not be on a schedule. As we started to walk back it began to rain. The rain here is strange--sometimes when it's raining hard, despite the fact that it's coming down in sheets, it still feels very light and doesn't soak you through. We walked along the golf course beside the ocean and the grass was so green, it looked like someone had just come with a marker and colored it in. We picked lots of blackberries from the side of the road--maybe we will make a crumble later.
As we chatted about our time so far at Corrymeela, Sara brought up an interesting point that "worship" at Corrymeela is often a discussion or personal reflection, a question or song. It is mostly a drawing forth of the thoughts of those present, in contrast to a traditional service in a church or synagogue that consists of one or several people telling or encouraging those present to think, act or feel a certain way.
Nancy is in her early seventies, a retired social work professor from Minnesota. Incidentally, as we discovered the first time we met, her son Robert was my brother's "big sib" in the SAE fraternity at Occidental! Such a small world--it's nuts. She is super smart and interesting, had a brief stint in the 50+ Peace Corps program in Jamaica before teaching English in Mexico and then heading here. She is certainly an anomaly in terms of her age as a mid-term volunteer but she's a very nice presence and both me and Andrew, the other American long-termer, have taken to having long chats with her in the evenings.
I have found since being here that I cherish my alone time more than I ever have. The living situation is not tremendously different from college in terms of constant proximity to other people, how quickly we felt like we'd known each other forever and the way in which we are living this year of our lives completely together. At the same time, I never felt the need to get away and be on my own so urgently sometimes as I do here. For some reason I feel in a very pensive state of mind, like I need to take time out to process what goes on as opposed to needing to process it with other people. Am I becoming an introvert?!?! Probs not:)
We had our first day off today and I walked into town with Sara and my roommate, Jeni. It;s about a 20-30 minute walk to Ballycastle and we walked along the beach on the way there which was very beautiful. It was nice to walk around and not be on a schedule. As we started to walk back it began to rain. The rain here is strange--sometimes when it's raining hard, despite the fact that it's coming down in sheets, it still feels very light and doesn't soak you through. We walked along the golf course beside the ocean and the grass was so green, it looked like someone had just come with a marker and colored it in. We picked lots of blackberries from the side of the road--maybe we will make a crumble later.
As we chatted about our time so far at Corrymeela, Sara brought up an interesting point that "worship" at Corrymeela is often a discussion or personal reflection, a question or song. It is mostly a drawing forth of the thoughts of those present, in contrast to a traditional service in a church or synagogue that consists of one or several people telling or encouraging those present to think, act or feel a certain way.
Saturday, September 11, 2010
Feels like Fiction
I've been at Corrymeela just under a week and it feels as if I've been here a month. What can I say--I am living in a place where I step out the door and overlook the ocean from the top of a cliff covered in blackberry brambles and fuschia, where my primary obligations include leading songs and games and organizing closets. This week and next are our "induction" (Irish for orientation) and the past six days have involved lots of sitting listening to staff members from 9AM to 10 PM go over how to evacuate the building in a fire, rules and policies and how to assemble a tea trolley. There have also been some team building activities and training in how to facilitate experiential learning, which has been much more stimulating. The staff consist of a very warm and friendly group, from the center director, Paul, who reminds me a little of my college professor Tony, to Aileen, the volunteer coordinator who is our main go-to. There is also a couple in the position of "resource couple"--a married couple who generally stay for two years, live on site and perform a variety of functions around the center. Their names are Tim and Tiffany, they're from New Jersey and Texas, respectively, and they are full of energy and enthusiasm. There will be nine total long-term volunteers, those who will stay a full year, though one of them, from Cameroon, will only arrive in October, so it's only eight for the time being. My roommate, Jeni, is lovely--turning 20 in a month and just spent five months volunteering in New Orleans. She's from Northern Ireland, so it's nice to have her perspective. She cracks me up--we were talking about living as roommates on the first day and she insisted that the only thing about roommates that bothers her is when they don't squeeze the toothpaste from the bottom so the stripes don't come out clearly when the tube is almost empty. We have a lot in common--she also moved around quite a bit as a kid and also went to boarding school for her last year or two of high school. Jeni's dad is a Methodist minister, though she herself is not religious, so she has a pretty unique perspective on spirituality. Speaking of which, living as a Jew in a Christian community is proving to be both interesting and isolating at times. Similar to my experience living in Utah, people here are very curious about and interested in the Jewish religion and culture. Sometimes it can be a pain to feel like a Jewbassador all the time, but most of the time I enjoy being able to answer questions about things that many if not most people here have never had the opportunity to find out about. On the eve and first day of Rosh Hashana I gave short presentations about the holiday. On Wednesday I cut up apples and passed around apples and honey while i explained the significance of the holiday. Then i spent a little bit of time explaining the shofar and had even found a youtube video of a guy playing the four calls so they could see what it was like. Then i taught them my favorite Rosh Hashana song--Bashana Haba'a--in Hebrew! It was super fun, I had prepared a transliteration/translation of the song and also wrote out the lyrics in Hebrew so they could see the writing. The next morning I woke up to a sign Jeni had made that said Shana Tova and she had copied my terrible Hebrew handwriting to write some of the song lyrics on the poster! So cute.
The next day I said the Aleinu, sang Avinu Malkeinu and led a discussion about the Akedah (Binding of Isaac), the portion read every Rosh Hashana and incidentally also my Bat Mitzvah portion. The discussion went very well, especially because several people here really know the Bible and can draw references and connections that really add depth to the dialogue. Being here on the holiday made me miss my family but in a way I also felt glad that I was able to celebrate in such a meaningful, albeit different way. One of the midterm volunteers who is here until December is from Ghana and has never learned anything whatsoever about Judaism (he says that it's illegal to teach Judaism in schools in Ghana because it would be too confusing to teach it in addition to Christianity and Islam but he also doesn't speak English perfectly and often tends to think that if he hasn't experienced something it doesn't exist). In any case, the first question he asked was whether Jesus was our Messiah. I said no, Jesus was, in fact, Jewish, meaning that the religious tenets were already complete several thousand years before Christ was born. Not five minutes later, after I had answered a few more questions around the room, he asked me if Jews believe in John the Baptist. At first I wasn't sure if maybe he was kidding but quickly recognized that he was not, before explaining again exactly what I had just outlined. It was like he just couldn't wrap his head around having hald of the Christian Bible without continuing on to Christ, which must seem fairly illogical to someone who has never heard of Judaism. Still, it wasn't as bad as when someone asked me what "type" of Jew I was. He meant Reform, Conservative or Orthodox. I said A positive.
The dryness of the induction period is broken up by some lovely moments with the other volunteers and just by being in this beautiful place. Yesterday we had two hours off from 2-4 so a bunch of us walked down to the beach, a 20 minute walk at the most, just at the bottom of the cliff we live on. The sun was out almost the whole day, a rarity in a place that often rotates every twenty minutes between sun and rain. Even though the weather was only a little warm and the sea considerably cold, we went in, swimming in the shallows and gasping from the cold water. It was absolutely a delight, the adrenaline from the cold and the saltwater in my hair and on my skin. There is a bridge that juts out from the beach to the tidepools, which we crossed and explored. I couldn't help but wonder every few minutes: "is this my life??" On the way back we stopped every few feet to eat the wild blackberries that grew rampant on the side of the road, our fingers stained with the purple juice, every so often getting a particularly sour or sweet one. When we got back we had ten minutes to de-beachify ourselves before an intense fire drill that involved way too much running for my taste!
At the moment there is a youth group at the center called Face to Face/Faith to Faith. It's a program that has groups in Northern Ireland, Cape Town, Jerusalem and various places in the US for kids of different faiths and backgrounds to meet and interact. There are less than 20 of them, mostly Catholic and Protestant with four Muslim students (including a Turk!). Tonight I led "worship" to commemorate September 11, which involved having people share their stories and memories of that day, followed by everyone singing "Od Yavo Shalom" which it turned out they knew! Very nice way to end the day. That's all for now--sending love your way. xox
The next day I said the Aleinu, sang Avinu Malkeinu and led a discussion about the Akedah (Binding of Isaac), the portion read every Rosh Hashana and incidentally also my Bat Mitzvah portion. The discussion went very well, especially because several people here really know the Bible and can draw references and connections that really add depth to the dialogue. Being here on the holiday made me miss my family but in a way I also felt glad that I was able to celebrate in such a meaningful, albeit different way. One of the midterm volunteers who is here until December is from Ghana and has never learned anything whatsoever about Judaism (he says that it's illegal to teach Judaism in schools in Ghana because it would be too confusing to teach it in addition to Christianity and Islam but he also doesn't speak English perfectly and often tends to think that if he hasn't experienced something it doesn't exist). In any case, the first question he asked was whether Jesus was our Messiah. I said no, Jesus was, in fact, Jewish, meaning that the religious tenets were already complete several thousand years before Christ was born. Not five minutes later, after I had answered a few more questions around the room, he asked me if Jews believe in John the Baptist. At first I wasn't sure if maybe he was kidding but quickly recognized that he was not, before explaining again exactly what I had just outlined. It was like he just couldn't wrap his head around having hald of the Christian Bible without continuing on to Christ, which must seem fairly illogical to someone who has never heard of Judaism. Still, it wasn't as bad as when someone asked me what "type" of Jew I was. He meant Reform, Conservative or Orthodox. I said A positive.
The dryness of the induction period is broken up by some lovely moments with the other volunteers and just by being in this beautiful place. Yesterday we had two hours off from 2-4 so a bunch of us walked down to the beach, a 20 minute walk at the most, just at the bottom of the cliff we live on. The sun was out almost the whole day, a rarity in a place that often rotates every twenty minutes between sun and rain. Even though the weather was only a little warm and the sea considerably cold, we went in, swimming in the shallows and gasping from the cold water. It was absolutely a delight, the adrenaline from the cold and the saltwater in my hair and on my skin. There is a bridge that juts out from the beach to the tidepools, which we crossed and explored. I couldn't help but wonder every few minutes: "is this my life??" On the way back we stopped every few feet to eat the wild blackberries that grew rampant on the side of the road, our fingers stained with the purple juice, every so often getting a particularly sour or sweet one. When we got back we had ten minutes to de-beachify ourselves before an intense fire drill that involved way too much running for my taste!
At the moment there is a youth group at the center called Face to Face/Faith to Faith. It's a program that has groups in Northern Ireland, Cape Town, Jerusalem and various places in the US for kids of different faiths and backgrounds to meet and interact. There are less than 20 of them, mostly Catholic and Protestant with four Muslim students (including a Turk!). Tonight I led "worship" to commemorate September 11, which involved having people share their stories and memories of that day, followed by everyone singing "Od Yavo Shalom" which it turned out they knew! Very nice way to end the day. That's all for now--sending love your way. xox
Thursday, September 9, 2010
Fast Forward and beyond
It's funny nowadays to start your travel by taking off your shoes. The recent phenomenon of being in an airport, one of the most public places one can imagine, with people of all backgrounds, cultures, nationalities and professions, taking off their shoes together to make the five foot journey to the other side of the metal detector. Like some kind of reverent religious ritual, no one needs to be asked, everyone standing in their bare feet or socks as they await being labeled safe and secure to fly with others. Like a small, instant, transient community, you stand with your fellow travelers awaiting the mechanical scrutiny of a machine, vulnerable in a way we rarely are in public, knowing your ability to leave the area is determined by the time it takes for the plastic bin with your shoes, your more literal ticket, comes out the mouth of the x-ray examination.
Hello!
As you may or may not know, I have chosen to accept the position of long-term volunteer at the Corrymeela Community, a peace and reconciliation center located about an hour and a half northwest of Belfast, Northern Ireland. I first visited Corrymeela as a junior in college during my semester abroad in Ireland, enrolled in the School for International Training's Peace and Conflict Studies program. While my first visit was bracketed by bouts of pinkeye and bed bugs (ew! disgusting yet hilarious story), it was still one of the highlights of a wonderful semester. After graduating in May 2009 and being rejected from several fellowships to go abroad, I spent a year living at home and working as an assistant teacher at the Clear View School, where my mom works as a therapist. The school provides day treatment for severely emotionally disturbed/mentally ill kids residing throughout the southern half of New York State. Working at Clear View was a great experience--I was fortunate to work with extraordinarily compassionate, capable and insightful people and learned a tremendous amount not only about mental illness, therapeutic support and compassionate care, but also about myself, working as part of a cohesive team and effective listening. In any case, the urge to go abroad again was too tempting and I decided to apply to volunteer at Corrymeela only a week or two before the deadline for long term volunteer applications. I spent the summer back as a counselor at Buck's Rock Camp, working in the office and as a guidance counselor with the CITs, notified Clear View of my resignation in July, bought a one-way ticket to Belfast for $350 and hit the road!
My last week at home was fairly hectic as we prepare to sell our house. For at least the third time in a few years, I sorted, organized and donated much of the contents of my room. While parting from my family and the few friends I have in the New York area was hard, leaving the house was maybe the most emotional aspect of leaving, as I know it will be the last time I would spend in the house we have lived in for thirteen years. It's pretty impressive the way that we can form such strong attachments to what is essentially comprised of some walls, floors and paint. The truth is that I do really love that house, not least because my family has been in it for longer than any other place of residence. I was tearful as I walked through it for the last time, incredulous that it would not be here for me upon my return. By the same token, however, moving out is definitely the right decision and it will be good to let go of the obligations involved in caring for a house that size.
It is partly for this reason that packing what I was taking to Ireland became such a painstaking process, as well as the difficulty I had in narrowing down what I was taking, resulting in a gross over packing. Note to self: Three suitcases and an overstuffed backpack is NOT an acceptable amount of stuff for one person to take across the Atlantic. Just saying. The flight was uneventful and I even hung out in the airport in Newark with a friend from camp who lives at camp year round but was on her way home to Edinburgh for a visit and was flying out from the same terminal only an hour after me! Best $8 glass of wine I've ever had--thanks for the good times, Bev! I slept for about an hour or two on the plane, watched some TV and was the first one off the plane thanks to my exit row seat (assigned to me mere minutes before I boarded).
In any case, once I arrived in Belfast I phoned the host family I was staying with for the weekend, took a bus into the city center and was met by Judith, a warm and lovely woman living just outside East Belfast with her husband, Johnston. The Morrows have three daughters, the middle daughter having been a long term volunteer three years ago and the youngest of which is my age but was on vacation in Spain. They live on and operate a dairy farm, large for Northern Ireland with about 250 heads of cattle. They also have many other farm animals and run an open farm for people, especially families with kids, to visit a farm, see how it’s run, see cows being milked, pet a goat, hold a chick, etc., etc. The other lovely surprise of the weekend was a group of ADORABLE puppies—a yellow lab and two black labs—only 8 weeks old and for sale. One of the dogs was particularly teeny and we became fast friends...I ended up carrying him in my sweatshirt half the weekend! So cute! I managed to get through the day with only a two hour nap, went to sleep at 11ish and slept for FIFTEEN (15) HOURS, awakening the next day at 2PM! Oy! That night there was a barbeque at the house for local members of the Corrymeela Community at which I met two of the other volunteers: Kat from England and Roland from the Philippines. The community members were absolutely lovely, so welcoming, trying so hard to pronounce my name correctly! Unfortunately, my body compensated for the 15 hours of sleep by refusing to fall asleep AT ALL for the entire night! Needless to say, I got out of bed fairly groggy but surprisingly energetic, all things considered. Because I was up early, I went around with Judith while she fed all the animals—very fun. They have a whole bunch of chickens and guinea hens, rabbits, chicks, a “wee mouse house” as they say, three pigs, including one nursing twelve piglets, sheep, goats (that make sounds like people impersonating goats), calves, guinea pigs, geese...very picturesque, especially with the beautiful rolling hills in the background! I got my stuff together and around 2:00 was picked up by host family for the rest of the year which consists of a 29-year-old gay man who loves theater and cooking and is awesome! Full of energy, had just come back from a vacation in Santorini, Greece and was just full of life. He took me to the center via a scenic route that added about an hour to the journey but was absolutely breathtaking, right along the northern coast and over the most stereotypically Irish green rolling hills you can imagine.
Since I arrived at the center last Sunday (I can’t believe it’s been less than a week here!) the routine has been a lot of training sessions...I will elaborate more in the next post about my job, the other volunteers and people I work with, how I celebrated Rosh Hashanah and what is in store for this new year. In the meantime, I hope you all are well, know that I miss you and plan on sharing as often as I can to keep you all abreast of my whereabouts and goings on.
xox, Yael (your favorite daughter/sister/miscellaneous relative/friend)
Hello!
As you may or may not know, I have chosen to accept the position of long-term volunteer at the Corrymeela Community, a peace and reconciliation center located about an hour and a half northwest of Belfast, Northern Ireland. I first visited Corrymeela as a junior in college during my semester abroad in Ireland, enrolled in the School for International Training's Peace and Conflict Studies program. While my first visit was bracketed by bouts of pinkeye and bed bugs (ew! disgusting yet hilarious story), it was still one of the highlights of a wonderful semester. After graduating in May 2009 and being rejected from several fellowships to go abroad, I spent a year living at home and working as an assistant teacher at the Clear View School, where my mom works as a therapist. The school provides day treatment for severely emotionally disturbed/mentally ill kids residing throughout the southern half of New York State. Working at Clear View was a great experience--I was fortunate to work with extraordinarily compassionate, capable and insightful people and learned a tremendous amount not only about mental illness, therapeutic support and compassionate care, but also about myself, working as part of a cohesive team and effective listening. In any case, the urge to go abroad again was too tempting and I decided to apply to volunteer at Corrymeela only a week or two before the deadline for long term volunteer applications. I spent the summer back as a counselor at Buck's Rock Camp, working in the office and as a guidance counselor with the CITs, notified Clear View of my resignation in July, bought a one-way ticket to Belfast for $350 and hit the road!
My last week at home was fairly hectic as we prepare to sell our house. For at least the third time in a few years, I sorted, organized and donated much of the contents of my room. While parting from my family and the few friends I have in the New York area was hard, leaving the house was maybe the most emotional aspect of leaving, as I know it will be the last time I would spend in the house we have lived in for thirteen years. It's pretty impressive the way that we can form such strong attachments to what is essentially comprised of some walls, floors and paint. The truth is that I do really love that house, not least because my family has been in it for longer than any other place of residence. I was tearful as I walked through it for the last time, incredulous that it would not be here for me upon my return. By the same token, however, moving out is definitely the right decision and it will be good to let go of the obligations involved in caring for a house that size.
It is partly for this reason that packing what I was taking to Ireland became such a painstaking process, as well as the difficulty I had in narrowing down what I was taking, resulting in a gross over packing. Note to self: Three suitcases and an overstuffed backpack is NOT an acceptable amount of stuff for one person to take across the Atlantic. Just saying. The flight was uneventful and I even hung out in the airport in Newark with a friend from camp who lives at camp year round but was on her way home to Edinburgh for a visit and was flying out from the same terminal only an hour after me! Best $8 glass of wine I've ever had--thanks for the good times, Bev! I slept for about an hour or two on the plane, watched some TV and was the first one off the plane thanks to my exit row seat (assigned to me mere minutes before I boarded).
In any case, once I arrived in Belfast I phoned the host family I was staying with for the weekend, took a bus into the city center and was met by Judith, a warm and lovely woman living just outside East Belfast with her husband, Johnston. The Morrows have three daughters, the middle daughter having been a long term volunteer three years ago and the youngest of which is my age but was on vacation in Spain. They live on and operate a dairy farm, large for Northern Ireland with about 250 heads of cattle. They also have many other farm animals and run an open farm for people, especially families with kids, to visit a farm, see how it’s run, see cows being milked, pet a goat, hold a chick, etc., etc. The other lovely surprise of the weekend was a group of ADORABLE puppies—a yellow lab and two black labs—only 8 weeks old and for sale. One of the dogs was particularly teeny and we became fast friends...I ended up carrying him in my sweatshirt half the weekend! So cute! I managed to get through the day with only a two hour nap, went to sleep at 11ish and slept for FIFTEEN (15) HOURS, awakening the next day at 2PM! Oy! That night there was a barbeque at the house for local members of the Corrymeela Community at which I met two of the other volunteers: Kat from England and Roland from the Philippines. The community members were absolutely lovely, so welcoming, trying so hard to pronounce my name correctly! Unfortunately, my body compensated for the 15 hours of sleep by refusing to fall asleep AT ALL for the entire night! Needless to say, I got out of bed fairly groggy but surprisingly energetic, all things considered. Because I was up early, I went around with Judith while she fed all the animals—very fun. They have a whole bunch of chickens and guinea hens, rabbits, chicks, a “wee mouse house” as they say, three pigs, including one nursing twelve piglets, sheep, goats (that make sounds like people impersonating goats), calves, guinea pigs, geese...very picturesque, especially with the beautiful rolling hills in the background! I got my stuff together and around 2:00 was picked up by host family for the rest of the year which consists of a 29-year-old gay man who loves theater and cooking and is awesome! Full of energy, had just come back from a vacation in Santorini, Greece and was just full of life. He took me to the center via a scenic route that added about an hour to the journey but was absolutely breathtaking, right along the northern coast and over the most stereotypically Irish green rolling hills you can imagine.
Since I arrived at the center last Sunday (I can’t believe it’s been less than a week here!) the routine has been a lot of training sessions...I will elaborate more in the next post about my job, the other volunteers and people I work with, how I celebrated Rosh Hashanah and what is in store for this new year. In the meantime, I hope you all are well, know that I miss you and plan on sharing as often as I can to keep you all abreast of my whereabouts and goings on.
xox, Yael (your favorite daughter/sister/miscellaneous relative/friend)
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