WWMSD: What would Martha Stewart do....

In an effort to keep this blog from being all about fun, lightness and frivolity (to quote Mr. Grant from the MTM show, "After all, life is more than just mirth and whoopy") I thought I would impart some of my adventures with the...nittier-grittier aspects of life here in northeastern Hungary. Namely, my appliances.

I need to name my washing machine. I am afraid of it. Maybe a name will bring down the intimidation factor. Like most of my appliances, my washer is considerably smaller than it's American counterpart. That part I don't mind; I can adjust to doing things on a smaller scale. I'm only one person, after all, and one doesn't exactly sweat bullets in this climate, so I can certainly learn to economize where it concerns laundry. No, the daunting part is the fact that this small machine a) drains into my bathtub, so if I manage to knock the drain hose awry, I will flood my bathroom with detergent and water and b) this small washer makes so much noise I am convinced Soviet tanks are tearing through the building in an attempt to recapture Hungary.

I have successfully done one load of laundry, and #2 is currently being uh..pulverized by this contraption.

Next is my range. Well this isn't Hungary's fault. I'm just not used to gas stoves. I've never lived in a home that had one. It took Mariann showing me how to use it twice in order for me to get it. I attempted to light it on my own between instructional sessions 1 and 2, but I saw no flame and smelled gas so I hastily opened the window and aborted the whole process. Turns out, I wasn't approaching the lighting process with enough  chutzbah (when it comes to things like lighters and gas, I've never been one to exhibit lots of chutzbah). I have successfully cooked a pan of chicken and a pot of rice (which was only minimally burned).

I haven't even touched the oven yet. The teacher who was here before me told me she burned a lot of stuff. 'Nuf said. Will tackle the oven on a day when I feel particularly ambitious. Or when my mom gets here. 

I already tripped a breaker by flipping a light switch. I guess something shorted out because the bulb burned out when I turned on the light, and all the appliances/lights in that part of the flat went out. A little initiative got me through this trial. I stood on a chair so I could gander at the breaker box (or whatever you call that thing) and flipped the switch that didn't look like the others. Boddaboom, boddabing, I had lights again (well except the one burned bulb). Bob Vila ain't got nothin' on me. 

Finally, I must give a shout-out to my bathroom faucet. And shower. Well they are one in the same. See, it goes like this -- when I shower, I turn on the faucet in the sink to the appropriate temperature. Then I pull this little nob, and the water switches from the sink faucet to the shower head. So basically, I have a faucet with a shower head attached to the back end of it. This is not a spatial challenge because the bathroom is so small that the sink is right next to the tub anyway. Really, it's quite a functional little system. Just. Different. 

This would seem to describe many aspects of life here: small, functional, and ...different.

Expectations: why DO they get you every time?

Well, this adventure is ...shockingly enough...not going as I expected. Truth be told, I didn't know what to expect regarding many aspects of it. But I know what I wanted out of it -- to prove something about my strength.
See, I've always felt that I was too "tied to the apron strings" (as it were), that I was too dependent on my family, that I needed to do something to prove to myself and ...the world I guess...that I'm a big girl, that maybe I'm not as limited as my emotional issues have always made me feel that I am. 

There are tears coursing down my face as I write this because, in the upheaval of trying to prove my strength, I have become so paralysingly (yes, new word) depressed that my mom (along with my aunt) is flying over here in two days to help me get stabilized on an antidepressant. I didn't broadcast it at the time, but I had a panic attack the night after I arrived in Budapest. I managed to get through orientation with anxiety meds, assuming I'd be better once I got settled and started with my job. And that's when the bottom started to fall out.

Strength indeed. 

I agonized over the decision to let Mom come. Do I just need to buck up and get through it? Is this just homesickness and a natural part of moving on to another phase of life? Am I taking the easy way out? The truth is, I feel such gut-wrenching emotional pain and darkness that I have almost no appetite, zero motivation for...anything...And I just can't do it anymore. Depression in American wasn't fun. Depression in a foreign country where the days are short and the sun shines rarely and there are no other Americans to be seen ..welll...it's just a whole new level of fun :)

I'm learning a lot though. About humility..and Hungarians. My contact teacher (the person from the school assigned to handle all my integration issues) is a wonderful woman named Marianne. She is Hungarian but speaks English well. Like many Hungarians/Eastern Europeans, she doesn't have the warmest exterior upon first acquaintance. But I'm finding out how warm her heart is. I feel utterly helpless and at her mercy as we have spent the last two days navigating the red tape of getting a residence permit and national health insurance card (if anyone was wondering how I am teaching in my current state of mind,I haven't been for the last two days because we've had to travel twice to the bigger nearby city of Miskolc to handle paperwork). Marianne also took me shopping today for some things my flat needed, and is constantly asking if there is anything else she can do. After the 6000th "thank you" from me (which came after she took me to the doctor) she finally told me to stop thanking her and to consider her my "spare mother." I don't think she quite "gets" depression, but she knows I am unwell and calls or texts me each evening to make sure I am ok and have eaten dinner. It really is quite humbling for me to be this dependent on a relative stranger. But I'm trying to let her help me because I know deep down that accepting  charity is as character-building as handing it out.

What was that about independence...

4th grade fun

In total, I teach 16 classes each week: 2 classes per grade for grades 1-8 (btw, 1st grade here is a year later than it is in the US so my first graders are all 7ish). Plus I will have six other class sessions with smaller groups for tutoring, test prep, etc. but those don't start till next week. Anyway, each grade has a Hungarian teacher who teachers their English grammar (and at least some of their other subjects), and I am here for the conversational English lessons. This being my first week (and my first day being a Tuesday, as I was at orientation in Budapest till Monday) it has been a bit crazy, but basically for each class I have gone in and introduced myself and spent the majority of the 45 minute class period telling my students about myself and getting them to tell me about themselves. With the older grades who have had several years of English already, this is pretty easy.  With the younger grades who don't know much English yet, this can be considerably more challenging (however the little kids are so stinking cute that it all evens out). Today, one of the groups I had was the 4th graders. Based on my experience with 4th graders yesterday in which I overestimated how much English they knew, I was prepared today to spend time playing games rather than just doing introductions. Introductions just don't take up much time when all the kids can say is "My name is Betti. I am 10 years old." So "Mees Abeegail" was ready and waiting with "article of clothing bingo" once the topic of pets was pretty much exhausted (btw, in  future I will have real lesson plans, but since the point is to get them to talk in English, introductions can be very much a part of their English education). This group turned out to be my favorite yet for the following reasons:
As they were introducing themselves, one little girl came over to my desk and handed me a note from her mother. At first I was like "uh oh, I've only been here a day, and already parental trouble." But no, it was a lovely note in broken English from a woman named Eve, offering her services in any way as I settle in here. She said she has worked in the past with US Army wives, and she sounds like a pro at helping people integrate. Apparently, she's about to go out of town for a week, but I will definitely try to become BFFs with Eve when she returns! I was definitely touched by her kindness.
Next, one of the stinkin' cutest little girls I have ever seen named Lilla, with big blue eyes, came up to my desk with a bracelet ...or maybe anklet...that she braided out of that plastic weaving stuff that was all the rage for making neon-colored jewelry when I was her age. It is a lovely medley of green colors, and I was pleased to tell her that green is one of my favorite colors!

(the sign on the classroom door)

Since I had never received a gift or note in any of the other classes, I was kind of wondering what other tricks the 4th grade had up their sleeve, when Blanka introduced herself. Rather than simply say her name, age,and favorite color as the others had done, Blanka marched right up to the chalk board and informed me that "her Italian name is Gemma" and proceeded to draw me a diagram of the solar system and how she's named after a star which can be seen in the such-and-suchaborealis and well..I was so taken aback at being taught astronomy by a 4th grader that some of it went over my head. But I feel like I need to issue a warning: Watch out world, Blanka/Gemma is comin' and she knows who she is! After the emotional struggles of the last few days, the 4th grade was a much needed pick-me-up!

A day at a time...

Well here I am J My first posting on my first blog ever! Wow, I can hardly believe it’s only been 8 days since I left Orlando. It seems like a lifetime ago. Literally. After 4 days of orientation in Budapest, at which I met some very cool people and received a crash course in Hungarian language, culture, and ESL teaching methodologies, I am now getting settled in the village of Tiszaujvaros. I’m about 100 miles northeast of Budapest. I live in a flat provided by the school at which I’m teaching, It’s very cute and very typical of what I’ve seen of flats in Europe on TV – and by that I mean, it’s very choppy and every room (kitchen, living room, etc) has a door. It’s small but very comfortable, and I’m thankful it has a full kitchen so that I can cook my own food (no offense to Hungary but…thus far, their food doesn’t do a thing for me. Starch, starch, meat, and more starch). I will post pictures of my apartment when I get more settled.

I could go on about the details of what I’m doing, and I’d gladly share them, but the truth is, I would be completely disingenuous if I talked about all the perks of this adventure (like the group of first graders who waylaid “Miss Abigail” in the hall with hugs today) without talking about how hard this is. I’ve never lived away from home, and even though I felt certain in my heart that it was time to leave, I am painfully homesick.

Many of you know about my history with depression. It’s been my “friend” off and on since my very early teens. Finally, after trying many a homeopathic remedy which would only work for a time, I decided to go on an antidepressant during my last year of college. My depression/anxiety had developed into a panic disorder, and for the first time in my life, it was seriously threatening my ability to function normally. Not that I’d “enjoyed” functioning while depressed all the previous years, but I had still been able to. Fast-forward to summer 2011, after I finished school, and I started seeing a compounding pharmacist. With the help of 16 million different supplements and a procedure called neurofeedback, which works on the brain’s energy patterns, I was able to cut back considerably on my antidepressant while feeling more like myself than ever. Actually, till I began seeing my “BFF Leslie” (as I affectionately termed my pharmacist) I wasn’t even sure who “I” was. 

So to bring this back around to teaching in Hungary, it was in the process of getting off of the emotion-dulling drug while actually effectively treating my depression/anxiety, that I began to feel excitement of the idea of teaching overseas. It had been an interest for many years, but I had put it on the backburner for obvious reasons. I was concerned though that the upheaval of moving away…so far away…could bring back my depression. I simply didn’t know how my brain chemistry would react to this kind of jolt. But believing from the bottom of my heart that this was the next step God had in mind for me, I took the leap, trying to trust that He’d handle the rest. And now I don’t know to what extent the pain I’m presently experience is a recurrence of depression or just plain homesickness. Probably both.

As I was preparing for this journey, so many people expressed interest in and excitement about what I’m doing and many people have inquired about me (I am told via my family) or emailed me since I left. All of the above I deeply appreciate. I have not had time to respond to everyone’s emails ( look at me, sounding like someone with a fan club…I really am not THAT vain) but I really REALLY appreciate contact with folks back home (and now I sound like a soldier who went off to do something way harder than teach English. I really don’t mean to sound like a martyr).

Well this posting has become quite lengthy and I have lesson plans and unpacking yet to do. It feels later than 7pm because it gets dark here around 4pm. Yeeeaaahhh…not helping my mood. I suppose hot sunny Florida does have its merits J If you’ve read this far, I thank you for sharing in my journey. I do hope that in the future I can post more about teaching and life in Hungary rather than about my despair…but as it’s only been a week and I’ve only had one day of school…well unloading about my struggles seemed more pertinent this evening.