Dear Friend,
Today was somewhat relaxing. I did some work on the blog in the A.R.T. Fusion office, sent out some emails, and caught up with my friends in Lupeni. It was planned that I should go check out the art museum today. When Luisa and I arrived, though, we discovered it was closed. Apparently museums in general are closed on Mondays and Tuesdays in Romania, so I’ll have to wait. The building used to be a palace. Across the street from the museum is a really tall statue. It’s a spire that looks somewhat similar to the Washington Memorial except for the large, brown, potato looking thing it’s stabbing. Apparently the spire represents Democracy and the potato represents Communism. There are also connotations to Vlad the Impaler (Dracula) whose infamous way of killing his enemies was to impale them on pikes in such a way that they suffered to death. So, there’s all kinds of patriotism happening here. The statue has been the subject of much controversy for some time.
Luisa took me instead to a coffee shop/bookstore. The menu in the coffee shop specialized in a number of different teas. Much to Luisa's surprise (and my continual dismay) she discovered I didn’t like tea. We had conversations about school and future plans. Luisa is studying to become a doctor at the medical school here in Bucureşti. She had applied to a couple of schools in the States, including Princeton, but none of the scholarship or loan opportunities worked out. If she had managed to make it to the States she would’ve studied microbiology, or something related to that. I explained how I thought my being Romania was a God-given opportunity and how I'm now trying to take full advantage of it. Part of that is learning the language, which Luisa found rather curious. She found it interesting that I (or anyone) would go through the lengths of learning another language as a way of serving the people who speak that language. I explained that doing so was a way of trying to give back to the people who have already given you so much.
We spent the rest of the time browsing the bookstore. Most of what I saw on the first level were books in Romanian, though many of the books were familiar. I remember seeing books by Stephen King, Neil Gaiman, Philip K. Dick, Fyodor Dostoevsky, and Leo Tolstoy. The second level had books in English, some of which were as expensive as forty-six lei even though they were paperback. I was happy to find, though, that most of the classics were priced at around nine lei. I highly doubt I'll buy any books here (I bought quite a few in London) but it was still a relief to find the really good stuff wasn't monetarily inaccessible. I really like bookstores, especially ones that are kind of hole-in-the-wall places. That’s what this one was.
Not much else happened. We returned to the flat and everything was shutdown for the night. I spoke with Vali about seeing Romeo and Juliet tomorrow night. I had seen quite a few posters for it in my tours of the city and thought it would be a great opportunity for me to see a play in Romania I was already familiar with. The poster looked cool, too, and though you should never judge a play by its poster I still wanted to see it. Vali has some theatre passes, knows some people, stuff like that, and I was hoping he'd also be interested in seeing it. Hopefully we can make it.
Blessings.
Kailen
Tuesday, September 30, 2008
Monday, September 29, 2008
September 28, 2008: A Time to Rest, a Time to Wake
Dear Friend,
Vali’s alarm clock ended up breaking, or something like that. I woke up at seven-thirty and was ready for him to come and get me at eight-thirty. Nine-thirty came around, as did ten-thirty, but no Vali. I did some devotional work, read the book of Ruth and little bit of First Samuel, something I’ve been meaning to do now for some time, and then laid down for awhile. Vali came around eleven-fifteen, apologizing profusely for the mix-up. We decided to go anyway, though the service was going to be ending.
The Orthodox church was similar to the one in Straja, only slightly bigger and without the hall of saints. The service was indeed ending, as everyone was lining up to be blessed by the priest. I followed Vali and pretended as if I knew what I was doing, then walked off to a chair to pray a little. I was hoping to have an actual “worship” experience there, but the choir was singing rather loudly and somewhat off key and there was a lot of commotion. I pulled out the copy of St. Francis’ prayer that I received from Brandi a couple weeks ago and tried saying that a couple times in my head. By the time I return to the States, I will have it memorized.
We spent maybe fifteen minutes in the church and then returned to the flat. Cristiana’s boyfriend was visiting, so the two of them, Iris, Vali, and I had lunch together. The usual splashing around of Romanian conversation took place at the lunch table. I acted somewhat engaged, but they knew as I did that I didn’t understand a word of what they were saying. Some words here and there were recognizable, but nothing concrete. I was involved with the family, though. Cristiana made sure I was at the table eating with them, and simply doing that, I’ve realized, is enough. We had a salad made of a number of vegetables without the lettuce (Romanians don’t use lettuce) and a pork and rice dish. I remembered to tell Cristiana that everything was delicious. Iris informed me she likes small compliments like that.
The rest of the day was spent writing and resting. I’m concerned somewhat about my health because I’m still very tired. I can’t imagine that I’m still so overwhelmed that I’m still exhausted, though it’s only the fifth day so it’s still possible. I’m avoiding the cigarette smoke today, so my body can have a break. It’s quite possible I do just need a day of rest.
I’ve been thinking a lot lately, though, about my mission in this internship, and by mission I don’t mean assignment. There is no cassette that will self-destruct five seconds after I finish listening to it. By mission I mean ministry. Though it’s only been five days, I can sense that unless I get over myself it’s quite possible I will live the rest of my month in this homestay simply shut away in my room working on my assignments. This is the orange zone once again and I need to take advantage of the opportunities I have not only to learn but also to serve. I can feel the Spirit’s prompting, and reminding myself that I no longer live, but that Christ lives in me I shouldn’t be afraid to serve.
Bucureşti, for all its hidden beauty, is a place hardened and torn up by years of never-ending corruption and filled with people who are trying simply to survive. Even the people I’ve met, my host family and my A.R.T. Fusion colleagues, struggle to have jobs that pay only enough for them to pay their overpriced rent and buy overpriced food. Please don’t mistake any of this for pity, because these people are very intelligent and very resourceful. However, they are also taken very much advantage of by a system that is blatantly flawed.
Please, friend, pray that I may be Christ to these people. I want so much to experience as much as I can while I’m here, to soak it all in, but none of this will happen unless I invest myself in the people I’m working with.
I spent a little time with Iris and Vali near the end of the night. Some of Iris’ friends were over and she invited me to join them for awhile. I didn’t interact all that much. A lot of the conversations were conducted in Romanian, but I was at least with them. I’m hoping that’s a start.
Blessings.
Kailen
Vali’s alarm clock ended up breaking, or something like that. I woke up at seven-thirty and was ready for him to come and get me at eight-thirty. Nine-thirty came around, as did ten-thirty, but no Vali. I did some devotional work, read the book of Ruth and little bit of First Samuel, something I’ve been meaning to do now for some time, and then laid down for awhile. Vali came around eleven-fifteen, apologizing profusely for the mix-up. We decided to go anyway, though the service was going to be ending.
The Orthodox church was similar to the one in Straja, only slightly bigger and without the hall of saints. The service was indeed ending, as everyone was lining up to be blessed by the priest. I followed Vali and pretended as if I knew what I was doing, then walked off to a chair to pray a little. I was hoping to have an actual “worship” experience there, but the choir was singing rather loudly and somewhat off key and there was a lot of commotion. I pulled out the copy of St. Francis’ prayer that I received from Brandi a couple weeks ago and tried saying that a couple times in my head. By the time I return to the States, I will have it memorized.
We spent maybe fifteen minutes in the church and then returned to the flat. Cristiana’s boyfriend was visiting, so the two of them, Iris, Vali, and I had lunch together. The usual splashing around of Romanian conversation took place at the lunch table. I acted somewhat engaged, but they knew as I did that I didn’t understand a word of what they were saying. Some words here and there were recognizable, but nothing concrete. I was involved with the family, though. Cristiana made sure I was at the table eating with them, and simply doing that, I’ve realized, is enough. We had a salad made of a number of vegetables without the lettuce (Romanians don’t use lettuce) and a pork and rice dish. I remembered to tell Cristiana that everything was delicious. Iris informed me she likes small compliments like that.
The rest of the day was spent writing and resting. I’m concerned somewhat about my health because I’m still very tired. I can’t imagine that I’m still so overwhelmed that I’m still exhausted, though it’s only the fifth day so it’s still possible. I’m avoiding the cigarette smoke today, so my body can have a break. It’s quite possible I do just need a day of rest.
I’ve been thinking a lot lately, though, about my mission in this internship, and by mission I don’t mean assignment. There is no cassette that will self-destruct five seconds after I finish listening to it. By mission I mean ministry. Though it’s only been five days, I can sense that unless I get over myself it’s quite possible I will live the rest of my month in this homestay simply shut away in my room working on my assignments. This is the orange zone once again and I need to take advantage of the opportunities I have not only to learn but also to serve. I can feel the Spirit’s prompting, and reminding myself that I no longer live, but that Christ lives in me I shouldn’t be afraid to serve.
Bucureşti, for all its hidden beauty, is a place hardened and torn up by years of never-ending corruption and filled with people who are trying simply to survive. Even the people I’ve met, my host family and my A.R.T. Fusion colleagues, struggle to have jobs that pay only enough for them to pay their overpriced rent and buy overpriced food. Please don’t mistake any of this for pity, because these people are very intelligent and very resourceful. However, they are also taken very much advantage of by a system that is blatantly flawed.
Please, friend, pray that I may be Christ to these people. I want so much to experience as much as I can while I’m here, to soak it all in, but none of this will happen unless I invest myself in the people I’m working with.
I spent a little time with Iris and Vali near the end of the night. Some of Iris’ friends were over and she invited me to join them for awhile. I didn’t interact all that much. A lot of the conversations were conducted in Romanian, but I was at least with them. I’m hoping that’s a start.
Blessings.
Kailen
September 27, 2008: Theatre People
Dear Friend,
I’ve tried a number of times to define for others a working definition of the term “theatre people.” I can neither remember exactly when I came to know the term, nor even how I knew exactly what it meant whenever I heard it. It’s something innate, I’m assuming, something each of us feels on some level. Yet, according to some, simply being involved with theatre doesn’t seem to categorize you as a theatre person. There must be a rites of passage, an almost unofficial christening that takes place and then you are noted as a theatre person. I know at Northwestern many declare the major and then consider themselves theatre persons. However, there are many non-theatre majors in the department who are certainly theatre persons. There must be something else that defines you a theatre person. I’ll explain in a bit.
Last night, Iris’ mother decided a visit to the market was needed now that she had an addition to the family, so to speak. So, Iris and I took on the challenge of buying groceries. In an attempt to be green, we brought our own plastic bags. We trammed and bussed our way to where the market was located. If I had ever thought I was through with information overload, I was certainly fooling myself.
The market in Bucureşti Iris took me to is half an open air market and half indoors. Unlike a grocery store, where you grab a cart and shop amongst a plethora of options, you have to compare prices between stores. One store selling poultry will have a higher price than another shop down the block selling the same kind of poultry. It’s easy to say that half of our time spent grocery shopping was bouncing from store to store comparing prices. In Orange City or even Friesland, Wisconsin this would be considered unnecessary Dutch frugality. However, here in Romania it’s a necessity. I’ve already been told a number of times the economy doesn’t help anyone’s income, so trying to get more bang for your buck is close to impossible.
It took a couple of hours to get everything that we needed. This whole time I kind of operated on glazed-eyes autopilot, making sure I kept up with Iris in the sea of shoppers. Here and there we bumped into some street sellers, essentially beggars begging you to buy their items. I’ve been told many of these people work for someone higher up who makes millions upon millions working people such as these. There have been reports on such systems, so none of it is simple yarn spinning. Many of the items being sold by these people are also stolen items. A further testimony to how corruption remains.
We finally returned home, and after putting away the groceries I settled down for a nap. Tonight I would be attending my first Romanian play with many of the volunteers from A.R.T. Fusion, so I wanted to rest up for a night out on the town. It didn’t really work, the resting up. My alarm clock the bird had a malfunctioning snooze button, and not even Hayley Westenra on my headphones could get me to sleep. I lay for about two hours in my horizontal position before it was time to get ready.
Vali and his girlfriend, Cristina, drove me to meet the others at the theatre. The performance was free and the space looked like an auditorium used for community theatre shows. The performance was very community theatre, but nonetheless enjoyable. Valy and Luisa, a newly introduced A.R.T. Fusion member, translated a little bit for me, so I understood the basics.
After the performance we went to a pub called Big Mamou. It was sporting Western décor and displayed a lot of posters of jazz and blues singers from the States. An underground Romanian rock band was setting up on the stage, and tickets were fifteen lei if we wanted to stick around. Being volunteer forum theatre performers, none of us had the money.
So, I was sitting with eight of my new friends. Vali, his girlfriend Cristina, Alina, Ana, her boyfriend Adi, and the newly introduced Luisa, Tudor, and Eugen, all sitting at two or three little round tables put together and enjoying each other’s company. Eugen and Tudor seemed to be very vocal about how they were in fact not theatre people, they only performed in forum theatre. This was not meant as an insult to theatre people. Instead, it was meant as a “class distinction,” if you will. They believed they had not earned the right to be considered theatre people. However, they all behaved like theatre people I knew, and not simply because they were a group of friends having a good time. They each had their own theatre person stock characteristics, so to speak. I can’t begin to explain each of them, but they were theatre people. They couldn’t even make decisions collectively the way theatre people can’t make decisions collectively. It was almost as if some of the people I knew back home had been transplanted in Romania.
It’s quite possible I’m drawing similarities simply to latch onto what I find familiar. I’ll admit that hanging out with these new colleagues made me feel more comfortable than I’ve felt since being in the city. They were generous and kind and altogether wacky and funny. I could tell, however, why they felt they didn’t deserve the title. None of them, except Vali, studied theatre, and he’s a gamer trying to become an Orthodox priest. Yet, they all have a love of theatre. You’d think that would be enough.
I mentioned in an earlier blog that the greatest distinction between theatre people and non-theatre people is that theatre people simply amplify the characteristics and nuances every person already has hidden inside of them. Maybe that’s all it takes to be a theatre person. Or maybe there is no distinction. Maybe the distinction is some perceptual screen through which we each categorize each other. It’s easy for me to be labeled a theatre person because I’m a theatre major and spend most of my time in the theatre building. Therefore, anything I say or do is bound to be seen at some point through the perceptual screen of “theatre person.” It makes me wonder how else we use our perceptual screens and what decisions we come to make by using them.
I got to bed at a decent time tonight. Vali dropped me off and went home with Cristina. I spoke a little with Iris before going to bed. Her mother was already sleeping. Tomorrow I’m going with Vali to an Orthodox service, so plenty of good sleep is needed. Both my alarm clocks are silent right now, so I’ll be able to sleep in peace.
Blessings.
Kailen
I’ve tried a number of times to define for others a working definition of the term “theatre people.” I can neither remember exactly when I came to know the term, nor even how I knew exactly what it meant whenever I heard it. It’s something innate, I’m assuming, something each of us feels on some level. Yet, according to some, simply being involved with theatre doesn’t seem to categorize you as a theatre person. There must be a rites of passage, an almost unofficial christening that takes place and then you are noted as a theatre person. I know at Northwestern many declare the major and then consider themselves theatre persons. However, there are many non-theatre majors in the department who are certainly theatre persons. There must be something else that defines you a theatre person. I’ll explain in a bit.
Last night, Iris’ mother decided a visit to the market was needed now that she had an addition to the family, so to speak. So, Iris and I took on the challenge of buying groceries. In an attempt to be green, we brought our own plastic bags. We trammed and bussed our way to where the market was located. If I had ever thought I was through with information overload, I was certainly fooling myself.
The market in Bucureşti Iris took me to is half an open air market and half indoors. Unlike a grocery store, where you grab a cart and shop amongst a plethora of options, you have to compare prices between stores. One store selling poultry will have a higher price than another shop down the block selling the same kind of poultry. It’s easy to say that half of our time spent grocery shopping was bouncing from store to store comparing prices. In Orange City or even Friesland, Wisconsin this would be considered unnecessary Dutch frugality. However, here in Romania it’s a necessity. I’ve already been told a number of times the economy doesn’t help anyone’s income, so trying to get more bang for your buck is close to impossible.
It took a couple of hours to get everything that we needed. This whole time I kind of operated on glazed-eyes autopilot, making sure I kept up with Iris in the sea of shoppers. Here and there we bumped into some street sellers, essentially beggars begging you to buy their items. I’ve been told many of these people work for someone higher up who makes millions upon millions working people such as these. There have been reports on such systems, so none of it is simple yarn spinning. Many of the items being sold by these people are also stolen items. A further testimony to how corruption remains.
We finally returned home, and after putting away the groceries I settled down for a nap. Tonight I would be attending my first Romanian play with many of the volunteers from A.R.T. Fusion, so I wanted to rest up for a night out on the town. It didn’t really work, the resting up. My alarm clock the bird had a malfunctioning snooze button, and not even Hayley Westenra on my headphones could get me to sleep. I lay for about two hours in my horizontal position before it was time to get ready.
Vali and his girlfriend, Cristina, drove me to meet the others at the theatre. The performance was free and the space looked like an auditorium used for community theatre shows. The performance was very community theatre, but nonetheless enjoyable. Valy and Luisa, a newly introduced A.R.T. Fusion member, translated a little bit for me, so I understood the basics.
After the performance we went to a pub called Big Mamou. It was sporting Western décor and displayed a lot of posters of jazz and blues singers from the States. An underground Romanian rock band was setting up on the stage, and tickets were fifteen lei if we wanted to stick around. Being volunteer forum theatre performers, none of us had the money.
So, I was sitting with eight of my new friends. Vali, his girlfriend Cristina, Alina, Ana, her boyfriend Adi, and the newly introduced Luisa, Tudor, and Eugen, all sitting at two or three little round tables put together and enjoying each other’s company. Eugen and Tudor seemed to be very vocal about how they were in fact not theatre people, they only performed in forum theatre. This was not meant as an insult to theatre people. Instead, it was meant as a “class distinction,” if you will. They believed they had not earned the right to be considered theatre people. However, they all behaved like theatre people I knew, and not simply because they were a group of friends having a good time. They each had their own theatre person stock characteristics, so to speak. I can’t begin to explain each of them, but they were theatre people. They couldn’t even make decisions collectively the way theatre people can’t make decisions collectively. It was almost as if some of the people I knew back home had been transplanted in Romania.
It’s quite possible I’m drawing similarities simply to latch onto what I find familiar. I’ll admit that hanging out with these new colleagues made me feel more comfortable than I’ve felt since being in the city. They were generous and kind and altogether wacky and funny. I could tell, however, why they felt they didn’t deserve the title. None of them, except Vali, studied theatre, and he’s a gamer trying to become an Orthodox priest. Yet, they all have a love of theatre. You’d think that would be enough.
I mentioned in an earlier blog that the greatest distinction between theatre people and non-theatre people is that theatre people simply amplify the characteristics and nuances every person already has hidden inside of them. Maybe that’s all it takes to be a theatre person. Or maybe there is no distinction. Maybe the distinction is some perceptual screen through which we each categorize each other. It’s easy for me to be labeled a theatre person because I’m a theatre major and spend most of my time in the theatre building. Therefore, anything I say or do is bound to be seen at some point through the perceptual screen of “theatre person.” It makes me wonder how else we use our perceptual screens and what decisions we come to make by using them.
I got to bed at a decent time tonight. Vali dropped me off and went home with Cristina. I spoke a little with Iris before going to bed. Her mother was already sleeping. Tomorrow I’m going with Vali to an Orthodox service, so plenty of good sleep is needed. Both my alarm clocks are silent right now, so I’ll be able to sleep in peace.
Blessings.
Kailen
September 26, 2008: Paper One Done
Dear Friend,
I finished my first paper for my Augusto Boal directed study. The directed study requires that I read three books by Boal and report on them. I also need to compare what I’m doing in my internship to whatever book I’m reporting on. For this first paper, I compared some of the games and principals explained in Games for Actors and Non-Actors to those used in the Viaţa Camp. I’m really bad at sitting down and writing papers, I become very impatient with the process. However, I had the entire day all for writing the paper, didn’t really start writing until noon and finished around eight-thirty/nine o’clock. I call that a success.
During breaks I went online and checked on facebook for periodic updates. Romania is eight hours ahead of the Midwest, so not much was happening. I also looked up Northwestern videos on youtube. I watched my friends doing improv, acting in music videos, and interviews for Terror Texts. Yeah, it’s apparent I miss everyone, but seeing a lot of them on the Internet helps me feel a little closer to home.
During supper, Iris’ mother, Cristiana, asked me questions about my impressions of Romania. Iris translated, which was quite the challenge. Her mother seemed intent on saying everything she had to say, sometimes interrupting Iris when she tried to translate for me. By the end, I had confessed that Bucureşti was busy and messy yet beautiful in it’s own strange way (Cristiana did not agree,) that I was in my fifth year at a Christian liberal arts college (which took some explaining,) that Romanian women are indeed beautiful (she asked, and I felt the diplomatic thing to say was “yes,”) that America has an obesity problem, and that I was in Romania to work with A.R.T. Fusion. Iris explained her mother had a friend that moved to the States and still kept in contact with her, but that she had never had the opportunity to spend time with an American.
The weather was horrible today. It wasn’t raining like yesterday, but it was just as grey. I also felt as if my body was fighting a sinus infection of some kind. Getting home and going to bed was the only thing on my mind after I finished the paper. I figured I had put in a hard days work and a good night’s sleep was well earned.
Noapte bună.
Kailen
I finished my first paper for my Augusto Boal directed study. The directed study requires that I read three books by Boal and report on them. I also need to compare what I’m doing in my internship to whatever book I’m reporting on. For this first paper, I compared some of the games and principals explained in Games for Actors and Non-Actors to those used in the Viaţa Camp. I’m really bad at sitting down and writing papers, I become very impatient with the process. However, I had the entire day all for writing the paper, didn’t really start writing until noon and finished around eight-thirty/nine o’clock. I call that a success.
During breaks I went online and checked on facebook for periodic updates. Romania is eight hours ahead of the Midwest, so not much was happening. I also looked up Northwestern videos on youtube. I watched my friends doing improv, acting in music videos, and interviews for Terror Texts. Yeah, it’s apparent I miss everyone, but seeing a lot of them on the Internet helps me feel a little closer to home.
During supper, Iris’ mother, Cristiana, asked me questions about my impressions of Romania. Iris translated, which was quite the challenge. Her mother seemed intent on saying everything she had to say, sometimes interrupting Iris when she tried to translate for me. By the end, I had confessed that Bucureşti was busy and messy yet beautiful in it’s own strange way (Cristiana did not agree,) that I was in my fifth year at a Christian liberal arts college (which took some explaining,) that Romanian women are indeed beautiful (she asked, and I felt the diplomatic thing to say was “yes,”) that America has an obesity problem, and that I was in Romania to work with A.R.T. Fusion. Iris explained her mother had a friend that moved to the States and still kept in contact with her, but that she had never had the opportunity to spend time with an American.
The weather was horrible today. It wasn’t raining like yesterday, but it was just as grey. I also felt as if my body was fighting a sinus infection of some kind. Getting home and going to bed was the only thing on my mind after I finished the paper. I figured I had put in a hard days work and a good night’s sleep was well earned.
Noapte bună.
Kailen
September 25, 2008: Bucureşti
Dear Friend,
Iris offered to take the bird out of my room, but I declined. I had already inconvenienced her out of her room (hers is the one I’m staying in,) I didn’t want to make her find another place for their bird. Apparently there were once two, but the female died recently. The male doesn’t know what to do with himself except cheep and chirp. He served as a second alarm clock for me this morning.
Meals at my homestay are much like meals at my house. Everyone comes in and gets what he or she needs, eats it, leaves the dishes, and then gets to where he or she has to be. Cristiana got up this morning, and in true mother fashion, made breakfast. She’s learning English, and speaks rather well considering how little she knows. Vali joined us for awhile to grab a bite and then headed for work. He plays computer games and gets paid for it. I don’t know how he got that job, but he did.
Iris showed me around part of Bucureşti as we made our way to the A.R.T. Fusion office. I was still rather overwhelmed by everything, suffering from sensory overload. The tram is similar to the tube in London, except the tram is above ground and the tube below. Traffic is crazy, so you’re on the defense always when crossing the streets. I really have to implement the “look both ways” principal now more than ever before. We made a few stops before reaching our destination, one of which was picking up lunch. This city is similar to other cities I've been in, except this one is dirtier, more crowded, and has many more construction projects in the works.
I met Carmen at the A.R.T. Fusion office. We took time to eat lunch and relax for awhile before Carmen and I got into discussing goals for the semester. She had sent me a preliminary list of activities I could partake in during the run of the semester, but now we had to pick and choose which ones to concentrate on. The final three projects we chose were
1. participate in the arts festival taking place in Cluj in a couple weeks (Cluj is northwest of Bucureşti)
2. lead a theatre workshop for A.R.T. Fusion volunteers, a workshop that will help enhance their theatre skills
3. help to compile a curriculum for forum theatre that can be presented to high schools in the area
Carmen also assured me that I’d be given time to work on my papers for my directed study. I was also told a number of times to let people know when I needed time to myself. Carmen finished our meeting with asking me about Northwestern’s theatre program and what I’ve been involved with there. I emphasized the department’s ensemble mentality as being pivotal to its success and also explained some of the classes in the theatre major.
After the meeting was a scheduled tour of Bucureşti with a member of A.R.T. Fusion. While I was waiting for this member to show up, I received a nice surprise when Raluca entered the office. Raluca, you remember, was one of the leaders at the Viaţa Camp I was involved in during my first week and a half in Straja. It was nice to see a familiar face. She informed me she would be heading to Madrid, Spain on Wednesday, where she would be starting school. She also asked how my Romanian was coming, so I got to “wow” everyone with whatever I had learned so far.
Alina was the A.R.T. Fusion member who came to bring me on a tour of the city. Her naturally black hair is dyed blonde, so she and I had a laugh about comparing our hair colors (mine is dyed black right now, but is naturally light brown.) She first took me to the old part of the city. It was raining a little by this point, so the park we walked through to get to the old part wasn’t as pretty in the grey weather. The old city, though, is full of old architecture. One alleyway in particular caught my interest. The architecture looked similar to that which I saw in Sinaia my first day in Romania. Most of the buildings in this alleyway were filled with art, which interested me greatly. Some of the paintings were knock-offs from famous artists (I found a Salvador Dali painting that was clearly not done by Salvador Dali.) I really enjoyed that part of the city and have every intention of returning.
We passed a couple of museums and theatres as we continued. In this way, Bucureşti reminded me of my time in London. Not as many museums and theatres, but more than I originally thought. We entered the Museum of Romanian History to find an exhibition being set up. There were several people walking around in period costumes and organizing displays. There was a section of the museum that displayed pieces of a stone pillar from the times of Ancient Rome. It was similar to a pillar I saw in London, where the stone carvings spiraling up the pillar depicted scenes of horses, soldiers, and chariots in battle. It was unusual to feel the presence of something I recognized, though that thing wasn’t from home.
The rain and wind started getting worse, so we decided to meet up with some other A.R.T. Fusion members and go to a coffee shop. I got to meet Ana and her boyfriend Adi (a different Ana than the one who led my group in Viaţa.) At the coffee shop Alina and Ana ordered tea while Adi and I ordered hot chocolate. I was surprised by the price: nine lei. It was really thick, as if someone took a Hershey’s chocolate bar and melted it into a cup. It had the slightest hint of almond, which I didn’t understand, though didn’t mind.
The weather made us all very lethargic. Ana made the comment that weather like this typically makes people melancholic and reserved, at which point we joked about becoming philosophical about the whole experience. Adi and I shared our interests in music. We both agree on classic rock. He also tried having a staring contest with Alina, but failed miserably with each attempt. I later told him he was just too much of a nice guy.
After our visit to the coffee shop, we decided the weather wouldn’t permit us to do much more than return to the office. While we were on the bus on our way back, Adi asked me about sports. I told him I didn’t play. He told me he played tennis and plays it in college. Some of the members of A.R.T. Fusion are college graduates, some are still in college. Alina graduated this past year with a degree in public relations. From what I gathered, Ana is working on an English degree. All I found out from Adi is that he plays tennis in college.
I reported to Carmen the day’s activities once we returned to the office. Soon after that, Iris and I got onto a bus, which took us to the tram, which took us home. During supper I got the chance to speak with Iris and Vali about my family. They in turn shared a lot with me about theirs. Their parents divorced when Iris was in third grade. Their father is extremely talented, but suffers from alcoholism and some subsequent mental health problems. Apparently he’s very heroic and any pain he feels in his body, whatever that pain may be, comes from invisible aliens he wards off on occasional outer space adventures. As fun as this sounded out of context, I could relate to the frustration concerning a father with a mental illness. It was nice to be able to connect with my host family a little. Despite our differences, we are indeed more alike than we realize.
Sleep was welcome after this day ended. I felt very exhausted from the entire day, from what I believe is still a case of information overload. I’m hoping I can knock myself out of it soon, otherwise the next two months is going to be laborious. Please pray, friend, that I can settle into this very foreign place.
Blessings.
Kailen
September 24, 2008: Good-bye
Dear Friend,
The day has come. I can’t believe it’s been four weeks. Today felt a lot like that day back in August when I waited in the Sioux Falls airport for my flight overseas. Disorienting. Separated. Anxious. Back in August, I was subconsciously separating myself from the people I would be leaving in Orange City, probably the psyche’s way of lessening the blow of separation. Today I had to do that with the people I had spent a month trying to connect with. I had done it many times before, leaving. I wasn’t supposed to concern myself with it. I did anyway.
Whenever I leave a place, I always feel as if I’m forgetting something. Part of me is hoping whatever I’ve forgotten is something extremely vital and important for whatever adventure I’m embarking upon. I would then have an excuse to return to where I was leaving from to pick up whatever I’d forgotten. The hidden psychological gesture would, however, be my returning to see the people I love at least one more time. I could care less about the pair of socks I forgot. I just want to put myself through the masochism of the soul, prolonging an already prolonged good-bye.
My last breakfast with Tibi was similar to all the other breakfasts. The silence just seemed a little emptier. I would see him at the office so we didn’t have our good-bye at that point. After he left, I took a shower and packed up my damp laundry (it’s difficult to air dry clothes when it’s cold outside.) I tidied my room up as much as possible, then grabbed all my luggage and headed out.
As I walked the path I had taken so many times in the last couple of days, I realized I had forgotten to take more pictures of Lupeni. To my right I saw the abandoned and dilapidated train station. I really wanted to explore that. To my left was the unfinished block, abandoned at some point during the rule of Communism. I would eventually pass all the secondhand shops and little stores, the restaurants and Penny Market, where I bought most of my food. I had planned on snapping pictures as I made my way to the office, but both hands were occupied with exceedingly heavy bags. My backpack was the lightest thing on me, which I found very ironic.
Language lessons were in full swing when I finally arrived. I found a corner for my luggage and sat down to do some final email checking. Janelle brought her pumpkin pie she made the night before, so everyone got to enjoy a little bit of that. I wasn’t going to be heading to the train station until one-thirty at the latest, so I had some time to chill out.
I talk a lot. If I’m able to blog, it’s apparent I do a lot of thinking and I feel a lot of my thinking goes to waste if I don’t talk about it with others. Most of what I say is expository (most of what I write is also.) Lately I’ve become very irritated with my mouth. All I seem to do is talk, talk, talk. I realized this especially today because of the things I had begun to say to the people I would be leaving, but things I never finished saying. People had to finish something they were working on or had to go buy some food for lunch or finish a conversation they were having with someone else. Before I knew it, I had to go, yet hadn’t finished saying everything I had wanted to say. It was time to say good-bye. Each hug I wanted to be longer. Each final exchange I wanted to be less heavy. I would, after all, see my six colleagues at the end of the semester and would head back to the states with them. That thought, though, didn’t make it easier.
I was on autopilot at this point. Dana took us to Petroşani where we would get on the train for our six hour ride to Bucureşti. It was Dave, Steve (a missionary from Tanzania, who came to check out New Horizons as a potential career change), and me. Dana managed to get us first class seats, which actually turned into us having our own compartment. Personally, I was very relieved to have just the three of us in a compartment by ourselves. I should also mention at this point the joke I inadvertently played on Dana. He had lifted my bag full of books and asked what was in it. As a joke, I told him I had borrowed some of his books. He thought I was serious, but I didn’t realize that. I had meant it as a joke. He later asked me if I had checked the books out with Janelle, at which point I told him I hadn’t been serious. He looked visibly relieved. As a fellow lover of books, I could understand his anxiety, despite the enormity of his library.
This was my first train ride. I had hoped to get more reading done, but my thoughts were elsewhere. Dave and Steve had some conversations, some pertaining to my internship, some about New Horizons. I was surprised by how smooth the train ride actually was. I was expecting something bumpier. Like the telescaun in Straja, though, it was a pretty smooth ride. The scenery was beautiful for awhile, before we left the valley and entered the urban jungle. I was, against suggestion, sitting facing away from the way we were going, so I didn’t get to see a lot of the scenery. In a way, it didn’t much matter. Once we entered the compartment, we all just sat and ended up staying there for the remainder of the trip.
Dave and Steve left the compartment after four hours into the trip and didn’t return until we had reached the city. All by myself in the compartment, I experienced some much welcome alone time. Alone with myself, my thoughts, and the beautiful, dulcet tones of Hayley Westenra coming from my CD player. I managed to listen to all three of her CDs, transported to a completely different world by a voice, I must admit, I am absolutely in love with. Look her up youtube and you’ll understand.
After getting off the train, I entered into another world that seemed very much like a movie. Dave and I found our contact, Iris, a petite young woman, by the McDonalds in the train station. She greeted us with a smile and informed us of our next plan of action, which was to find a taxi. We said our farewells to Steve, and headed for the exit. It was past nine in the evening, so the city was lit up. I managed to not become totally overwhelmed at this point. I was probably clinging to Dave for some semblance of order. We just followed Iris to a taxi, lugging our stuff with us.
The traffic in Bucureşti was crazy. Riding in the back of the taxi reminded me of playing Mario Kart on Nintendo 64, with all the drag racing moves and squeezing through seemingly tight places. This was the part that felt especially like being in a movie, more so than any moment in Straja or the Retezat, as I tried to keep my balance in the back of a drag racing taxi with techno music blaring from the speakers (okay, it wasn’t that loud.) We dropped Dave off at the hotel, I said my final good-bye to my last contact to that previous life, and we went to Iris’ flat.
Iris’ flat is a very short hallway that leads to the kitchen. As you head to the kitchen, there are three bedrooms to the left, two of which are relatively large enough to be small living rooms. On the right are three closet sized spaces and the bathroom, which is the size of a walk in closet. The closet closest to the kitchen has the washing machine tucked in it, and the closet after that has the toilet (the water closet, WC.) I met Iris’ brother, Vali, and their mother, Cristiana. Iris tried to orient me to everything in the house, but the look on my face told her I was overwhelmed. She said it was “f---ing obvious,” then apologized for using that word. Yep, I wasn’t in Kansas, Iowa, or Lupeni anymore. Good-bye familiar. Hello adventure.
I started putting puzzle pieces together as I prepared my bed. I was originally told that I would be staying with a single mother who had two children. I was also told I would be staying with Iris, who was twenty-four. When I was told the ages of the children, what I thought I heard was they were two and four. I therefore thought I was staying with Iris, who was a single mother, age twenty-foru, and who had two children ages two and four. I came to realize upon my arrival that Iris is twenty-four and her brother, Vali, is twenty-two and they live with their single mother. As I watched them interact, I began to realize that life with this family could turn out to be in many ways similar to life with my own family, sans the smoking. They also have two rather old cocker-spaniels, one who barks a lot and the other who stinks a lot. Hello adventure.
Blessings.
Kailen
The day has come. I can’t believe it’s been four weeks. Today felt a lot like that day back in August when I waited in the Sioux Falls airport for my flight overseas. Disorienting. Separated. Anxious. Back in August, I was subconsciously separating myself from the people I would be leaving in Orange City, probably the psyche’s way of lessening the blow of separation. Today I had to do that with the people I had spent a month trying to connect with. I had done it many times before, leaving. I wasn’t supposed to concern myself with it. I did anyway.
Whenever I leave a place, I always feel as if I’m forgetting something. Part of me is hoping whatever I’ve forgotten is something extremely vital and important for whatever adventure I’m embarking upon. I would then have an excuse to return to where I was leaving from to pick up whatever I’d forgotten. The hidden psychological gesture would, however, be my returning to see the people I love at least one more time. I could care less about the pair of socks I forgot. I just want to put myself through the masochism of the soul, prolonging an already prolonged good-bye.
My last breakfast with Tibi was similar to all the other breakfasts. The silence just seemed a little emptier. I would see him at the office so we didn’t have our good-bye at that point. After he left, I took a shower and packed up my damp laundry (it’s difficult to air dry clothes when it’s cold outside.) I tidied my room up as much as possible, then grabbed all my luggage and headed out.
As I walked the path I had taken so many times in the last couple of days, I realized I had forgotten to take more pictures of Lupeni. To my right I saw the abandoned and dilapidated train station. I really wanted to explore that. To my left was the unfinished block, abandoned at some point during the rule of Communism. I would eventually pass all the secondhand shops and little stores, the restaurants and Penny Market, where I bought most of my food. I had planned on snapping pictures as I made my way to the office, but both hands were occupied with exceedingly heavy bags. My backpack was the lightest thing on me, which I found very ironic.
Language lessons were in full swing when I finally arrived. I found a corner for my luggage and sat down to do some final email checking. Janelle brought her pumpkin pie she made the night before, so everyone got to enjoy a little bit of that. I wasn’t going to be heading to the train station until one-thirty at the latest, so I had some time to chill out.
I talk a lot. If I’m able to blog, it’s apparent I do a lot of thinking and I feel a lot of my thinking goes to waste if I don’t talk about it with others. Most of what I say is expository (most of what I write is also.) Lately I’ve become very irritated with my mouth. All I seem to do is talk, talk, talk. I realized this especially today because of the things I had begun to say to the people I would be leaving, but things I never finished saying. People had to finish something they were working on or had to go buy some food for lunch or finish a conversation they were having with someone else. Before I knew it, I had to go, yet hadn’t finished saying everything I had wanted to say. It was time to say good-bye. Each hug I wanted to be longer. Each final exchange I wanted to be less heavy. I would, after all, see my six colleagues at the end of the semester and would head back to the states with them. That thought, though, didn’t make it easier.
I was on autopilot at this point. Dana took us to Petroşani where we would get on the train for our six hour ride to Bucureşti. It was Dave, Steve (a missionary from Tanzania, who came to check out New Horizons as a potential career change), and me. Dana managed to get us first class seats, which actually turned into us having our own compartment. Personally, I was very relieved to have just the three of us in a compartment by ourselves. I should also mention at this point the joke I inadvertently played on Dana. He had lifted my bag full of books and asked what was in it. As a joke, I told him I had borrowed some of his books. He thought I was serious, but I didn’t realize that. I had meant it as a joke. He later asked me if I had checked the books out with Janelle, at which point I told him I hadn’t been serious. He looked visibly relieved. As a fellow lover of books, I could understand his anxiety, despite the enormity of his library.
This was my first train ride. I had hoped to get more reading done, but my thoughts were elsewhere. Dave and Steve had some conversations, some pertaining to my internship, some about New Horizons. I was surprised by how smooth the train ride actually was. I was expecting something bumpier. Like the telescaun in Straja, though, it was a pretty smooth ride. The scenery was beautiful for awhile, before we left the valley and entered the urban jungle. I was, against suggestion, sitting facing away from the way we were going, so I didn’t get to see a lot of the scenery. In a way, it didn’t much matter. Once we entered the compartment, we all just sat and ended up staying there for the remainder of the trip.
Dave and Steve left the compartment after four hours into the trip and didn’t return until we had reached the city. All by myself in the compartment, I experienced some much welcome alone time. Alone with myself, my thoughts, and the beautiful, dulcet tones of Hayley Westenra coming from my CD player. I managed to listen to all three of her CDs, transported to a completely different world by a voice, I must admit, I am absolutely in love with. Look her up youtube and you’ll understand.
After getting off the train, I entered into another world that seemed very much like a movie. Dave and I found our contact, Iris, a petite young woman, by the McDonalds in the train station. She greeted us with a smile and informed us of our next plan of action, which was to find a taxi. We said our farewells to Steve, and headed for the exit. It was past nine in the evening, so the city was lit up. I managed to not become totally overwhelmed at this point. I was probably clinging to Dave for some semblance of order. We just followed Iris to a taxi, lugging our stuff with us.
The traffic in Bucureşti was crazy. Riding in the back of the taxi reminded me of playing Mario Kart on Nintendo 64, with all the drag racing moves and squeezing through seemingly tight places. This was the part that felt especially like being in a movie, more so than any moment in Straja or the Retezat, as I tried to keep my balance in the back of a drag racing taxi with techno music blaring from the speakers (okay, it wasn’t that loud.) We dropped Dave off at the hotel, I said my final good-bye to my last contact to that previous life, and we went to Iris’ flat.
Iris’ flat is a very short hallway that leads to the kitchen. As you head to the kitchen, there are three bedrooms to the left, two of which are relatively large enough to be small living rooms. On the right are three closet sized spaces and the bathroom, which is the size of a walk in closet. The closet closest to the kitchen has the washing machine tucked in it, and the closet after that has the toilet (the water closet, WC.) I met Iris’ brother, Vali, and their mother, Cristiana. Iris tried to orient me to everything in the house, but the look on my face told her I was overwhelmed. She said it was “f---ing obvious,” then apologized for using that word. Yep, I wasn’t in Kansas, Iowa, or Lupeni anymore. Good-bye familiar. Hello adventure.
I started putting puzzle pieces together as I prepared my bed. I was originally told that I would be staying with a single mother who had two children. I was also told I would be staying with Iris, who was twenty-four. When I was told the ages of the children, what I thought I heard was they were two and four. I therefore thought I was staying with Iris, who was a single mother, age twenty-foru, and who had two children ages two and four. I came to realize upon my arrival that Iris is twenty-four and her brother, Vali, is twenty-two and they live with their single mother. As I watched them interact, I began to realize that life with this family could turn out to be in many ways similar to life with my own family, sans the smoking. They also have two rather old cocker-spaniels, one who barks a lot and the other who stinks a lot. Hello adventure.
Blessings.
Kailen
September 23, 2008: Invisible Theatre
Dear Friend,
Theatre is touchy. In the broad general sense of the term, that is, and I don’t mean touchy-feely. Because of what theatre is able to produce (catharsis, etc.) it is therefore held responsible for much. In the olden days, acting was considered a form of lying. When you’re acting, you’re clearly being someone you are not and saying things that are not true. Since that time, people have become less finicky about theatre.
I guess this argument could be had for all forms of art. Art is a large part of our lives. We invest a large amount in producing it and therefore invest a large amount of ourselves when receiving it. Our expectations are high and our disappointment great when those expectations aren’t met. In some instances we become disinterested, offended, even outraged by certain forms of art. Those of us in the arts seem to have greater expectations, which are proportional to our own investment, especially when we feel our art is meant to help change the world. If we take the time, effort, and energy to strive for good art, then gosh darn it so should Jane and John Doe.
At Northwestern we hold a rather high standard of excellence. We’re not snobby, but we know what we’re capable of and aren’t willing to settle for less. I’m happy to say we usually deliver. One of the standards we happen to hold seems rather self-explanatory and that is “what we do is theatre, not reality.”
Now, debate has been on about this simple idea “theatre, not reality” probably since before people got angry at the actor for lying. Or maybe that’s when the debate started. At any rate, throughout theatre history, and within our own department in Orange City, Iowa, there has been a debate over how real theatre can become and how theatrical real life actually can be. Philosophers, psychologists, sociologists, anthropologists, theologians, and many more PhDs and hippies have analyzed and observed the movements, attitudes, behaviors, and rituals of people as young as zero months to ancients as old as six million years in places as primitive as the Amazon jungle to as sophisticated as a Catholic mass on Good Friday. There is something very real about theatre and something very theatrical about reality. The problem occurs when the distinctions can’t be made between the two.
Augusto Boal, father of Theatre of the Oppressed, has been advocating a form of theatre that happens to fudge this line between the real and not so real. This is Invisible Theatre. Invisible Theatre has been done in many corners of the world. The instances recorded in Boal’s book Games for Actors and Non-Actors take place primarily in Europe. In each instance, actors rehearse scenes they intend to perform in a public area. These scenes deal with such issues as racism, sexual harassment, and other social prejudices. Like Theatre of the Oppressed, Invisible Theatre is meant to promote (provoke?) social change within a community: the public. Unlike Theatre of the Oppressed, Invisible Theatre has an audience that isn’t aware it is an audience: the public.
“The actors must play their parts as if they were playing in a traditional theatre, for a traditional audience. However, when the play is ready, it will be performed in a place which is not a theatre and for an audience which is not an audience[1].”
“One should never explain to the public that Invisible Theatre is theatre, lest it lose its impact[2].”
After reading Boal’s chapter on Invisible Theatre, I had a slight moment of panic. In my time at Northwestern, I’ve come to hold very near and dear to my heart the principal that “what we do is theatre, not reality.” I’ve had many conversations inside and outside the classroom on the importance of maintaining that distinction. The instances when reality has entered the theatre have never been, in my experience, profitable. The most infamous instances are those involving stage violence. The moment an actor is actually struck onstage, what should be theatre becomes real, what should be “pretend” becomes “dangerous.” Believe what you will about the imagination, but imagination remains imagination. Pretend remains pretend. If I point my finger at someone and say “bang!” any evident danger resides in my mind and the minds of the people around me. If I approach someone and deliberately slap him, no matter how pretend I may desire the situation to be, the abuse was still committed and much greater consequences will follow.
Now, these are extreme cases. Boal, to his credit, cares very much for the physical safety and even, to a degree, arguably, for the emotional and psychological safety of those involved in theatre, both on and offstage. My reservation towards Invisible Theatre remains, however, because of how deceiving its manipulative qualities truly are. (NOTE: it’s quite possible I’m splitting hairs at this point, but my “Life Story” blog entry may help in explaining that.) Despite Boal’s, or anyone’s, good intentions pertaining to Invisible Theatre, there still seems to be a sense of trickery involved. If you read any cases about Invisible Theatre, notably those chronicled in Boal’s books, you’ll realize that the people who are not the actors truly have no clue that what they’re viewing is indeed theatre and not reality. They believe what they see is actually taking place, that the circumstances are indeed real, and that there will therefore be the possibility of repercussions. There’s an instance chronicled in Games for Actors and Non-Actors where the police had to get involved because a family (the actors) were having a picnic in the middle of the road that was stopping traffic. Never mind the reasons, traffic was stopped, which adds up to so many potential and unforeseen repercussions that could very well endanger the safety of many people. All for the sake of theatrically presenting a given reality.
The moment theatre becomes trickery, for whatever reason, I personally feel it’s necessary to evaluate the reasons behind the trickery and also other alternatives. The risks, in my opinion, are too great, even if those risks are the seemingly minor possibility of losing the audiences’ trust. That trust is vital to the life and sanctity of what we do in theatre. We form a relationship, no matter how brief or how superficial, when we perform onstage something we wish to communicate to the audience. We are serving the audience, and I realize that’s a comment spoken from a Christian worldview, a worldview Boal doesn’t necessarily share and therefore a worldview where Invisible Theatre may not have the possibility of existing within. However, this is only my opinion, but a very strong opinion nonetheless.
There, friend, is my soapbox moment. I’ll no doubt be sharing with you much of what I’m learning about Boal. His intentions are very admirable, no matter how humanist they may be. His execution of those intentions, however, requires room for pause. It’s quite possible that pause will cost him and others the time they need to convince the public of their intentions, and thereby promote the social change so desperately needed. That being the case, it’s quite possible I don’t belong with Invisible Theatre at all.
On a lighter note, I spent my last night in Lupeni hanging out at Janelle and Daniel's apartment. Janelle had made peanut butter and chocolate brownies, the excuse being my departure in the morning. I had brought my laptop to get some things done, but nothing really got accomplished. I watched a couple episodes of The Office, a show I find very ingenious but absolutely despise for its blatant awkwardness. Chelsea, Anne, Hollyann, and Andrew were present, practicing Romanian and reading articles for their class the tomorrow. I tried playing chess with Andrew, but failed miserably. They were all welcome distractions. I was able to keep my mind off the inevitable. I'll miss them when I'm gone.
Blessings.
Kailen
[1] Boal, Augusto. Games for Actors and Non-Actors. New York: Routledge, 2002. Pg. 277
[2] Boal, Augusto. Games for Actors and Non-Actors. New York: Routledge, 2002. Pg. 287
Theatre is touchy. In the broad general sense of the term, that is, and I don’t mean touchy-feely. Because of what theatre is able to produce (catharsis, etc.) it is therefore held responsible for much. In the olden days, acting was considered a form of lying. When you’re acting, you’re clearly being someone you are not and saying things that are not true. Since that time, people have become less finicky about theatre.
I guess this argument could be had for all forms of art. Art is a large part of our lives. We invest a large amount in producing it and therefore invest a large amount of ourselves when receiving it. Our expectations are high and our disappointment great when those expectations aren’t met. In some instances we become disinterested, offended, even outraged by certain forms of art. Those of us in the arts seem to have greater expectations, which are proportional to our own investment, especially when we feel our art is meant to help change the world. If we take the time, effort, and energy to strive for good art, then gosh darn it so should Jane and John Doe.
At Northwestern we hold a rather high standard of excellence. We’re not snobby, but we know what we’re capable of and aren’t willing to settle for less. I’m happy to say we usually deliver. One of the standards we happen to hold seems rather self-explanatory and that is “what we do is theatre, not reality.”
Now, debate has been on about this simple idea “theatre, not reality” probably since before people got angry at the actor for lying. Or maybe that’s when the debate started. At any rate, throughout theatre history, and within our own department in Orange City, Iowa, there has been a debate over how real theatre can become and how theatrical real life actually can be. Philosophers, psychologists, sociologists, anthropologists, theologians, and many more PhDs and hippies have analyzed and observed the movements, attitudes, behaviors, and rituals of people as young as zero months to ancients as old as six million years in places as primitive as the Amazon jungle to as sophisticated as a Catholic mass on Good Friday. There is something very real about theatre and something very theatrical about reality. The problem occurs when the distinctions can’t be made between the two.
Augusto Boal, father of Theatre of the Oppressed, has been advocating a form of theatre that happens to fudge this line between the real and not so real. This is Invisible Theatre. Invisible Theatre has been done in many corners of the world. The instances recorded in Boal’s book Games for Actors and Non-Actors take place primarily in Europe. In each instance, actors rehearse scenes they intend to perform in a public area. These scenes deal with such issues as racism, sexual harassment, and other social prejudices. Like Theatre of the Oppressed, Invisible Theatre is meant to promote (provoke?) social change within a community: the public. Unlike Theatre of the Oppressed, Invisible Theatre has an audience that isn’t aware it is an audience: the public.
“The actors must play their parts as if they were playing in a traditional theatre, for a traditional audience. However, when the play is ready, it will be performed in a place which is not a theatre and for an audience which is not an audience[1].”
“One should never explain to the public that Invisible Theatre is theatre, lest it lose its impact[2].”
After reading Boal’s chapter on Invisible Theatre, I had a slight moment of panic. In my time at Northwestern, I’ve come to hold very near and dear to my heart the principal that “what we do is theatre, not reality.” I’ve had many conversations inside and outside the classroom on the importance of maintaining that distinction. The instances when reality has entered the theatre have never been, in my experience, profitable. The most infamous instances are those involving stage violence. The moment an actor is actually struck onstage, what should be theatre becomes real, what should be “pretend” becomes “dangerous.” Believe what you will about the imagination, but imagination remains imagination. Pretend remains pretend. If I point my finger at someone and say “bang!” any evident danger resides in my mind and the minds of the people around me. If I approach someone and deliberately slap him, no matter how pretend I may desire the situation to be, the abuse was still committed and much greater consequences will follow.
Now, these are extreme cases. Boal, to his credit, cares very much for the physical safety and even, to a degree, arguably, for the emotional and psychological safety of those involved in theatre, both on and offstage. My reservation towards Invisible Theatre remains, however, because of how deceiving its manipulative qualities truly are. (NOTE: it’s quite possible I’m splitting hairs at this point, but my “Life Story” blog entry may help in explaining that.) Despite Boal’s, or anyone’s, good intentions pertaining to Invisible Theatre, there still seems to be a sense of trickery involved. If you read any cases about Invisible Theatre, notably those chronicled in Boal’s books, you’ll realize that the people who are not the actors truly have no clue that what they’re viewing is indeed theatre and not reality. They believe what they see is actually taking place, that the circumstances are indeed real, and that there will therefore be the possibility of repercussions. There’s an instance chronicled in Games for Actors and Non-Actors where the police had to get involved because a family (the actors) were having a picnic in the middle of the road that was stopping traffic. Never mind the reasons, traffic was stopped, which adds up to so many potential and unforeseen repercussions that could very well endanger the safety of many people. All for the sake of theatrically presenting a given reality.
The moment theatre becomes trickery, for whatever reason, I personally feel it’s necessary to evaluate the reasons behind the trickery and also other alternatives. The risks, in my opinion, are too great, even if those risks are the seemingly minor possibility of losing the audiences’ trust. That trust is vital to the life and sanctity of what we do in theatre. We form a relationship, no matter how brief or how superficial, when we perform onstage something we wish to communicate to the audience. We are serving the audience, and I realize that’s a comment spoken from a Christian worldview, a worldview Boal doesn’t necessarily share and therefore a worldview where Invisible Theatre may not have the possibility of existing within. However, this is only my opinion, but a very strong opinion nonetheless.
There, friend, is my soapbox moment. I’ll no doubt be sharing with you much of what I’m learning about Boal. His intentions are very admirable, no matter how humanist they may be. His execution of those intentions, however, requires room for pause. It’s quite possible that pause will cost him and others the time they need to convince the public of their intentions, and thereby promote the social change so desperately needed. That being the case, it’s quite possible I don’t belong with Invisible Theatre at all.
On a lighter note, I spent my last night in Lupeni hanging out at Janelle and Daniel's apartment. Janelle had made peanut butter and chocolate brownies, the excuse being my departure in the morning. I had brought my laptop to get some things done, but nothing really got accomplished. I watched a couple episodes of The Office, a show I find very ingenious but absolutely despise for its blatant awkwardness. Chelsea, Anne, Hollyann, and Andrew were present, practicing Romanian and reading articles for their class the tomorrow. I tried playing chess with Andrew, but failed miserably. They were all welcome distractions. I was able to keep my mind off the inevitable. I'll miss them when I'm gone.
Blessings.
Kailen
[1] Boal, Augusto. Games for Actors and Non-Actors. New York: Routledge, 2002. Pg. 277
[2] Boal, Augusto. Games for Actors and Non-Actors. New York: Routledge, 2002. Pg. 287
Monday, September 22, 2008
September 22, 2008: Experiential Education
Dear Friend,
Dave Nonnemacher, Northwestern's service learning guru, arrived in Lupeni sometime last week Sunday. As I mentioned in my previous entries, he went with us to the Retezat and made comments about us being a part of the 0.0001% of Americans who had the opportunity to hike in the mountains of Romania. He reminded us of this often. Anyway, he took us out for pizza tonight.
Today was another workday. I read some Augusto Boal in the morning that I didn’t quite understand. Boal is the father of Theatre of the Oppressed and his writings are the subject of my directed study. His theories are ones I'll have to read a couple of times in order to grasp. I then went to the IMPACT building to help dismantle the tents we had set up to dry and do some general clean-up. During this time I tried to have a conversation about the idea of “celebrity” and how I dislike it. I'm not sure it worked. I tried explaining that celebrity turns people into things. A person stops being a person when they become a celebrity. It’s a difficult distinction, I know, but celebrities are things of magazines, tabloids, and gossip. A person is someone you invest time and compassion in. Actors are also persons, and you can invest as much time and compassion as you choose, but they are still people. When people become celebrities they begin to lose their humanity in other people's minds. They become things. I’m probably not making any sense.
Anyway, remember Pizza Planet, the pizza joint we went to a couple of times when we first arrived? That’s where we had pizza with Dave. He wanted to give us some time to vent to him if we had to. We really didn't have to. It also gave him another chance to express how truly passionate he is about this opportunity we each have. I tease Dave about this, but I truly share his passion for the Romania Study Abroad program. The opportunities we have to learn here are invaluable.
Dave spoke a lot about experiential education and how important he feels it is within the context of Northwestern. Let me put my plug in here: if education can be had through experience (isn’t that what most of life is?) then I’m all for it. For crying out loud, Jesus didn’t always teach in a classroom (Sermon on the Mount.) Also, Northwestern continuing their relationship with New Horizons should be obvious. There are opportunities here that you can’t get anywhere else that can benefit everyone involved. I value very much the education I get in the classroom back home, the discussions had with my peers and professors, but experiential education offers something new and different that can still be applied to everyday life. I’m trying to work off of what Dave said, which he says so much better.
Experiential education, adventure education, the Romanian semester, it’s all something Northwestern needs to keep looking into. The work being done here in Lupeni is monumental, and it’s spreading. I’ll be doing very similar work in Bucureşti, work promoting social capital and community, things Northwestern is a large supporter of. This all needs to continue.
I’ve been thinking lately about how I’ll present all this to Northwestern when I return. Part of the internship will be to present my findings, my experiences, wrap it up in a package, and let people know what’s going on. At least, that’s what I want to do when I get back. I have a lot to wrap up. September isn’t over yet, I’ll be in the city, starting my work before the end of the week. Another adventure begins. What will I learn? What will I experience?
Blessings.
Kailen
Dave Nonnemacher, Northwestern's service learning guru, arrived in Lupeni sometime last week Sunday. As I mentioned in my previous entries, he went with us to the Retezat and made comments about us being a part of the 0.0001% of Americans who had the opportunity to hike in the mountains of Romania. He reminded us of this often. Anyway, he took us out for pizza tonight.
Today was another workday. I read some Augusto Boal in the morning that I didn’t quite understand. Boal is the father of Theatre of the Oppressed and his writings are the subject of my directed study. His theories are ones I'll have to read a couple of times in order to grasp. I then went to the IMPACT building to help dismantle the tents we had set up to dry and do some general clean-up. During this time I tried to have a conversation about the idea of “celebrity” and how I dislike it. I'm not sure it worked. I tried explaining that celebrity turns people into things. A person stops being a person when they become a celebrity. It’s a difficult distinction, I know, but celebrities are things of magazines, tabloids, and gossip. A person is someone you invest time and compassion in. Actors are also persons, and you can invest as much time and compassion as you choose, but they are still people. When people become celebrities they begin to lose their humanity in other people's minds. They become things. I’m probably not making any sense.
Anyway, remember Pizza Planet, the pizza joint we went to a couple of times when we first arrived? That’s where we had pizza with Dave. He wanted to give us some time to vent to him if we had to. We really didn't have to. It also gave him another chance to express how truly passionate he is about this opportunity we each have. I tease Dave about this, but I truly share his passion for the Romania Study Abroad program. The opportunities we have to learn here are invaluable.
Dave spoke a lot about experiential education and how important he feels it is within the context of Northwestern. Let me put my plug in here: if education can be had through experience (isn’t that what most of life is?) then I’m all for it. For crying out loud, Jesus didn’t always teach in a classroom (Sermon on the Mount.) Also, Northwestern continuing their relationship with New Horizons should be obvious. There are opportunities here that you can’t get anywhere else that can benefit everyone involved. I value very much the education I get in the classroom back home, the discussions had with my peers and professors, but experiential education offers something new and different that can still be applied to everyday life. I’m trying to work off of what Dave said, which he says so much better.
Experiential education, adventure education, the Romanian semester, it’s all something Northwestern needs to keep looking into. The work being done here in Lupeni is monumental, and it’s spreading. I’ll be doing very similar work in Bucureşti, work promoting social capital and community, things Northwestern is a large supporter of. This all needs to continue.
I’ve been thinking lately about how I’ll present all this to Northwestern when I return. Part of the internship will be to present my findings, my experiences, wrap it up in a package, and let people know what’s going on. At least, that’s what I want to do when I get back. I have a lot to wrap up. September isn’t over yet, I’ll be in the city, starting my work before the end of the week. Another adventure begins. What will I learn? What will I experience?
Blessings.
Kailen
September 21, 2008: Rich Mullins
Dear Friend,
May peace rain down from Heaven
Like little pieces of the sky
Little keepers of the promise
Falling on these souls this drought has dried
In His Blood and in His Body
In this Bread and in this Wine
Peace to you
Peace of Christ to you
Today was a little bit of a rest/work day. I took my time getting things done, didn’t stress out about too much. Most of today’s work was writing and posting blog entries from my days in the Retezat. During most of that, I listened to my favorite contemporary Christian music artist: Rich Mullins.
Rich Mullins lived the latter part of his life until his death on a Navajo reservation in New Mexico. He lived in a hogan and taught music to children. He lived on an average U.S. salary, which was taken out of the money he earned from touring and album sales. The rest of the money was given to charity. He died in an automobile accident September 19, 1997. He had been engaged once, but his fiancée called it off. Other than that, he was never married and didn’t have children.
This is really only a small part of why I like Rich Mullins. In all actuality, I like him for his music. The lyrics above are the chorus from his song “Peace.” The ones that follow are from his song “Be With You.”
And when my body lies in the ruins
Of the lies that nearly ruined me
Will You pick up the pieces
That were pure and true
And breathe Your life into them
And set them free?
And when You start this world over
Again from scratch
Will You make me anew
Out of the stuff that lasts?
Stuff that's purer than gold is
And clearer than glass could ever be
Can I be with You?
Can I be with You?
Rich actually grew up going to a Quaker church. The Quaker’s beliefs about peace and social justice greatly influenced his life and his lyrics. He was also greatly influenced by St. Francis of Assisi and tried living his life on the Navajo reservation similarly to St. Francis’.
The lyrics of Rich Mullins’ songs speak volumes to me. I can’t listen to one of his songs and not be moved to think of the majesty and even the mystery of God. He’s very profound, very poetic, and very musical. If you get the chance to listen to any of his songs, just sit and listen to the words. Think on them for awhile. You don’t necessarily have to like him. He’s not everyone’s cup of tea. However, you have to admit that he has a lot to say in what he sings. Here’s the chorus to “If I Stand:”
So if I stand let me stand on the promise
That you will pull me through
And if I can't, let me fall on the grace
That first brought me to You
And if I sing let me sing for the joy
That has born in me these songs
And if I weep let it be as a man
Who is longing for his home
Hope you find as much inspiration in these lyrics as I do, friend. Peace of Christ to you.
Blessings.
Kailen
May peace rain down from Heaven
Like little pieces of the sky
Little keepers of the promise
Falling on these souls this drought has dried
In His Blood and in His Body
In this Bread and in this Wine
Peace to you
Peace of Christ to you
Today was a little bit of a rest/work day. I took my time getting things done, didn’t stress out about too much. Most of today’s work was writing and posting blog entries from my days in the Retezat. During most of that, I listened to my favorite contemporary Christian music artist: Rich Mullins.
Rich Mullins lived the latter part of his life until his death on a Navajo reservation in New Mexico. He lived in a hogan and taught music to children. He lived on an average U.S. salary, which was taken out of the money he earned from touring and album sales. The rest of the money was given to charity. He died in an automobile accident September 19, 1997. He had been engaged once, but his fiancée called it off. Other than that, he was never married and didn’t have children.
This is really only a small part of why I like Rich Mullins. In all actuality, I like him for his music. The lyrics above are the chorus from his song “Peace.” The ones that follow are from his song “Be With You.”
And when my body lies in the ruins
Of the lies that nearly ruined me
Will You pick up the pieces
That were pure and true
And breathe Your life into them
And set them free?
And when You start this world over
Again from scratch
Will You make me anew
Out of the stuff that lasts?
Stuff that's purer than gold is
And clearer than glass could ever be
Can I be with You?
Can I be with You?
Rich actually grew up going to a Quaker church. The Quaker’s beliefs about peace and social justice greatly influenced his life and his lyrics. He was also greatly influenced by St. Francis of Assisi and tried living his life on the Navajo reservation similarly to St. Francis’.
The lyrics of Rich Mullins’ songs speak volumes to me. I can’t listen to one of his songs and not be moved to think of the majesty and even the mystery of God. He’s very profound, very poetic, and very musical. If you get the chance to listen to any of his songs, just sit and listen to the words. Think on them for awhile. You don’t necessarily have to like him. He’s not everyone’s cup of tea. However, you have to admit that he has a lot to say in what he sings. Here’s the chorus to “If I Stand:”
So if I stand let me stand on the promise
That you will pull me through
And if I can't, let me fall on the grace
That first brought me to You
And if I sing let me sing for the joy
That has born in me these songs
And if I weep let it be as a man
Who is longing for his home
Hope you find as much inspiration in these lyrics as I do, friend. Peace of Christ to you.
Blessings.
Kailen
Sunday, September 21, 2008
September 20, 2008: An Introduction to Solitude, Community, and Ministry
Dear Friend,
Sleeping in a bed seems to work so much right after sleeping in a sleeping bag. I woke up, showered whatever grime was left over from the night before, bought breakfast at the Penny Market, and headed to the office to get some stuff done. We would all be meeting at the IMPACT building at noon, so I wanted to accomplish a little something before then. I managed to clean out my email inbox and reply to some messages. I also was able to get frustrated with the new format of Facebook. Why do things as ridiculous as Facebook need to be continually revised? And why do I get so frustrated with such ridiculous revisions?
At the IMPACT building, we gathered food from our leftover stash for lunch. We would be eating lunch at the Bateses and having a general Retezat debrief. We would also be discussing an article Daniel put in our EE booklets, an article written by Henri Nouwen. My group threw some simple things together for lunch. We weren’t going to get busy with preparing anything.
During debrief, some of us expressed a let down from having to leave the Retezat early. I expressed a similar feeling, but I explained my feeling was coupled with a feeling of “in between.” I was still, in a sense, coming down from the mountain and was now having to prepare myself for work in the city. I expressed a great excitement for the work I’d be doing, how it fulfilled in a way what I come to Northwestern for. I told them a lot about what I wrote in my first blog entry (“Road to Romania, or Exposition.”) Dave mentioned during the debrief how we still fulfilled most of what we set out to do, which was take a break from Lupeni for awhile and experience other things in the wilderness. We did that, so we should therefore feel we had accomplished something during our shortened time in the Retezat.
Chelsea, Anne, and Andrew made some amazing quesadillas for us with the remaining tortillas and cheese. Andrew mixed some salami in his and mine, which added a much needed kick. Other than that, gummy worms and crackers made up the rest of our lunches. There was a lot of hot chocolate, as well. I finally tried some with cinnamon, something everyone was convincing me I should do. Dave actually planted some in my mug, so I didn’t have much of a choice. I’ll admit, it was pretty good.
I’ve become a big fan of Henri Nouwen in the past year. I actually picked up a copy of his book The Inner Voice of Love while I was on tour this past summer. The Inner Voice of Love consists of journal entries Nouwen wrote while he was going through a particularly difficult time in his life. Each chapter is about a page or two long and concentrates on getting you to the point where you depend on God’s love alone to satisfy your needs. There’s much more to the book, but that’s the basic idea.
I digress. I’m a big fan of Nouwen. That being said, I was excited about reading the article, entitled “Moving from Solitude to Community to Ministry.” The article caused quite a stir amongst the members of the group. I won’t try to explain all that went on in our conversations, first because it was complicated and second because I’m not entirely certain I understand the article in the first read. Nouwen is an author you need to read a couple of times, because each time you discover new things that add to the puzzle of what he’s getting at. Despite how seemingly simple Nouwen’s writing is, it’s quite profound and the simple truths he explores require further exploration. I’ll try, however, to explain as much as I can.
In light of New Horizons mission and our groups continuing discussion of social capital, the emphasis of community could not be greater. Much of the debate occurred in light of Nouwen’s emphasis of solitude. Personal opinions on each of the subjects and how they influence ministry were shared. The overall conclusion, in my mind, at any rate, was that solitude and community cannot remain mutually exclusive sources for ministry, yet each play an important role in that ministry. I’ll have to read and reread the article in order to form a better idea of Nouwen’s thoughts.
We ended the night with watching a movie called Seducing Dr. Lewis. It was a drama/comedy about a small fishing community trying to convince a big time city doctor to reside with them. Having their own doctor in town would in turn help them to build a factory, where everyone would be able to get a job and get off of welfare. It reminded me of the Hugh Grant film The Englishman Who Went Up a Hill and Came Down a Mountain. There were a lot of the same collected tricks pulled by the townspeople to convince the newcomer of something that really wasn’t there. In the end, everyone is happy. It was a delightful film. How it applies to what we’re doing here, I’m not sure. Maybe we’ll find out later.
Tibi has been gone this weekend to his farm in another part of the country, so I have the flat to myself. He wasn’t anticipating my early return. I’m not sure when he’ll be back. I’ve been thinking lately about my eventual departure from the group, or just my eventual departure from Lupeni. I’ll see my classmates again at Northwestern, and will occasionally see members of New Horizons in Bucureşti. However, I’ll be entering my own solitude eventually and am hoping it will be balanced with a sense of community. I’ve also been thinking lately, as my internship is a kind of ministry, that ministry will go hit high velocity in the city.
Blessings.
Kailen
Sleeping in a bed seems to work so much right after sleeping in a sleeping bag. I woke up, showered whatever grime was left over from the night before, bought breakfast at the Penny Market, and headed to the office to get some stuff done. We would all be meeting at the IMPACT building at noon, so I wanted to accomplish a little something before then. I managed to clean out my email inbox and reply to some messages. I also was able to get frustrated with the new format of Facebook. Why do things as ridiculous as Facebook need to be continually revised? And why do I get so frustrated with such ridiculous revisions?
At the IMPACT building, we gathered food from our leftover stash for lunch. We would be eating lunch at the Bateses and having a general Retezat debrief. We would also be discussing an article Daniel put in our EE booklets, an article written by Henri Nouwen. My group threw some simple things together for lunch. We weren’t going to get busy with preparing anything.
During debrief, some of us expressed a let down from having to leave the Retezat early. I expressed a similar feeling, but I explained my feeling was coupled with a feeling of “in between.” I was still, in a sense, coming down from the mountain and was now having to prepare myself for work in the city. I expressed a great excitement for the work I’d be doing, how it fulfilled in a way what I come to Northwestern for. I told them a lot about what I wrote in my first blog entry (“Road to Romania, or Exposition.”) Dave mentioned during the debrief how we still fulfilled most of what we set out to do, which was take a break from Lupeni for awhile and experience other things in the wilderness. We did that, so we should therefore feel we had accomplished something during our shortened time in the Retezat.
Chelsea, Anne, and Andrew made some amazing quesadillas for us with the remaining tortillas and cheese. Andrew mixed some salami in his and mine, which added a much needed kick. Other than that, gummy worms and crackers made up the rest of our lunches. There was a lot of hot chocolate, as well. I finally tried some with cinnamon, something everyone was convincing me I should do. Dave actually planted some in my mug, so I didn’t have much of a choice. I’ll admit, it was pretty good.
I’ve become a big fan of Henri Nouwen in the past year. I actually picked up a copy of his book The Inner Voice of Love while I was on tour this past summer. The Inner Voice of Love consists of journal entries Nouwen wrote while he was going through a particularly difficult time in his life. Each chapter is about a page or two long and concentrates on getting you to the point where you depend on God’s love alone to satisfy your needs. There’s much more to the book, but that’s the basic idea.
I digress. I’m a big fan of Nouwen. That being said, I was excited about reading the article, entitled “Moving from Solitude to Community to Ministry.” The article caused quite a stir amongst the members of the group. I won’t try to explain all that went on in our conversations, first because it was complicated and second because I’m not entirely certain I understand the article in the first read. Nouwen is an author you need to read a couple of times, because each time you discover new things that add to the puzzle of what he’s getting at. Despite how seemingly simple Nouwen’s writing is, it’s quite profound and the simple truths he explores require further exploration. I’ll try, however, to explain as much as I can.
In light of New Horizons mission and our groups continuing discussion of social capital, the emphasis of community could not be greater. Much of the debate occurred in light of Nouwen’s emphasis of solitude. Personal opinions on each of the subjects and how they influence ministry were shared. The overall conclusion, in my mind, at any rate, was that solitude and community cannot remain mutually exclusive sources for ministry, yet each play an important role in that ministry. I’ll have to read and reread the article in order to form a better idea of Nouwen’s thoughts.
We ended the night with watching a movie called Seducing Dr. Lewis. It was a drama/comedy about a small fishing community trying to convince a big time city doctor to reside with them. Having their own doctor in town would in turn help them to build a factory, where everyone would be able to get a job and get off of welfare. It reminded me of the Hugh Grant film The Englishman Who Went Up a Hill and Came Down a Mountain. There were a lot of the same collected tricks pulled by the townspeople to convince the newcomer of something that really wasn’t there. In the end, everyone is happy. It was a delightful film. How it applies to what we’re doing here, I’m not sure. Maybe we’ll find out later.
Tibi has been gone this weekend to his farm in another part of the country, so I have the flat to myself. He wasn’t anticipating my early return. I’m not sure when he’ll be back. I’ve been thinking lately about my eventual departure from the group, or just my eventual departure from Lupeni. I’ll see my classmates again at Northwestern, and will occasionally see members of New Horizons in Bucureşti. However, I’ll be entering my own solitude eventually and am hoping it will be balanced with a sense of community. I’ve also been thinking lately, as my internship is a kind of ministry, that ministry will go hit high velocity in the city.
Blessings.
Kailen
September 19, 2008: The Retezat, Day Four – Early Decommission
Dear Friend,
So, yesterday we hiked in snow flurries. This morning I woke up to a winter wonderland. There was a blanket of newly fallen snow lain over our campsite. It was actually very beautiful. Everything was quiet, snow still lilting down from the sky. I was the first person up in our group, which meant I boiled the water again and got things ready for breakfast. I didn’t mind. I was enjoying the snow.
The powers that be decided, based on the eventual worsening of the weather, that we would strike camp and return to Lupeni early. Apparently more snow was coming from the places we were planning on hiking to for the rest of the week. We all agreed, some of us with not a little disappointment. Dave personally apologized to me, probably because he knew how much I was looking forward to this and how hard I had worked to get supplies. Not much could be done. It would be a foolish decision to stick it out.
There were three mice in our van when we returned, so leaving the mountains was a difficult task from the beginning. It was quite amusing, actually, as the guys worked to get the mice out and the girls stood a good distance from the van. I managed to get out of the mouse hunt, shedding layers and changing footwear. Eventually, after some musical chairs concerning the vehicles, we managed to get the really mouse frightened people in the other vehicle, and those who didn’t give a rip in the first.
We ate at a little restaurant in a little town, the name of which I can’t remember. I was feeling a little miserable by this point, not having showered in a couple days and feeling the impact of the snow flurries the day before. My cheeks were really sore. I managed, however, to order my food in Romanian and even help Andrew do the same. While we waited for our food, I had a conversation with Janelle and Daniel about “theatre people.” They found it interesting how there are sociology majors, music majors, history and math majors, but the theatre majors are referred to as “theatre people.” In retrospect, it was a rather convoluted conversation, one where we didn’t reach any conclusion that was different from where we began. We were all tired, so that’s excusable.
Once we returned to Lupeni, we set up our wet tents in the IMPACT building so they could dry out. After this, Daniel took us all home. I had a wonderful hot shower, and ended up going to bed. Night was falling, so it was time to do go to sleep in my mind. Tomorrow I would have to inform a bunch of people I was back from the mountains early.
Blessings.
Kailen
So, yesterday we hiked in snow flurries. This morning I woke up to a winter wonderland. There was a blanket of newly fallen snow lain over our campsite. It was actually very beautiful. Everything was quiet, snow still lilting down from the sky. I was the first person up in our group, which meant I boiled the water again and got things ready for breakfast. I didn’t mind. I was enjoying the snow.
The powers that be decided, based on the eventual worsening of the weather, that we would strike camp and return to Lupeni early. Apparently more snow was coming from the places we were planning on hiking to for the rest of the week. We all agreed, some of us with not a little disappointment. Dave personally apologized to me, probably because he knew how much I was looking forward to this and how hard I had worked to get supplies. Not much could be done. It would be a foolish decision to stick it out.
There were three mice in our van when we returned, so leaving the mountains was a difficult task from the beginning. It was quite amusing, actually, as the guys worked to get the mice out and the girls stood a good distance from the van. I managed to get out of the mouse hunt, shedding layers and changing footwear. Eventually, after some musical chairs concerning the vehicles, we managed to get the really mouse frightened people in the other vehicle, and those who didn’t give a rip in the first.
We ate at a little restaurant in a little town, the name of which I can’t remember. I was feeling a little miserable by this point, not having showered in a couple days and feeling the impact of the snow flurries the day before. My cheeks were really sore. I managed, however, to order my food in Romanian and even help Andrew do the same. While we waited for our food, I had a conversation with Janelle and Daniel about “theatre people.” They found it interesting how there are sociology majors, music majors, history and math majors, but the theatre majors are referred to as “theatre people.” In retrospect, it was a rather convoluted conversation, one where we didn’t reach any conclusion that was different from where we began. We were all tired, so that’s excusable.
Once we returned to Lupeni, we set up our wet tents in the IMPACT building so they could dry out. After this, Daniel took us all home. I had a wonderful hot shower, and ended up going to bed. Night was falling, so it was time to do go to sleep in my mind. Tomorrow I would have to inform a bunch of people I was back from the mountains early.
Blessings.
Kailen
September 18, 2008: The Retezat, Day Three – Snow in September
Dear Friend,
Sleep came so much easier and was so much better than the night before. I made myself stay up later than I had the night before, which I think helped a lot. I also moved into Dana’s tent. Originally, I was sleeping in the same tent as the girls in my group, which made me feel really congested with all four of us. Sleeping in Dana’s tent, though, I felt there was a little more room to move. I woke up only a couple times in the night. Sleep was good.
Getting out the tent was still a challenge, but I managed to get a system going whereby it wouldn’t be too awkward. I was first to the lunar module, so I started boiling water for the group. Hot chocolate on a cold morning in the mountains seems like the most ideal thing in the world. Hot chocolate and oatmeal makes it even better. The girls eventually got up and joined me. They felt the same about the hot chocolate and oatmeal.
Our hike today involved wind and snow. It was wet snow, so it looked a lot like we were walking into a very dense fog or rain. We walked through the valley to where it eventually ended. The mountains loop around in a U shape, so the valley eventually ended. We sat for awhile in the sun, which had come out to say “hi.” I was able to implement my new pocket knife to cut pieces of salami. Very manly, cutting meat with your knife in the mountains. Yeah, whatever, I don’t buy into either.
Our next destination was up. This was the difficult part of the hike. Florin, are daring guide (daring because none of us was crazy enough to lead this group of hooligans up a mountain,) took us up and over the mountain. About halfway up, the flurries started up again. There’s something exciting and epic about hiking a mountain in snowy weather. So long as I was able to latch onto that thought (you know, deceive myself,) I was able to not allow the weather to get the better of me. Believe me, it paid off.
Once we were over the mountain, we reached a plateau, where a large mountain lake rested within the confines of another mountain ridge. We hiked around the lake to sit and rest in the ridge on the other side. We ate some lunch, rested a little, and tried to enjoy what part of the lake we could see through the fog. Once again, my camera failed to capture what I wanted it to. I can only hope that what I got is sufficient to help me remember.
Descending the mountain, I suppose, was just as much a challenge as scaling it. I had a little slit for my eyes, where my hat and neck warmer almost met, through which I could see. Other than that, the rest of me was bundled up warmly against the now intolerable flurries. There were a lot of comments amongst members of the group about there being snow in September. Well, yeah, in a mountain there would be!
Back at camp, some of the group decided to hit their sleeping bags for awhile. I, however, didn’t, so in the meantime I decided to make supper. Our group decided on pasta, which was probably the best decision of the day. I, personally, am a huge fan of pasta, and while London is supposed to be the pasta capital of the world (sorry, Italy) we were certainly in the pasta capital of the Retezat. Daniel had made the comment that most of the food we packed only tasted good because we were hungry and camping in the mountains. He’s probably right, because the pasta was very delicious. Adding pepper and parmesan cheese to it made it taste even better.
Florin made another fire for us. This man is a machine, or as Dana says “chud[1].” Apparently “chud” means “solid,” or something like that. So, Florin is “chud,” especially when he’s using his ax. He only used one hand when using his ax, and he hacked away at wood as if it were nothing. He would rearrange logs on the fire this way, too. Once he walked past me to the fire, swung his ax and nailed a log, then pushed it into place like it was a puzzle piece. All this with one hand! The fire was dying a little by this point, but once he worked his “chudness” it got going again.
Late night conversations around the fire have always been enjoyable. Last night and tonight I managed to have conversations with Dana. Tonight, Andrew and Solita had joined us. Solita didn’t say much, but Dana, Andrew, and I gabbed most of the night. What we said, I really can’t recount. Most of what we discussed was faith, community, and the importance of each influencing the decisions we make, especially decisions concerning missions. Dana emphasized the importance of community being a kind of checks and balances for people, that accountability is very important to have in one’s life.
We’ve finished day three and still doing well. Hopefully the rest of our food will taste just as good as the pasta and salami. I may have to share the salami with the some others on the hike, though, because the girls were very much against it during lunch. We’ll have to see.
Blessings.
Kailen
[1] Dave made the comment that “chud” is a Texas term. Dana is from Texas, and commented that it was not a Texan term. I think it’s still fun to think it’s a Texan term.
Sleep came so much easier and was so much better than the night before. I made myself stay up later than I had the night before, which I think helped a lot. I also moved into Dana’s tent. Originally, I was sleeping in the same tent as the girls in my group, which made me feel really congested with all four of us. Sleeping in Dana’s tent, though, I felt there was a little more room to move. I woke up only a couple times in the night. Sleep was good.
Getting out the tent was still a challenge, but I managed to get a system going whereby it wouldn’t be too awkward. I was first to the lunar module, so I started boiling water for the group. Hot chocolate on a cold morning in the mountains seems like the most ideal thing in the world. Hot chocolate and oatmeal makes it even better. The girls eventually got up and joined me. They felt the same about the hot chocolate and oatmeal.
Our hike today involved wind and snow. It was wet snow, so it looked a lot like we were walking into a very dense fog or rain. We walked through the valley to where it eventually ended. The mountains loop around in a U shape, so the valley eventually ended. We sat for awhile in the sun, which had come out to say “hi.” I was able to implement my new pocket knife to cut pieces of salami. Very manly, cutting meat with your knife in the mountains. Yeah, whatever, I don’t buy into either.
Our next destination was up. This was the difficult part of the hike. Florin, are daring guide (daring because none of us was crazy enough to lead this group of hooligans up a mountain,) took us up and over the mountain. About halfway up, the flurries started up again. There’s something exciting and epic about hiking a mountain in snowy weather. So long as I was able to latch onto that thought (you know, deceive myself,) I was able to not allow the weather to get the better of me. Believe me, it paid off.
Once we were over the mountain, we reached a plateau, where a large mountain lake rested within the confines of another mountain ridge. We hiked around the lake to sit and rest in the ridge on the other side. We ate some lunch, rested a little, and tried to enjoy what part of the lake we could see through the fog. Once again, my camera failed to capture what I wanted it to. I can only hope that what I got is sufficient to help me remember.
Descending the mountain, I suppose, was just as much a challenge as scaling it. I had a little slit for my eyes, where my hat and neck warmer almost met, through which I could see. Other than that, the rest of me was bundled up warmly against the now intolerable flurries. There were a lot of comments amongst members of the group about there being snow in September. Well, yeah, in a mountain there would be!
Back at camp, some of the group decided to hit their sleeping bags for awhile. I, however, didn’t, so in the meantime I decided to make supper. Our group decided on pasta, which was probably the best decision of the day. I, personally, am a huge fan of pasta, and while London is supposed to be the pasta capital of the world (sorry, Italy) we were certainly in the pasta capital of the Retezat. Daniel had made the comment that most of the food we packed only tasted good because we were hungry and camping in the mountains. He’s probably right, because the pasta was very delicious. Adding pepper and parmesan cheese to it made it taste even better.
Florin made another fire for us. This man is a machine, or as Dana says “chud[1].” Apparently “chud” means “solid,” or something like that. So, Florin is “chud,” especially when he’s using his ax. He only used one hand when using his ax, and he hacked away at wood as if it were nothing. He would rearrange logs on the fire this way, too. Once he walked past me to the fire, swung his ax and nailed a log, then pushed it into place like it was a puzzle piece. All this with one hand! The fire was dying a little by this point, but once he worked his “chudness” it got going again.
Late night conversations around the fire have always been enjoyable. Last night and tonight I managed to have conversations with Dana. Tonight, Andrew and Solita had joined us. Solita didn’t say much, but Dana, Andrew, and I gabbed most of the night. What we said, I really can’t recount. Most of what we discussed was faith, community, and the importance of each influencing the decisions we make, especially decisions concerning missions. Dana emphasized the importance of community being a kind of checks and balances for people, that accountability is very important to have in one’s life.
We’ve finished day three and still doing well. Hopefully the rest of our food will taste just as good as the pasta and salami. I may have to share the salami with the some others on the hike, though, because the girls were very much against it during lunch. We’ll have to see.
Blessings.
Kailen
[1] Dave made the comment that “chud” is a Texas term. Dana is from Texas, and commented that it was not a Texan term. I think it’s still fun to think it’s a Texan term.
September 17, 2008: The Retezat, Day Two – “It rained and it rained and it rained.”
Dear Friend,
I slept horribly last night. It was around three in the morning when I first went unconscious, and then again at four or five, I would assume. I woke up in pain, primarily in my back and my jaw, for some reason. It was raining again, which made exiting the tent a little difficult. My first challenge of the day: getting dressed for the weather while in the weather.
I’ve forgotten just how much I love oatmeal. We had a supply that we took advantage of this morning. I think I’ll go back to eating oatmeal for breakfast when I get back to Northwestern. It’s a wonderful thing. It also seems to taste better after waiting fifteen to twenty minutes for your lunar module stove to boil your water.
We ended up deciding on not striking camp. The weather wasn’t working in our favor to move to another site. We were, however, going to be able to get a good long hike in. We spent some time cleaning up and preparing our lunch supplies. Each of us packed a supply of gorp (good old raisins and peanuts, which actually included much more than just those two staples.) Eventually we were on our way.
The fog played games with us most of the day. At times it would lift, then descend after a couple of minutes. Luckily, it was never too thick in our immediate area for us to get horribly lost. Once again, when we were able to see, our sites were too beautiful to describe. At one point we passed a small mountain lake, which Daniel joked was a natural hot spring we could all jump into. In order to follow “leave no trace” principals, though, we would have to rinse ourselves before going in.
We stopped at a cabană we were told was known for serving good tea. After hiking down a long, steep path to the cabană, and being greeted by a large, black, but very harmless dog, we found ourselves in dry comfort. The tea was nothing to write home about, and neither was lunch, really, but we were dry and managed to get a little warm, so we were content.
It was on our return to camp that the fog lifted for awhile, just enough to let the sun shine through. As we climbed, leaving the cabană, we managed to see the vastness of the mountains. The sun shining through the clouds of fog made for an even more dazzling image. Dave made us stop and soak it all in. I took as many pictures as I could, but really had no desire to. I knew none of the pictures I took would do justice to what I was actually seeing. There isn’t a camera big enough, nor powerful enough to capture these things.
The fog remained up while we made our way past the little lake. Shortly after that, though, the fog returned and the rain continued. During most of this day, my thoughts were on Winnie the Pooh. I was thinking of the story when the Hundred Acre Wood had that big rain storm, which flooded everywhere except (miraculously) Christopher Robin’s house. I remember when the story was done by Disney, and hearing Sebastian Cabot narrate, “It rained and it rained and it rained,” then listening to the song, “The rain, rain, rain came down, down, down…” I couldn’t help but smile, in spite of the weather around me.
The only mashed potatoes I will eat are my mother’s. That being said, making supper tonight with powdered potatoes seemed (and even tasted) rather disgusting. When at camp, though, do what campers do. It was quite a sight, though, all of us hunkered down around the stove. Florin eventually made a campfire for us, which we all congregated around after supper. There were a number of socks and shoes being dried while we all sat and talked.
I can remember that it was days like this that compelled my family to strike camp and head home. We have four more days of this, and I’m hoping the weather clears up enough for us to actually enjoy our hikes. I’ve been wearing almost all my clothes, only taking my rain layers off when getting into my sleeping bag. I’m really hoping to be able to take layers off during the day. In the meantime, I’m working on just going with the flow.
Blessings.
Kailen
I slept horribly last night. It was around three in the morning when I first went unconscious, and then again at four or five, I would assume. I woke up in pain, primarily in my back and my jaw, for some reason. It was raining again, which made exiting the tent a little difficult. My first challenge of the day: getting dressed for the weather while in the weather.
I’ve forgotten just how much I love oatmeal. We had a supply that we took advantage of this morning. I think I’ll go back to eating oatmeal for breakfast when I get back to Northwestern. It’s a wonderful thing. It also seems to taste better after waiting fifteen to twenty minutes for your lunar module stove to boil your water.
We ended up deciding on not striking camp. The weather wasn’t working in our favor to move to another site. We were, however, going to be able to get a good long hike in. We spent some time cleaning up and preparing our lunch supplies. Each of us packed a supply of gorp (good old raisins and peanuts, which actually included much more than just those two staples.) Eventually we were on our way.
The fog played games with us most of the day. At times it would lift, then descend after a couple of minutes. Luckily, it was never too thick in our immediate area for us to get horribly lost. Once again, when we were able to see, our sites were too beautiful to describe. At one point we passed a small mountain lake, which Daniel joked was a natural hot spring we could all jump into. In order to follow “leave no trace” principals, though, we would have to rinse ourselves before going in.
We stopped at a cabană we were told was known for serving good tea. After hiking down a long, steep path to the cabană, and being greeted by a large, black, but very harmless dog, we found ourselves in dry comfort. The tea was nothing to write home about, and neither was lunch, really, but we were dry and managed to get a little warm, so we were content.
It was on our return to camp that the fog lifted for awhile, just enough to let the sun shine through. As we climbed, leaving the cabană, we managed to see the vastness of the mountains. The sun shining through the clouds of fog made for an even more dazzling image. Dave made us stop and soak it all in. I took as many pictures as I could, but really had no desire to. I knew none of the pictures I took would do justice to what I was actually seeing. There isn’t a camera big enough, nor powerful enough to capture these things.
The fog remained up while we made our way past the little lake. Shortly after that, though, the fog returned and the rain continued. During most of this day, my thoughts were on Winnie the Pooh. I was thinking of the story when the Hundred Acre Wood had that big rain storm, which flooded everywhere except (miraculously) Christopher Robin’s house. I remember when the story was done by Disney, and hearing Sebastian Cabot narrate, “It rained and it rained and it rained,” then listening to the song, “The rain, rain, rain came down, down, down…” I couldn’t help but smile, in spite of the weather around me.
The only mashed potatoes I will eat are my mother’s. That being said, making supper tonight with powdered potatoes seemed (and even tasted) rather disgusting. When at camp, though, do what campers do. It was quite a sight, though, all of us hunkered down around the stove. Florin eventually made a campfire for us, which we all congregated around after supper. There were a number of socks and shoes being dried while we all sat and talked.
I can remember that it was days like this that compelled my family to strike camp and head home. We have four more days of this, and I’m hoping the weather clears up enough for us to actually enjoy our hikes. I’ve been wearing almost all my clothes, only taking my rain layers off when getting into my sleeping bag. I’m really hoping to be able to take layers off during the day. In the meantime, I’m working on just going with the flow.
Blessings.
Kailen
September 16, 2008: The Retezat, Day One - The Four Pillars
Dear Friend,
Eight-thirty was our meeting time this morning. I almost didn’t get out the door on time. Tibi wanted to make sure I had eaten enough for breakfast. After finishing some work at the office, I headed over to the IMPACT building to meet up with the rest of the group. The team consisted of the seven students, Janelle and Daniel, Dana Bates, Ilie, our guide Florin, and Dave Nonnemacher, who arrived a couple days ago from Northwestern.
Weather impeded our ability to start our hike where we had originally planned, so our back up plan was implemented. Unfortunately, while our first plan would have gotten us hiking with our backpacks right away, our back up plan involved driving about four hours to another starting point on the mountains. So, the thirteen of us piled into two vehicles, our backpacks stuffed into each wherever and however they would fit, and we rolled our way to the Retezat.
The ride wasn’t unlike the ride we had from the airport. There was quite a bit of talking at the beginning, which then died down and resolved to some form of sleeping. At one point, however, we stopped and got out of the vehicles to view an historical site. We had come upon an ancient looking church, one Dave told us was the oldest Reformed church in Europe, or Eastern Europe, or something like that. His comment puzzled us, because the Reformation took place in Western Europe and hadn’t even made its way to Romania. Therefore, this could only be the oldest Reformed church in Romania. It was indeed a Reformed church (the sign said so, Calvin’s name written all over it.) It could’ve been another form of church (probably Orthodox or Catholic) before it was turned into a Reformed church. Anyway, a debate was going on amongst some in the group while I ran around the church taking pictures. It was a very beautiful church. We weren’t able to go in, unfortunately.
We finally made it to the gravel parking lot in the Retezat, after taking our time over some major potholes up the mountain. After a quick lunch we strapped our packs on our backs and made our way to the campsite. We had to cross over a rather sturdy bridge that nonetheless reminded me once again of Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom. Movie references, we found out, would be rampant throughout our stay.
Once we reached our camp, we started setting up our tents. Our very first obstacle came when we discovered we didn’t have all the tent poles for each of our tents. Here began some creative problem solving, most of which involved a lot of rope. Ilie and Florin helped out a lot and did most of the problem solving. Eventually the tents were set up, albeit with missing pieces. If you had no idea how to set up a tent, though, these would’ve looked like they were meant to be set up that way.
Our first day hike was a short one, a kind of over the river and through the woods hike. The weather wasn’t nasty, but it was certainly grey and wet. There are no words to describe what we saw. Despite the rain, there were still mountains. Everywhere. We were walking in a valley, so on both sides we were surrounded by mountains. We walked through a garden of enormous rocks and boulders. Our destination was a little hut, our turn around point. To get there we went over another bridge and up a rather slippery path. The rain created some fog, which therefore took away our visibility of the mountains. After a little rest, we headed back to camp.
Whether by default, or simply by taking charge, I ended up being head cook for my team on this trip (our team, by the way, became the “Llamas” for reasons I still don’t understand.) There was a spring a couple yards away from our camp where we got most of our water. I set up our lunar module stove and set to making supper, while the others got water and retrieved the ingredients from our large supply of food. Our first meal in the mountains was a Spanish rice mix we put on tortillas. It turned out alright, but nothing I’d prefer to eat on a regular basis.
Night came rather fast. We ended up having our debriefing session in almost pitch black. The usual “how are you doing?” questions were asked. Some expressed concerns about the weather, others about carrying their packs. Despite the day’s challenges (i.e. the tents, the weather) it was decided we had all done rather well at keeping our cool and going with the flow. In my mind, there was really no other option but to go with the flow. Daniel brought up the “challenge by choice” zones once again, asking if we could each say which zone we were in. Most people were in some degree of the orange zone, which is the “safe, yet challenging” zone. I confessed I was rather close to the comfortable green zone. The day’s unpredictable challenges and having to go with the flow seemed like just another day in my life. It’s how I’ve always lived. Go with the flow.
It was around this time Dave started talking. Dave is a really wonderful guy, and he likes to talk. Lucky for us, most of what he has to say is important. Among the things he spoke about, he mentioned the Four Pillars of the Outward Bound Process. The Outward Bound Process has a lot to do with adventure education, a form of education we were going through at present in the Retezat. Adventure education deals a lot with applying the things you learn in the wilderness to situations you face in your everyday life. Dave told us the Four Pillars were An Enterprising Curiosity, Tenacity in Pursuit, Mastery of Task, and above all Compassion. He mentioned the first three are meant to lead up to Compassion, the final goal of the Four Pillars.
Each pillar seemed self explanatory to me, but within the context of their purpose they seemed rather profound. An Enterprising Curiosity is what feeds my desire to learn, to try new things, and to challenge myself. Tenacity in Pursuit is the chutzpah, even the Spirit, which helps me persevere what my curiosity has led me to. Mastery of Task, Dave mentioned, was something as simple as mastering the use of the little stoves we use, but, again, applying that experience to everyday life. And finally, Compassion, which is what the first three pillars lead me to and what I share with others. This is how I defined the Four Pillars in my mind, how I applied them to my own experience that day in the Retezat. This is probably how I’ll define them for the rest of our time here, too. It’s how they make sense in my head.
The challenges aren’t going to end here. I have a feeling there’s much more in store for us, much more than just hiking that will stretch us. I’m hoping I’ll be able to meet it when it comes. Hope you’re staying safe, warm, and dry, friend.
Blessings.
Kailen
Eight-thirty was our meeting time this morning. I almost didn’t get out the door on time. Tibi wanted to make sure I had eaten enough for breakfast. After finishing some work at the office, I headed over to the IMPACT building to meet up with the rest of the group. The team consisted of the seven students, Janelle and Daniel, Dana Bates, Ilie, our guide Florin, and Dave Nonnemacher, who arrived a couple days ago from Northwestern.
Weather impeded our ability to start our hike where we had originally planned, so our back up plan was implemented. Unfortunately, while our first plan would have gotten us hiking with our backpacks right away, our back up plan involved driving about four hours to another starting point on the mountains. So, the thirteen of us piled into two vehicles, our backpacks stuffed into each wherever and however they would fit, and we rolled our way to the Retezat.
The ride wasn’t unlike the ride we had from the airport. There was quite a bit of talking at the beginning, which then died down and resolved to some form of sleeping. At one point, however, we stopped and got out of the vehicles to view an historical site. We had come upon an ancient looking church, one Dave told us was the oldest Reformed church in Europe, or Eastern Europe, or something like that. His comment puzzled us, because the Reformation took place in Western Europe and hadn’t even made its way to Romania. Therefore, this could only be the oldest Reformed church in Romania. It was indeed a Reformed church (the sign said so, Calvin’s name written all over it.) It could’ve been another form of church (probably Orthodox or Catholic) before it was turned into a Reformed church. Anyway, a debate was going on amongst some in the group while I ran around the church taking pictures. It was a very beautiful church. We weren’t able to go in, unfortunately.
We finally made it to the gravel parking lot in the Retezat, after taking our time over some major potholes up the mountain. After a quick lunch we strapped our packs on our backs and made our way to the campsite. We had to cross over a rather sturdy bridge that nonetheless reminded me once again of Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom. Movie references, we found out, would be rampant throughout our stay.
Once we reached our camp, we started setting up our tents. Our very first obstacle came when we discovered we didn’t have all the tent poles for each of our tents. Here began some creative problem solving, most of which involved a lot of rope. Ilie and Florin helped out a lot and did most of the problem solving. Eventually the tents were set up, albeit with missing pieces. If you had no idea how to set up a tent, though, these would’ve looked like they were meant to be set up that way.
Our first day hike was a short one, a kind of over the river and through the woods hike. The weather wasn’t nasty, but it was certainly grey and wet. There are no words to describe what we saw. Despite the rain, there were still mountains. Everywhere. We were walking in a valley, so on both sides we were surrounded by mountains. We walked through a garden of enormous rocks and boulders. Our destination was a little hut, our turn around point. To get there we went over another bridge and up a rather slippery path. The rain created some fog, which therefore took away our visibility of the mountains. After a little rest, we headed back to camp.
Whether by default, or simply by taking charge, I ended up being head cook for my team on this trip (our team, by the way, became the “Llamas” for reasons I still don’t understand.) There was a spring a couple yards away from our camp where we got most of our water. I set up our lunar module stove and set to making supper, while the others got water and retrieved the ingredients from our large supply of food. Our first meal in the mountains was a Spanish rice mix we put on tortillas. It turned out alright, but nothing I’d prefer to eat on a regular basis.
Night came rather fast. We ended up having our debriefing session in almost pitch black. The usual “how are you doing?” questions were asked. Some expressed concerns about the weather, others about carrying their packs. Despite the day’s challenges (i.e. the tents, the weather) it was decided we had all done rather well at keeping our cool and going with the flow. In my mind, there was really no other option but to go with the flow. Daniel brought up the “challenge by choice” zones once again, asking if we could each say which zone we were in. Most people were in some degree of the orange zone, which is the “safe, yet challenging” zone. I confessed I was rather close to the comfortable green zone. The day’s unpredictable challenges and having to go with the flow seemed like just another day in my life. It’s how I’ve always lived. Go with the flow.
It was around this time Dave started talking. Dave is a really wonderful guy, and he likes to talk. Lucky for us, most of what he has to say is important. Among the things he spoke about, he mentioned the Four Pillars of the Outward Bound Process. The Outward Bound Process has a lot to do with adventure education, a form of education we were going through at present in the Retezat. Adventure education deals a lot with applying the things you learn in the wilderness to situations you face in your everyday life. Dave told us the Four Pillars were An Enterprising Curiosity, Tenacity in Pursuit, Mastery of Task, and above all Compassion. He mentioned the first three are meant to lead up to Compassion, the final goal of the Four Pillars.
Each pillar seemed self explanatory to me, but within the context of their purpose they seemed rather profound. An Enterprising Curiosity is what feeds my desire to learn, to try new things, and to challenge myself. Tenacity in Pursuit is the chutzpah, even the Spirit, which helps me persevere what my curiosity has led me to. Mastery of Task, Dave mentioned, was something as simple as mastering the use of the little stoves we use, but, again, applying that experience to everyday life. And finally, Compassion, which is what the first three pillars lead me to and what I share with others. This is how I defined the Four Pillars in my mind, how I applied them to my own experience that day in the Retezat. This is probably how I’ll define them for the rest of our time here, too. It’s how they make sense in my head.
The challenges aren’t going to end here. I have a feeling there’s much more in store for us, much more than just hiking that will stretch us. I’m hoping I’ll be able to meet it when it comes. Hope you’re staying safe, warm, and dry, friend.
Blessings.
Kailen
Monday, September 15, 2008
September 15, 2008: Heiji sensei and Tibi, Part Three
Dear Friend,
The eagle of the Alps is sometimes beaten down by the tempest into the narrow defiles of the mountains. Storm clouds shut in this mighty bird of the forest, their dark masses separating her from the sunny heights where she has made her home. Her efforts to escape seem fruitless. She dashes to and fro, beating the air with her strong wings, and waking the mountain echoes with her cries. At length, with a note of triumph, she darts upward, and, piercing the clouds, is once more in the clear sunlight, with the darkness and tempest far beneath.
So we may be surrounded with difficulties, discouragement, and darkness. Falsehood, calamity, injustice, shut us in. There are clouds that we cannot dispel. We battle with circumstances in vain. There is one, and but one, way of escape. The mists and fogs cling to the earth; beyond the clouds God’s light is shining. Into the sunlight of His presence we may rise on the wings of faith.
That’s a quote written by Ellen White on the inside of the back cover of Tibi’s hymnal. I found it appropriate, considering my newly found topic of study: perseverance. It seems all of the good quotes, all of the good stories, involve some form of persevering against impossible odds. I’ve never read the books (shame on me!) but I’m reminded of an exchange between Samwise Gamgee and Frodo Baggins at the end of The Two Towers. The two little hobbits are absolutely exhausted from their journey to Mordor, and have almost given up hope after just escaping the Nazgul for the umpteenth time in Osgiliath. Yet, perseverance wins out:
Frodo: What are we holding onto, Sam?
Sam: That there’s some good in this world, Mr. Frodo, and it’s worth fighting for.
Today was packing day for our own upcoming journey through the mountains. I’d like to say we managed rather well, getting all our supplies tucked cozily away into our backpacks. I’m hoping the shrinking of my backpack over time, primarily from the use of food, will be a precursor to the shrinking of my luggage for my return to the States. We have plenty of food. We also have plenty of “gorp” (good old raisins and peanuts.) Our weather starting out is supposed to be rather disagreeable, so “layers” is the word of the week.
I showed Chelsea, Anne, and Andrew the “Sacred Stage” trailer after we reconvened at the New Horizons office, following our packing party. They were really impressed with the trailer, and equally as excited to see me featured in it. What followed was Chelsea and Anne reminiscing about their experiences seeing Terror Texts and how disappointed they were at not being able to see it this upcoming November. I’m disappointed myself, but having been a part of the experience I am very excited about the process happening even now in Northwestern’s theatre department. It was around this time also, by the way, that I taught Chelsea and Anne how to use a cigarette lighter. They were really excited when they lit them themselves. We need them for our week in the Retezat. Don’t ask me how I know how to use them.
I had a little free time to myself when I returned to Tibi’s flat. He was out shopping for supper. I plopped myself down on the couch, slippers on, and started reading the autobiography of one of my favorite contemporary heroines and teachers: Heiji sensei, or as she’s known by her friends in the States, Heidi Friesen. One of my going away gifts was a hard copy of her blog, written during her first year teaching English in Japan. As I would be taking on a sort of teaching position in Romania, this gift was given to me by mutual friends. “Heiji sensei,” by the way, was what Heidi’s students called her when she first arrived, according to her entry written on September 14, 2004 (just four years ago yesterday!) “Sensei” means teacher.
Perseverance is the topic once again. Like myself, I would imagine, Heidi found herself in circumstances that challenged her and took her outside her comfort zone. In the face of each challenge, however, she was able to persevere with a Spirit of courage and humility only given to her by Christ. She also managed to chronicle much of her experience during these challenges with an uncanny employment of the English language. She has a way of making something as simple as peanut butter a very important part of her story.
Heidi wrote in her October 2, 2004 entry something I thought very profound: “Yesterday reminded me that I am a teacher only because I am teaching, not because I know how to teach. I am told that this – actually attempting the thing – is the way to learn.” Maybe I only find what she wrote profound because I want it to be profound, something she coincidently addressed in her following entry on October 4. Maybe the only reason it means anything to me is that I want it to mean something. After all, I’m doing many things now, and am going to do many more things, that I don’t know anything about. Yet, after these past couple of weeks, I’m a rock climber, a worship leader, a cigarette lighter instructor and, in a couple of weeks, a teacher of theatre.
Heidi further wrote on October 4, 2004 that these profundities are reminders that “seeking the Kingdom is not an idle suggestion.” Excuse me, Heidi, if I take what you wrote out of context, but I’m willing to suggest that being a teacher is very much like being a Christian. We learn by “actually attempting the thing.” As Christians, though, we have the Word of God, which can serve as a “How To Do” manual only if we attempt it. Sometimes we really don’t know how to be a Christian. Sometimes we act by faith, but it is an action, an attempt, a prompting to seek the Kingdom and not take that call as an idle suggestion. This recalls to mind Dana's verse from 2 Thessalonians: "With this in mind, we constantly pray for you, that our God may count you worthy of his calling, and that by his power he may fulfill every good purpose of yours and every act prompted by your faith. " (1:11, emphasis added) I don’t know. I’m really just shooting my electronic mouth off, but I believe “profound” isn’t relative. Nor would, I think, Heidi, for that matter. Things profound are so because they relate to the Spirit dwelling within us, and are indeed reminders of the Kingdom.
A profundity of late comes to mind when I think of this evening. Tibi walked into the flat about twenty minutes or so after I returned. He was bundled up for the cold, rainy weather, and carrying sacks of food from the Penny Market down the road. He greeted me with a smile and a hello. Tibi, I should’ve told you, stands almost six feet tall, is of average build, and has very short red hair. He looks like a cross between Paul Bettany and Ed Harris, for those of you who can picture that. He asked if I was hungry, to which I replied in the affirmative, and he started looking for what we can eat for supper. He was set on more mushrooms, but understoods my reservations and tried to rack his brain for options.
I’ve mentioned before Tibi’s selflessness and servant-heartedness. I have another teacher in Tibi. It seems in his nature to be so caring. He doesn’t think twice about making sure I’m fed and comfortable. I’m not at all an inconvenience to him, though I may sometimes feel that way. He started tossing out ideas: eggs, fruit, vegetables. I agreed to the eggs and fruit, assuring him that would be more than enough for me. He was set on mushrooms for himself. As Tibi is a vegetarian, mushrooms are his meat. He explained this to me earlier, when his towers of mushrooms were displayed on the counter in his kitchen.
I let him cook. It’s best that way. However, I didn’t want to just sit and wait while he prepared everything. By this time, I had learned my way around the kitchen. I pulled out the table from the corner and set it with plates and cutlery. Tibi got out some bread, which meant I should set out the blueberry jam and honey. Finally the plate of fruit was set, our feast was blest, and we set to eating. The meal was rather quiet.
In true Tibi fashion, I was once again offered ice cream to cap off the meal. I, naturally, accepted. Tibi’s ice cream is made from soy milk, sunflower oil, and honey. He adds barley for flavor, and then freezes it. He says you can add fruit before you freeze or after you freeze. Bananas make the ice cream creamier, so I’ve been filled with banana ice cream. To get the creamy texture, Tibi blends the frozen ice cream with bananas, and then adds some flavored syrup. Any fruit is optional, but bananas have the creamy texture. I’ve had “healthy” homemade ice cream just about every night since I came to stay with Tibi.
I didn’t bother waiting for the drawing of the straws, and willingly did the dishes. During this time, Tibi and I had a conversation about loneliness. I’ve come to appreciate our conversations, as Tibi is very honest and genuine with his answers. Yesterday, after purchasing some items from a convenience store, I made the comment that people don’t seem happy here. This boiled down to a conversation about employment being difficult to find, money difficult to have, and satisfaction difficult to receive. This conversation eventually led to a conversation about not having Christ in one’s life to be satisfied.
Our conversation about loneliness, a conversation once again spurred on by a question I asked Tibi, led us back into the territory of marriage. “Commune” was a word Tibi used often, and discovering that “communion” was the answer to our loneliness. Communion, we agreed, could be had with anyone, in a community or in a marriage. I explained what I had been learning recently about my loneliness, or my singleness, depending on which subject we were on. It was another opportunity for me to get to know Tibi better.
We ended the night with singing. Tibi sang, I listened. This is where I found the quote from Ellen White, another profundity. Tibi’s hymnal is full of songs I had never heard of. Some were written by people he met in Germany, when he was going to school. Some were even written by Americans he met while at school. They’re all very good hymns, and all have references to what passages they’re based on. Tibi has a good singing voice, too. It’s very warm and rich. I don’t know how trained he is as a singer, but he seemed to be sight reading rather well. There were times he was a little out of tune, also, but that happens to the best of us.
It’s raining right now. Tomorrow is sure to be a wet, even miserable day. Right now, though, the soft pitter-patter of the rain makes for a soothing lullaby. I hope this finds you well, friend, as you read it. I will be gone now for seven days, maybe more, depending on the next time I’ll have Internet access. Until that time, I pray God’s blessings go with you and before you during this week. Much love.
Noapte bună (Good night.)
Kailen
The eagle of the Alps is sometimes beaten down by the tempest into the narrow defiles of the mountains. Storm clouds shut in this mighty bird of the forest, their dark masses separating her from the sunny heights where she has made her home. Her efforts to escape seem fruitless. She dashes to and fro, beating the air with her strong wings, and waking the mountain echoes with her cries. At length, with a note of triumph, she darts upward, and, piercing the clouds, is once more in the clear sunlight, with the darkness and tempest far beneath.
So we may be surrounded with difficulties, discouragement, and darkness. Falsehood, calamity, injustice, shut us in. There are clouds that we cannot dispel. We battle with circumstances in vain. There is one, and but one, way of escape. The mists and fogs cling to the earth; beyond the clouds God’s light is shining. Into the sunlight of His presence we may rise on the wings of faith.
That’s a quote written by Ellen White on the inside of the back cover of Tibi’s hymnal. I found it appropriate, considering my newly found topic of study: perseverance. It seems all of the good quotes, all of the good stories, involve some form of persevering against impossible odds. I’ve never read the books (shame on me!) but I’m reminded of an exchange between Samwise Gamgee and Frodo Baggins at the end of The Two Towers. The two little hobbits are absolutely exhausted from their journey to Mordor, and have almost given up hope after just escaping the Nazgul for the umpteenth time in Osgiliath. Yet, perseverance wins out:
Frodo: What are we holding onto, Sam?
Sam: That there’s some good in this world, Mr. Frodo, and it’s worth fighting for.
Today was packing day for our own upcoming journey through the mountains. I’d like to say we managed rather well, getting all our supplies tucked cozily away into our backpacks. I’m hoping the shrinking of my backpack over time, primarily from the use of food, will be a precursor to the shrinking of my luggage for my return to the States. We have plenty of food. We also have plenty of “gorp” (good old raisins and peanuts.) Our weather starting out is supposed to be rather disagreeable, so “layers” is the word of the week.
I showed Chelsea, Anne, and Andrew the “Sacred Stage” trailer after we reconvened at the New Horizons office, following our packing party. They were really impressed with the trailer, and equally as excited to see me featured in it. What followed was Chelsea and Anne reminiscing about their experiences seeing Terror Texts and how disappointed they were at not being able to see it this upcoming November. I’m disappointed myself, but having been a part of the experience I am very excited about the process happening even now in Northwestern’s theatre department. It was around this time also, by the way, that I taught Chelsea and Anne how to use a cigarette lighter. They were really excited when they lit them themselves. We need them for our week in the Retezat. Don’t ask me how I know how to use them.
I had a little free time to myself when I returned to Tibi’s flat. He was out shopping for supper. I plopped myself down on the couch, slippers on, and started reading the autobiography of one of my favorite contemporary heroines and teachers: Heiji sensei, or as she’s known by her friends in the States, Heidi Friesen. One of my going away gifts was a hard copy of her blog, written during her first year teaching English in Japan. As I would be taking on a sort of teaching position in Romania, this gift was given to me by mutual friends. “Heiji sensei,” by the way, was what Heidi’s students called her when she first arrived, according to her entry written on September 14, 2004 (just four years ago yesterday!) “Sensei” means teacher.
Perseverance is the topic once again. Like myself, I would imagine, Heidi found herself in circumstances that challenged her and took her outside her comfort zone. In the face of each challenge, however, she was able to persevere with a Spirit of courage and humility only given to her by Christ. She also managed to chronicle much of her experience during these challenges with an uncanny employment of the English language. She has a way of making something as simple as peanut butter a very important part of her story.
Heidi wrote in her October 2, 2004 entry something I thought very profound: “Yesterday reminded me that I am a teacher only because I am teaching, not because I know how to teach. I am told that this – actually attempting the thing – is the way to learn.” Maybe I only find what she wrote profound because I want it to be profound, something she coincidently addressed in her following entry on October 4. Maybe the only reason it means anything to me is that I want it to mean something. After all, I’m doing many things now, and am going to do many more things, that I don’t know anything about. Yet, after these past couple of weeks, I’m a rock climber, a worship leader, a cigarette lighter instructor and, in a couple of weeks, a teacher of theatre.
Heidi further wrote on October 4, 2004 that these profundities are reminders that “seeking the Kingdom is not an idle suggestion.” Excuse me, Heidi, if I take what you wrote out of context, but I’m willing to suggest that being a teacher is very much like being a Christian. We learn by “actually attempting the thing.” As Christians, though, we have the Word of God, which can serve as a “How To Do” manual only if we attempt it. Sometimes we really don’t know how to be a Christian. Sometimes we act by faith, but it is an action, an attempt, a prompting to seek the Kingdom and not take that call as an idle suggestion. This recalls to mind Dana's verse from 2 Thessalonians: "With this in mind, we constantly pray for you, that our God may count you worthy of his calling, and that by his power he may fulfill every good purpose of yours and every act prompted by your faith. " (1:11, emphasis added) I don’t know. I’m really just shooting my electronic mouth off, but I believe “profound” isn’t relative. Nor would, I think, Heidi, for that matter. Things profound are so because they relate to the Spirit dwelling within us, and are indeed reminders of the Kingdom.
A profundity of late comes to mind when I think of this evening. Tibi walked into the flat about twenty minutes or so after I returned. He was bundled up for the cold, rainy weather, and carrying sacks of food from the Penny Market down the road. He greeted me with a smile and a hello. Tibi, I should’ve told you, stands almost six feet tall, is of average build, and has very short red hair. He looks like a cross between Paul Bettany and Ed Harris, for those of you who can picture that. He asked if I was hungry, to which I replied in the affirmative, and he started looking for what we can eat for supper. He was set on more mushrooms, but understoods my reservations and tried to rack his brain for options.
I’ve mentioned before Tibi’s selflessness and servant-heartedness. I have another teacher in Tibi. It seems in his nature to be so caring. He doesn’t think twice about making sure I’m fed and comfortable. I’m not at all an inconvenience to him, though I may sometimes feel that way. He started tossing out ideas: eggs, fruit, vegetables. I agreed to the eggs and fruit, assuring him that would be more than enough for me. He was set on mushrooms for himself. As Tibi is a vegetarian, mushrooms are his meat. He explained this to me earlier, when his towers of mushrooms were displayed on the counter in his kitchen.
I let him cook. It’s best that way. However, I didn’t want to just sit and wait while he prepared everything. By this time, I had learned my way around the kitchen. I pulled out the table from the corner and set it with plates and cutlery. Tibi got out some bread, which meant I should set out the blueberry jam and honey. Finally the plate of fruit was set, our feast was blest, and we set to eating. The meal was rather quiet.
In true Tibi fashion, I was once again offered ice cream to cap off the meal. I, naturally, accepted. Tibi’s ice cream is made from soy milk, sunflower oil, and honey. He adds barley for flavor, and then freezes it. He says you can add fruit before you freeze or after you freeze. Bananas make the ice cream creamier, so I’ve been filled with banana ice cream. To get the creamy texture, Tibi blends the frozen ice cream with bananas, and then adds some flavored syrup. Any fruit is optional, but bananas have the creamy texture. I’ve had “healthy” homemade ice cream just about every night since I came to stay with Tibi.
I didn’t bother waiting for the drawing of the straws, and willingly did the dishes. During this time, Tibi and I had a conversation about loneliness. I’ve come to appreciate our conversations, as Tibi is very honest and genuine with his answers. Yesterday, after purchasing some items from a convenience store, I made the comment that people don’t seem happy here. This boiled down to a conversation about employment being difficult to find, money difficult to have, and satisfaction difficult to receive. This conversation eventually led to a conversation about not having Christ in one’s life to be satisfied.
Our conversation about loneliness, a conversation once again spurred on by a question I asked Tibi, led us back into the territory of marriage. “Commune” was a word Tibi used often, and discovering that “communion” was the answer to our loneliness. Communion, we agreed, could be had with anyone, in a community or in a marriage. I explained what I had been learning recently about my loneliness, or my singleness, depending on which subject we were on. It was another opportunity for me to get to know Tibi better.
We ended the night with singing. Tibi sang, I listened. This is where I found the quote from Ellen White, another profundity. Tibi’s hymnal is full of songs I had never heard of. Some were written by people he met in Germany, when he was going to school. Some were even written by Americans he met while at school. They’re all very good hymns, and all have references to what passages they’re based on. Tibi has a good singing voice, too. It’s very warm and rich. I don’t know how trained he is as a singer, but he seemed to be sight reading rather well. There were times he was a little out of tune, also, but that happens to the best of us.
It’s raining right now. Tomorrow is sure to be a wet, even miserable day. Right now, though, the soft pitter-patter of the rain makes for a soothing lullaby. I hope this finds you well, friend, as you read it. I will be gone now for seven days, maybe more, depending on the next time I’ll have Internet access. Until that time, I pray God’s blessings go with you and before you during this week. Much love.
Noapte bună (Good night.)
Kailen
September 14, 2008: Workday Two, with Jeremiah
Dear Friend,
Another work day. I woke up this morning, had breakfast alone because Tibi was out hiking, and then went to bed. I tried reading, but just couldn’t do it. I was so tired. I finished my Warren Wiersbe commentary on James, and am now working on starting Kay Arthur’s Lord, Heal My Hurts. I’m hoping the book will help in my own healing, and also help me reach others as they go through their healing. I finished the introduction and had to go back to bed.
I woke up at noon to find Tibi working on some mushrooms he had picked. By some mushrooms I mean a whole heck of a lot of mushrooms. And, once again, mushrooms as big as my hand. Some of these would be for lunch. I made note to stay away from the olive oil. I mentioned to Tibi I used to not like mushrooms, but assured him these were delicious.
I did most of my work at Tibi’s flat. Less honking in the streets. I also read a little from the book of Jeremiah. I especially like the first chapter, when God calls Jeremiah to prophesy to His people:
The word of the LORD came to me, saying,
"Before I formed you in the womb I knew you, before you were born I set you apart; I appointed you as a prophet to the nations."
"Ah, Sovereign LORD," I said, "I do not know how to speak; I am only a child."
But the LORD said to me, "Do not say, 'I am only a child.' You must go to everyone I send you to and say whatever I command you. Do not be afraid of them, for I am with you and will rescue you," declares the LORD.
Then the LORD reached out his hand and touched my mouth and said to me, "Now, I have put my words in your mouth. See, today I appoint you over nations and kingdoms to uproot and tear down, to destroy and overthrow, to build and to plant." (Jeremiah 1:4-10)
I remember Professor Vonder Bruegge saying in Intro to Biblical Studies this past semester that while we don’t understand prophecies (a lot of what was prophesied was done so in the context of the era and the culture), it’s widely believed that what was being prophesied was happening either at that time or was going to happen soon after. That being said, I feel that just about any of us on this trip could be considered a prophet. In a way, the work that we’re doing with New Horizons, and especially the work I’ll be doing with A.R.T. Fusion, speaks of a foreseeable future for Romania that is very different from the present. Our collective struggle to promote social capital is not in vain. It’s slow work, but there is evidence in the lives of the children, the lives of the workers, and even the life of New Horizons that proves things can change for the better. It may even be that we are prophesying what has already been prophesied: Christ’s redemption is for everyone, not just for the West, and it is for Romania, as well. Exciting!
I showed Janelle and Daniel the “Sacred Stage” trailer on youtube when I showed up at the office. Tibi doesn’t have Internet, so my posts are first typed out in Microsoft Word, and then copied to my blog. They were really impressed not only with the trailer, but also how my hair color changed during the trailer (ha!) Maybe Terror Texts can come to Romania sometime!
I’ve completely updated my blog now, which I wanted to get done before I left for the week. Tomorrow we pack our backpacks with everything we’ll need for the week. I’m really hoping this’ll be a good experience. I’m a little concerned about the team, how we’ll work together and survive a week in the wilderness together. I know it’s going to stretch others more than it will stretch myself. Grace is a good thing to pray for. Grace to you, friend.
Blessings.
Kailen
Another work day. I woke up this morning, had breakfast alone because Tibi was out hiking, and then went to bed. I tried reading, but just couldn’t do it. I was so tired. I finished my Warren Wiersbe commentary on James, and am now working on starting Kay Arthur’s Lord, Heal My Hurts. I’m hoping the book will help in my own healing, and also help me reach others as they go through their healing. I finished the introduction and had to go back to bed.
I woke up at noon to find Tibi working on some mushrooms he had picked. By some mushrooms I mean a whole heck of a lot of mushrooms. And, once again, mushrooms as big as my hand. Some of these would be for lunch. I made note to stay away from the olive oil. I mentioned to Tibi I used to not like mushrooms, but assured him these were delicious.
I did most of my work at Tibi’s flat. Less honking in the streets. I also read a little from the book of Jeremiah. I especially like the first chapter, when God calls Jeremiah to prophesy to His people:
The word of the LORD came to me, saying,
"Before I formed you in the womb I knew you, before you were born I set you apart; I appointed you as a prophet to the nations."
"Ah, Sovereign LORD," I said, "I do not know how to speak; I am only a child."
But the LORD said to me, "Do not say, 'I am only a child.' You must go to everyone I send you to and say whatever I command you. Do not be afraid of them, for I am with you and will rescue you," declares the LORD.
Then the LORD reached out his hand and touched my mouth and said to me, "Now, I have put my words in your mouth. See, today I appoint you over nations and kingdoms to uproot and tear down, to destroy and overthrow, to build and to plant." (Jeremiah 1:4-10)
I remember Professor Vonder Bruegge saying in Intro to Biblical Studies this past semester that while we don’t understand prophecies (a lot of what was prophesied was done so in the context of the era and the culture), it’s widely believed that what was being prophesied was happening either at that time or was going to happen soon after. That being said, I feel that just about any of us on this trip could be considered a prophet. In a way, the work that we’re doing with New Horizons, and especially the work I’ll be doing with A.R.T. Fusion, speaks of a foreseeable future for Romania that is very different from the present. Our collective struggle to promote social capital is not in vain. It’s slow work, but there is evidence in the lives of the children, the lives of the workers, and even the life of New Horizons that proves things can change for the better. It may even be that we are prophesying what has already been prophesied: Christ’s redemption is for everyone, not just for the West, and it is for Romania, as well. Exciting!
I showed Janelle and Daniel the “Sacred Stage” trailer on youtube when I showed up at the office. Tibi doesn’t have Internet, so my posts are first typed out in Microsoft Word, and then copied to my blog. They were really impressed not only with the trailer, but also how my hair color changed during the trailer (ha!) Maybe Terror Texts can come to Romania sometime!
I’ve completely updated my blog now, which I wanted to get done before I left for the week. Tomorrow we pack our backpacks with everything we’ll need for the week. I’m really hoping this’ll be a good experience. I’m a little concerned about the team, how we’ll work together and survive a week in the wilderness together. I know it’s going to stretch others more than it will stretch myself. Grace is a good thing to pray for. Grace to you, friend.
Blessings.
Kailen
Sunday, September 14, 2008
September 13, 2008: Workday One, with Honking
Dear Friend,
The title says it all. It’s been a workday, mainly on the blog.
This morning, however, some of us went hiking with Dana. We’re training, as it were, for our upcoming week, so each of us had our packs. It was rather wet and rainy, so I was worried we wouldn’t be able to go. However, the day we did backpack orientation I discovered the rain cover for my backpack. It's yellow. I can only imagine what the citizens of Lupeni were thinking, as I plodded my way to the parking lot of the supermarket, wearing my blue raincoat and carrying a large, yellow thing on my back. I also had the poles with me, just to add more to the goofiness of the scene.
Dana took us on a gravel road that went up the mountain behind the supermarket. For some reason, most of our conversations were about scars and injuries we had obtained in our childhood. It was rather amusing, each of us reciting the gory details of every scrape and scratch. Okay, it wasn’t that entirely, but you get the picture.
We hiked for a little over an hour, up to a ventilation shaft that went down into the mines. Coal mining is very prominent in Lupeni. Our path led us to a facility built specifically for sending fresh air down into the mines for the miners. We met two workers, whose jobs are apparently to monitor the ventilator during working hours. I can’t imagine what it would be like to even go down into a mine, much less what it would be like to work in one. I don’t want to imagine.
The rest of the day was spent working. Not much to report there. I was getting nostalgic at one point and found “The Sacred Stage” trailer on youtube. I also watched the new “Real.Northwestern” video a couple times. I miss home.
There's a lot of honking that goes on here in Romania. Janelle and Daniel have told us that corruption is still prominent in the country, which means people are able to bribe their way to a driver's license. This lack of responsibility for driving seems to explain the incessant honking I heard this evening. We heard it on our way to Sinaia after being picked up from the airport. Apparently people think there traffic woes will be solved by honking at each other. Sometimes people will just lay on the horn for a couple minutes. I think I've heard every different kind of horn manufactured for motor vehicles in Romania. It's not unlike listening to a poorly tuned orchestra.
When I returned to the flat from the office, Tibi had another movie for us to watch. It was a pirated copy of a movie I had never heard of. It was somewhat poor quality, a made for TV special from a couple years ago I would imagine. It was about William Carey, a missionary to India during the nineteenth century. Aside from the weak script and declamatory acting, the story was rather good. Carey translated the Bible and other pieces of Indian literature into a number of different languages. It was another story of perseverance (I’m noticing a trend in Tibi’s tastes) which I appreciated. By the time it was done, however, I was quite ready to go to bed.
Blessings.
Kailen
The title says it all. It’s been a workday, mainly on the blog.
This morning, however, some of us went hiking with Dana. We’re training, as it were, for our upcoming week, so each of us had our packs. It was rather wet and rainy, so I was worried we wouldn’t be able to go. However, the day we did backpack orientation I discovered the rain cover for my backpack. It's yellow. I can only imagine what the citizens of Lupeni were thinking, as I plodded my way to the parking lot of the supermarket, wearing my blue raincoat and carrying a large, yellow thing on my back. I also had the poles with me, just to add more to the goofiness of the scene.
Dana took us on a gravel road that went up the mountain behind the supermarket. For some reason, most of our conversations were about scars and injuries we had obtained in our childhood. It was rather amusing, each of us reciting the gory details of every scrape and scratch. Okay, it wasn’t that entirely, but you get the picture.
We hiked for a little over an hour, up to a ventilation shaft that went down into the mines. Coal mining is very prominent in Lupeni. Our path led us to a facility built specifically for sending fresh air down into the mines for the miners. We met two workers, whose jobs are apparently to monitor the ventilator during working hours. I can’t imagine what it would be like to even go down into a mine, much less what it would be like to work in one. I don’t want to imagine.
The rest of the day was spent working. Not much to report there. I was getting nostalgic at one point and found “The Sacred Stage” trailer on youtube. I also watched the new “Real.Northwestern” video a couple times. I miss home.
There's a lot of honking that goes on here in Romania. Janelle and Daniel have told us that corruption is still prominent in the country, which means people are able to bribe their way to a driver's license. This lack of responsibility for driving seems to explain the incessant honking I heard this evening. We heard it on our way to Sinaia after being picked up from the airport. Apparently people think there traffic woes will be solved by honking at each other. Sometimes people will just lay on the horn for a couple minutes. I think I've heard every different kind of horn manufactured for motor vehicles in Romania. It's not unlike listening to a poorly tuned orchestra.
When I returned to the flat from the office, Tibi had another movie for us to watch. It was a pirated copy of a movie I had never heard of. It was somewhat poor quality, a made for TV special from a couple years ago I would imagine. It was about William Carey, a missionary to India during the nineteenth century. Aside from the weak script and declamatory acting, the story was rather good. Carey translated the Bible and other pieces of Indian literature into a number of different languages. It was another story of perseverance (I’m noticing a trend in Tibi’s tastes) which I appreciated. By the time it was done, however, I was quite ready to go to bed.
Blessings.
Kailen
September 12, 2008: Gigi
Dear Friend,
We didn’t have language lessons today, but we did have a small EE class. During my free time I worked on this blog. Chelsea, Hollyann, and Anne came in to work on their travel plans for the semester, which, according to Daniel, will inevitably change once they get into the full swing of classes. Chelsea and I had a Harry Potter bonding moment when we explained to Anne what happens in the sixth and seventh books. Anne wasn’t interested in reading them. Everyone was exhausted when Chelsea and I finished. Hollyann even fell asleep at one point. How any of us got anything done, I don’t know.
The EE class time was spent listening to Ilie (remember him from Viaţa?) talk a little bit about the Retezat mountains and what trail we’ll be taking. We don’t have to worry about bears, and the foxes won’t attack us. We have to make sure our tent is closed so no little critters come visit us, and to keep our food well protected. Always filter the water!
The evening was spent at Dana and Brandi’s. We were going to be introduced to Gigi, a friend of Dana’s. Gigi would give an account of his experience living under Communism. While we waited for Gigi, Daniel and I worked on getting the coals hot for our barbecue. Actually, Daniel did all the work and I stood around waiting for him to tell me what to do. He and I conversed mainly about college. He and Janelle graduated from Calvin College in Grand Rapids, which is a CRC college. His parents both work at the college. He spoke about the bands and music artists his dad managed to get at Calvin. He also asked me where I wanted to travel while I was here, to which I answered, “I don’t know.” The girls have been pretty crazy about scheduling where they’re going to travel, and I think Andrew already knows where he's going. My time, however, has been spent working on other things. Daniel recommended Budapest and Istanbul.
Gigi looks a little bit like Harlan Van Oort (chaplain of Northwestern.) He used to be a disc-jockey, but during Communism he had to be careful about not getting caught. I popped into the room a little after he started talking, so I didn’t catch the beginning. What I did catch, though, was his hate for Communism and what it did to people. He spoke about the secret police, how they were used to regulate the people. He spoke about the arrests of the intellectuals, the ones who opposed Communism, and how many were worked to death as a way of keeping them in order. He didn’t say too much about Ceauşescus, the crazy dictator who was so crazy he promoted his poodle and had a parade for it. Fear and distrust were the products of Communism. Gigi even told us how he doesn’t want to have children because of the world they would be born into. He said the members of the secret police are still alive, and the only way for Communism to truly die is when they die. However, these people are raising there children with Communism, and those children will probably raise their children with Communism. That’s the vicious cycle Gigi wants to break.
All this time, Gigi spoke about a book he’s been writing, or wants to write, about his experiences. He wants people to know about Communism. Dana was sitting in the room during Gigi’s talk and couldn’t express in plainer terms how evil Communism had been and how much of a hell it had created. Gigi made a comparison to the Nazis, which Dana couldn’t emphasize more. Dana went on to mention once again the importance of promoting social capital in Romania. During Communism, no more than three people could meet at any given point in time. That’s how strict the laws were, and anyone could be accused by anyone of anything, whether it was true or not. Fear and distrust.
I was really sobered by the talk. I had read about these things, but even Gigi’s talk wouldn’t be able to make it all real to me. My own life experiences, while not involving Communism, could only help me understand a little. Fear and distrust were certainly a part of my life at one point.
I see how Theatre of the Oppressed is so important here. Theatre in and of itself, at least the way we do theatre at Northwestern, could be an invaluable tool here. The emphasis on ensemble, working together in community, seems so much more important in the light of there not being much of a community at all. The Viaţa camp also seemed so much more important, teaching kids about social capital. At any rate, these are the demons, fear and distrust, that I’ll be facing in Bucureşti when I finally join A.R.T. Fusion.
In Christ.
Kailen
We didn’t have language lessons today, but we did have a small EE class. During my free time I worked on this blog. Chelsea, Hollyann, and Anne came in to work on their travel plans for the semester, which, according to Daniel, will inevitably change once they get into the full swing of classes. Chelsea and I had a Harry Potter bonding moment when we explained to Anne what happens in the sixth and seventh books. Anne wasn’t interested in reading them. Everyone was exhausted when Chelsea and I finished. Hollyann even fell asleep at one point. How any of us got anything done, I don’t know.
The EE class time was spent listening to Ilie (remember him from Viaţa?) talk a little bit about the Retezat mountains and what trail we’ll be taking. We don’t have to worry about bears, and the foxes won’t attack us. We have to make sure our tent is closed so no little critters come visit us, and to keep our food well protected. Always filter the water!
The evening was spent at Dana and Brandi’s. We were going to be introduced to Gigi, a friend of Dana’s. Gigi would give an account of his experience living under Communism. While we waited for Gigi, Daniel and I worked on getting the coals hot for our barbecue. Actually, Daniel did all the work and I stood around waiting for him to tell me what to do. He and I conversed mainly about college. He and Janelle graduated from Calvin College in Grand Rapids, which is a CRC college. His parents both work at the college. He spoke about the bands and music artists his dad managed to get at Calvin. He also asked me where I wanted to travel while I was here, to which I answered, “I don’t know.” The girls have been pretty crazy about scheduling where they’re going to travel, and I think Andrew already knows where he's going. My time, however, has been spent working on other things. Daniel recommended Budapest and Istanbul.
Gigi looks a little bit like Harlan Van Oort (chaplain of Northwestern.) He used to be a disc-jockey, but during Communism he had to be careful about not getting caught. I popped into the room a little after he started talking, so I didn’t catch the beginning. What I did catch, though, was his hate for Communism and what it did to people. He spoke about the secret police, how they were used to regulate the people. He spoke about the arrests of the intellectuals, the ones who opposed Communism, and how many were worked to death as a way of keeping them in order. He didn’t say too much about Ceauşescus, the crazy dictator who was so crazy he promoted his poodle and had a parade for it. Fear and distrust were the products of Communism. Gigi even told us how he doesn’t want to have children because of the world they would be born into. He said the members of the secret police are still alive, and the only way for Communism to truly die is when they die. However, these people are raising there children with Communism, and those children will probably raise their children with Communism. That’s the vicious cycle Gigi wants to break.
All this time, Gigi spoke about a book he’s been writing, or wants to write, about his experiences. He wants people to know about Communism. Dana was sitting in the room during Gigi’s talk and couldn’t express in plainer terms how evil Communism had been and how much of a hell it had created. Gigi made a comparison to the Nazis, which Dana couldn’t emphasize more. Dana went on to mention once again the importance of promoting social capital in Romania. During Communism, no more than three people could meet at any given point in time. That’s how strict the laws were, and anyone could be accused by anyone of anything, whether it was true or not. Fear and distrust.
I was really sobered by the talk. I had read about these things, but even Gigi’s talk wouldn’t be able to make it all real to me. My own life experiences, while not involving Communism, could only help me understand a little. Fear and distrust were certainly a part of my life at one point.
I see how Theatre of the Oppressed is so important here. Theatre in and of itself, at least the way we do theatre at Northwestern, could be an invaluable tool here. The emphasis on ensemble, working together in community, seems so much more important in the light of there not being much of a community at all. The Viaţa camp also seemed so much more important, teaching kids about social capital. At any rate, these are the demons, fear and distrust, that I’ll be facing in Bucureşti when I finally join A.R.T. Fusion.
In Christ.
Kailen
Life Story
Dear Friend,
This is a short version of my life story, very similar to how I told it to the group. This is just in case you don’t know it or can’t remember it. Most of what I’ve written are main events in my life. When we told our life stories to the group we only had twenty minutes to a half hour. Daniel still wanted there to be time for questions.
On August 7, 1985, after thirty-six hours of labor (she reminds me of this often) I was born in Detroit, Michigan, to Kristine and Stephen Fleck. Two years after that, my brother Gerrit was born. A couple years after that, my sister Jaiman was born.
Gerrit and I were best friends growing up. He and I did everything together. We played in our backyard, collected Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle action figures together, and reenacted our favorite scenes from our favorite Disney movies. Peter Pan is one I remember us reenacting a lot.
A little over three years after his birth, Gerrit died in a playground accident that I witnessed. It happened right in our backyard. I still remember everything. Mom was the only one home, taking care of Jaiman, as she had just been born that past November. It was the first time in my life that I got angry with God. While Mom tried to revive Gerrit, I ran outside to the backyard and screamed up at God, asking why he had taken my little brother away from me.
So it was just Jaiman and me for awhile. When I was nine, though, we adopted two kids from Bulgaria, Giorgi and Petya. They were both seven when we adopted them. Mom and Dad were only going to do one at a time, but those plans changed a little when they visited the orphanage in Sofia. At the orphanage, Giorgi and Petya were brought out to meet their parents. Petya ran up to my mom and jumped into her lap, but she was taken away by the supervisor of the orphanage. Apparently there was supposed to be another set of parents coming to the orphanage, the set coming to see Petya, but they hadn’t shown up. Mom was so traumatized, as was Petya, by the whole ordeal she decided to adopt both her and Giorgi.
This, however, is not the end of the additions to my family. I can still remember the conversation we had during supper one day in January. Mom leaned forward and told us she had an announcement. She was pregnant with my sister Talya. I was ten when she told me this, because this was before we moved to Wisconsin.
Both of my parents are from Wisconsin. The only reason we were in Detroit was so Dad could go to grad school. Right after I turned eleven, though, we moved to Friesland, Wisconsin, which is very different compared to Detroit, Michigan. We moved to the family farm, of which my siblings and I are the fifth generation. Very different from Detroit, but I didn’t mind. I liked the country far more than the city.
On August 27, 1999 (I can still remember the day), it was the second day of eighth grade. I had just turned fourteen a couple weeks before. Dad woke me up early and told me he was leaving for a weekend conference. This all made sense. He was a PhD psychologist and had been to conferences before. He had been to one in Pittsburg when the Penguins won the Stanley Cup, I remember this. He woke me up to get my siblings ready to get on the bus and go to school. Mom was working midnights in the ER at that time and wouldn’t be home in time to take us to school herself.
So I woke up and started getting everyone else up. When I went downstairs I found two folded pieces of paper on the table. One of them said “To Kristine.” The other said “To Kailen, Giorgi, Petya, Jaiman, Talya.” They were from Dad. I picked up the one that was to me. In it was a detailed description of why he felt the family wasn’t working, why he was leaving, and why he was going to divorce Mom. This was the first time in my life where I thought I was yet still awake. I locked myself in the bathroom and broke down, telling myself this couldn’t be happening.
After I composed myself, I planned to get everyone on the bus and go to school. I would be the only person who knew about the whole thing. The foil of this plan was when I called Mom at work and told her to come home. We ended up staying home from school that day.
Mom tried to make the marriage work. Even after we found out Dad had been having an affair she tried to make it work. Eventually, though, it was all over. We began finding out all sorts of things from his family we had not known before, primarily about his history with anger management problems. Throughout my childhood he had been very physically, verbally, and psychologically abusive to all of us. Being around him was sometimes like walking on eggshells, because he would at any moment snap, and then something would get broken and someone would get hurt.
High school was not a great time in my life, especially with my parents’ divorce. I was already a rather weird kid, but I began acting out a lot at school. I was so angry and I wanted people to know I was angry. Therefore, I got teased and bullied a lot. I don’t have many fond memories of high school.
My freshman year of college, a lot of things began happening with Dad. He had been in and out of six different mental institutions, kicked out of two of them for reckless behavior, went through shock therapy and all that because he was finally diagnosed with bipolar manic depression. The last time I saw him was August 1 during the summer of my freshman year of college. It was one of the scariest things I’ve seen. He was very, very skinny and not at all responsive. He and Mom didn’t even look like people who had once been married.
The whole plan was that Mom would work while Dad went to grad school. After Dad got his PhD, he would work and Mom would go to grad school. Mom paid for all fifteen years of his schooling at Wayne State University, and it was after they were completely debt free that Dad up, left, and had the affair and then the divorce. Now he was getting his license to practice psychology taken away because of his recent behavior. He was also in and out of jail a couple times during all of this.
I stayed in correspondence with Dad for awhile after returning to school. I thought I would be the only Christian influence in his life. Here’s where his manipulation came in. I thought he was getting better, making progress in some kind of rehabilitation. I’d read this in a letter I just got from him, but then find out from Mom on the phone that she was going to court and seeing someone completely different. He would be rude and obnoxious in court, yet when he wrote to me he’d be someone else. I eventually wrote him a letter telling him I could no longer be in contact with him. I was not willing to remain in contact with someone who was going to lie to me.
It was in large part because of these things why I was such an angry person when I started college at Northwester. Why Northwestern? I had been doing theatre since I was in sixth grade. My youth pastor and his wife are alums of Northwestern and they wanted me to check out the theatre program there. I fell in love with the campus before I even got out of the van, and this was in January. When I started school that next fall, I was very angry and confused because of all that had happened and was still happening in my life. I became very reclusive.
My advisor, Jeff Taylor, noticed this about me. I owe much of who I am today to Jeff’s willingness to take me under his wing and mentor me through a lot my pain. Jeff’s example spurred something inside of me that didn’t want to live with this pain, but instead take action towards healing. Theatre became not only a safe place for me to ask questions, make mistakes, and learn, but also a place where I could find people who were either going through similar pain or people who were willing to help me through my pain.
It hasn’t been easy, and it’s certainly not over. Recently, Dad has come back into the picture. He had remarried a couple years ago, but his wife died recently of a heart attack. When Mom’s brother (who has never gotten along with Mom) found out about this, he cancelled all his plans for the day, called Dad and scheduled lunch with him, then plotted with Dad things they could do to get back at her. My uncle then brought Dad back to Friesland for a visit, which inevitably brought Dad back into our lives despite our requests for him to stay out. This happened recently, and is still going one. Mom now has to go to court again for a bunch of things, and my uncle shows up in court standing next to Dad.
As a way to help keep this story from being grim, I want to let you know that I and my family are actually doing quite well. Mom is dating a really, really great guy named Rick. She started dating him when I was a sophomore in college and we love him to death. He’s a really great guy. Giorgi and Petya graduated from high school this past year, and Jaiman graduated early. Giorgi is going to tech school for automotive maintenance, which I know he’s going to eat up like it’s dessert. Petya is a CNA (certified nursing assistant) and is trying to get a job right now. Jaiman is going to University of Wisconsin-River Falls for something in agriculture, I can’t remember. She wanted to go for psychology and law, but we’ve recently discovered that she’s most in her element when she’s milking cows. She loves it. Talya is in seventh grade and is as sharp as a whip.
We’re a very oddball family. No one really understands how we’re able to live our lives the way we do. We’ve tried living the way other people live, you know “normal,” but it just doesn’t work. We love and support each other, and whether we were truly there for each other during the divorce or not (I sometimes think each of us were so shocked, we dealt with it in our own separate ways) we’re there for each other now. We’re so much better off now, and we continue to try and live our lives keeping that in mind.
Blessings.
Kailen
This is a short version of my life story, very similar to how I told it to the group. This is just in case you don’t know it or can’t remember it. Most of what I’ve written are main events in my life. When we told our life stories to the group we only had twenty minutes to a half hour. Daniel still wanted there to be time for questions.
On August 7, 1985, after thirty-six hours of labor (she reminds me of this often) I was born in Detroit, Michigan, to Kristine and Stephen Fleck. Two years after that, my brother Gerrit was born. A couple years after that, my sister Jaiman was born.
Gerrit and I were best friends growing up. He and I did everything together. We played in our backyard, collected Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle action figures together, and reenacted our favorite scenes from our favorite Disney movies. Peter Pan is one I remember us reenacting a lot.
A little over three years after his birth, Gerrit died in a playground accident that I witnessed. It happened right in our backyard. I still remember everything. Mom was the only one home, taking care of Jaiman, as she had just been born that past November. It was the first time in my life that I got angry with God. While Mom tried to revive Gerrit, I ran outside to the backyard and screamed up at God, asking why he had taken my little brother away from me.
So it was just Jaiman and me for awhile. When I was nine, though, we adopted two kids from Bulgaria, Giorgi and Petya. They were both seven when we adopted them. Mom and Dad were only going to do one at a time, but those plans changed a little when they visited the orphanage in Sofia. At the orphanage, Giorgi and Petya were brought out to meet their parents. Petya ran up to my mom and jumped into her lap, but she was taken away by the supervisor of the orphanage. Apparently there was supposed to be another set of parents coming to the orphanage, the set coming to see Petya, but they hadn’t shown up. Mom was so traumatized, as was Petya, by the whole ordeal she decided to adopt both her and Giorgi.
This, however, is not the end of the additions to my family. I can still remember the conversation we had during supper one day in January. Mom leaned forward and told us she had an announcement. She was pregnant with my sister Talya. I was ten when she told me this, because this was before we moved to Wisconsin.
Both of my parents are from Wisconsin. The only reason we were in Detroit was so Dad could go to grad school. Right after I turned eleven, though, we moved to Friesland, Wisconsin, which is very different compared to Detroit, Michigan. We moved to the family farm, of which my siblings and I are the fifth generation. Very different from Detroit, but I didn’t mind. I liked the country far more than the city.
On August 27, 1999 (I can still remember the day), it was the second day of eighth grade. I had just turned fourteen a couple weeks before. Dad woke me up early and told me he was leaving for a weekend conference. This all made sense. He was a PhD psychologist and had been to conferences before. He had been to one in Pittsburg when the Penguins won the Stanley Cup, I remember this. He woke me up to get my siblings ready to get on the bus and go to school. Mom was working midnights in the ER at that time and wouldn’t be home in time to take us to school herself.
So I woke up and started getting everyone else up. When I went downstairs I found two folded pieces of paper on the table. One of them said “To Kristine.” The other said “To Kailen, Giorgi, Petya, Jaiman, Talya.” They were from Dad. I picked up the one that was to me. In it was a detailed description of why he felt the family wasn’t working, why he was leaving, and why he was going to divorce Mom. This was the first time in my life where I thought I was yet still awake. I locked myself in the bathroom and broke down, telling myself this couldn’t be happening.
After I composed myself, I planned to get everyone on the bus and go to school. I would be the only person who knew about the whole thing. The foil of this plan was when I called Mom at work and told her to come home. We ended up staying home from school that day.
Mom tried to make the marriage work. Even after we found out Dad had been having an affair she tried to make it work. Eventually, though, it was all over. We began finding out all sorts of things from his family we had not known before, primarily about his history with anger management problems. Throughout my childhood he had been very physically, verbally, and psychologically abusive to all of us. Being around him was sometimes like walking on eggshells, because he would at any moment snap, and then something would get broken and someone would get hurt.
High school was not a great time in my life, especially with my parents’ divorce. I was already a rather weird kid, but I began acting out a lot at school. I was so angry and I wanted people to know I was angry. Therefore, I got teased and bullied a lot. I don’t have many fond memories of high school.
My freshman year of college, a lot of things began happening with Dad. He had been in and out of six different mental institutions, kicked out of two of them for reckless behavior, went through shock therapy and all that because he was finally diagnosed with bipolar manic depression. The last time I saw him was August 1 during the summer of my freshman year of college. It was one of the scariest things I’ve seen. He was very, very skinny and not at all responsive. He and Mom didn’t even look like people who had once been married.
The whole plan was that Mom would work while Dad went to grad school. After Dad got his PhD, he would work and Mom would go to grad school. Mom paid for all fifteen years of his schooling at Wayne State University, and it was after they were completely debt free that Dad up, left, and had the affair and then the divorce. Now he was getting his license to practice psychology taken away because of his recent behavior. He was also in and out of jail a couple times during all of this.
I stayed in correspondence with Dad for awhile after returning to school. I thought I would be the only Christian influence in his life. Here’s where his manipulation came in. I thought he was getting better, making progress in some kind of rehabilitation. I’d read this in a letter I just got from him, but then find out from Mom on the phone that she was going to court and seeing someone completely different. He would be rude and obnoxious in court, yet when he wrote to me he’d be someone else. I eventually wrote him a letter telling him I could no longer be in contact with him. I was not willing to remain in contact with someone who was going to lie to me.
It was in large part because of these things why I was such an angry person when I started college at Northwester. Why Northwestern? I had been doing theatre since I was in sixth grade. My youth pastor and his wife are alums of Northwestern and they wanted me to check out the theatre program there. I fell in love with the campus before I even got out of the van, and this was in January. When I started school that next fall, I was very angry and confused because of all that had happened and was still happening in my life. I became very reclusive.
My advisor, Jeff Taylor, noticed this about me. I owe much of who I am today to Jeff’s willingness to take me under his wing and mentor me through a lot my pain. Jeff’s example spurred something inside of me that didn’t want to live with this pain, but instead take action towards healing. Theatre became not only a safe place for me to ask questions, make mistakes, and learn, but also a place where I could find people who were either going through similar pain or people who were willing to help me through my pain.
It hasn’t been easy, and it’s certainly not over. Recently, Dad has come back into the picture. He had remarried a couple years ago, but his wife died recently of a heart attack. When Mom’s brother (who has never gotten along with Mom) found out about this, he cancelled all his plans for the day, called Dad and scheduled lunch with him, then plotted with Dad things they could do to get back at her. My uncle then brought Dad back to Friesland for a visit, which inevitably brought Dad back into our lives despite our requests for him to stay out. This happened recently, and is still going one. Mom now has to go to court again for a bunch of things, and my uncle shows up in court standing next to Dad.
As a way to help keep this story from being grim, I want to let you know that I and my family are actually doing quite well. Mom is dating a really, really great guy named Rick. She started dating him when I was a sophomore in college and we love him to death. He’s a really great guy. Giorgi and Petya graduated from high school this past year, and Jaiman graduated early. Giorgi is going to tech school for automotive maintenance, which I know he’s going to eat up like it’s dessert. Petya is a CNA (certified nursing assistant) and is trying to get a job right now. Jaiman is going to University of Wisconsin-River Falls for something in agriculture, I can’t remember. She wanted to go for psychology and law, but we’ve recently discovered that she’s most in her element when she’s milking cows. She loves it. Talya is in seventh grade and is as sharp as a whip.
We’re a very oddball family. No one really understands how we’re able to live our lives the way we do. We’ve tried living the way other people live, you know “normal,” but it just doesn’t work. We love and support each other, and whether we were truly there for each other during the divorce or not (I sometimes think each of us were so shocked, we dealt with it in our own separate ways) we’re there for each other now. We’re so much better off now, and we continue to try and live our lives keeping that in mind.
Blessings.
Kailen
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