Dear Friend,
“And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose. For those God foreknew he also predestined to be conformed to the likeness of his Son, that he might be the firstborn among many brothers. And those he predestined, he also called; those he called, he also justified; those he justified, he also glorified.
“What, then, shall we say in response to this? If God is for us, who can be against us? He who did not spare his own Son, but gave him up for us all – how will he not also, along with him, graciously give us all things? Who will bring any charge against those whom God has chosen? It is God who justifies. Who is he that condemns? Christ Jesus, who died – more than that, who was raised to life – is at the right hand of God and is also interceding for us. Who shall separate us from the love of Christ? Shall trouble or hardship or persecution or famine or nakedness or danger or sword? As it is written:
‘For your sake we face death all day long;
we are considered as sheep to be slaughtered.’
“No, in all these things we are more than conquerors through him who loved us. For I am convinced that neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons, neither the present nor the future, nor any powers, neither height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord.[1]”
I read that this morning for devotions. Somehow it gives reason, maybe, for my frustrations yesterday. It gives reason for all my frustrations past, present, and future. We have to really have faith in these verses in order to, shall we say, write off our frustrations in life. I mean, the mind, tolerance, and patience of a human being can only take so much, and yet we find ourselves getting through things that seem so much greater than we can muster. That’s a God thing.
We put a lot of faith in what Paul writes about in these verses. I think whenever we face trials, our audacity would have us get up in God’s face and “show Him who’s boss.” I know yesterday that’s all I wanted to do. I mean, I saw how my problems could be fixed, why couldn’t everyone else? Why couldn’t God? Everything would’ve been alright in my little world had everyone just done what I wanted them to do and had seen it my way. I think, though, that those are the first thoughts of a future dictator.
Kay Arthur, the author of Lord, Heal My Hurts (my devotional) writes, though, that many people make the mistake of only reading the first verse of this Romans passage. The first verse, to many people I would imagine, is the “pick yourself up by your bootstraps” verse. The rest of the passage is irrelevant because we already know what we have to do. “And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him” means “get over it” or “whatever doesn’t kill you makes you stronger.” I remember being asked if I believed in little sayings like “whatever doesn’t kill you makes you stronger.” The one I hear a lot is Romans 8:28, and because it’s a biblically based little saying, I do believe in it. However, when asked this question, I also said that I believed the little saying is incomplete, only part of something bigger. Simply telling me “God works all things for good” doesn’t satisfy me entirely.
The person reading this verse in Romans, Arthur states, needs to keep reading. As you keep reading the passage you find out what’s really going on behind the scenes of God’s plan. You eventually read the verse “If God is for us, who can be against us?” This verse is another nice little saying, but it’s still only part of a greater whole. When you read the lines in between “all things God works” and “God is for us” you find all the “ifs, ands, and buts” about the bigger picture, and it’s really exciting stuff. I mean, just go and read it yourself and imagine the simply unfathomable gloriousness that is the love of God! Then you can truly say with all conviction “If God is for me, who can possibly be against me?”
Does this mean no more frustrations? Ah, no. There is no ticket out of those. Those remain, but can we say now that though they remain we can still hope in something greater? I think we can, and I think we should. In fact, as the frustrations multiply – which they will – so should our hope. Besides, we’ve been “predestined, called, justified, and glorified” by God “to be conformed to the likeness of his Son.” This is what our hope is based on. “What, then, shall we say in response to this?” [Insert benevolent, praiseworthy adjective here!] I’ll let you decide.
Blessings.
Kailen
[1] Romans 8:28-39, NIV
Friday, October 31, 2008
Wednesday, October 29, 2008
October 28, 2008: Frustrations! Reminders!
Dear Friend,
I think it was the cold shower this morning that set the stage for a rather miserable day. I made it to the office, which either meant I was feeling better or ignoring any residual symptoms (either is possible,) so we can be thankful for one thing. Things just seemed to keep getting worse, though, but to keep from doing a lot of unnecessary complaining, I’ll refrain from detailing everything. Suffice it to say, a lot of my frustration came from experiencing things that were clearly out of my control to change (i.e. no hot water in the morning!)
A lot of my frustration was also from thinking about things back home. It’s somewhat of a tumultuous time in the lives of my family right now, though things have simmered somewhat since the end of the summer. Still, all the family drama is so unnecessary and I just wish everyone involved would realize that. I doubt very much, though, that doing a forum theatre piece on the oppression I’m facing would’ve helped to alleviate my mood. Again, these were all things out of my control. Unfortunately, reminding me of that fact only made me more frustrated.
Oh, what an arrogant man I am. To think that I could have the smallest amount of control of the circumstances in my life is quite laughable. I suppose this all hearkens back to what the heart wants. I remember that much of my thoughts today were of the “I want now!” variety. There wasn’t much joy surfacing as I considered my trials.
Sometimes it takes frustrations like these to put us back in our place. I don’t think God sits up in heaven and holds us at arms length as we swing our fists indignantly. Then again, maybe He does. Sometimes that’s what we need. I do believe, though, that today was a bit of a wake up call to Kailen, letting him know he wasn’t the center of the universe. Not only is that humbling (putting me back in my place,) but it also makes me realize the things I’ve taken for granted. Either that or it’s helped me to realize just how demanding I truly am. That I should demand my laptop to boot up and be ready to serve me the moment I open it not only shows how much I take for granted, but also how much I’ve convinced myself of things I deserve. That’s a dangerous word: deserve. What do we “deserve?” That’s a great question to ask someone from the States. What, as an American, do I “deserve?” Thoughts to ponder, friend.
Blessings.
Kailen
I think it was the cold shower this morning that set the stage for a rather miserable day. I made it to the office, which either meant I was feeling better or ignoring any residual symptoms (either is possible,) so we can be thankful for one thing. Things just seemed to keep getting worse, though, but to keep from doing a lot of unnecessary complaining, I’ll refrain from detailing everything. Suffice it to say, a lot of my frustration came from experiencing things that were clearly out of my control to change (i.e. no hot water in the morning!)
A lot of my frustration was also from thinking about things back home. It’s somewhat of a tumultuous time in the lives of my family right now, though things have simmered somewhat since the end of the summer. Still, all the family drama is so unnecessary and I just wish everyone involved would realize that. I doubt very much, though, that doing a forum theatre piece on the oppression I’m facing would’ve helped to alleviate my mood. Again, these were all things out of my control. Unfortunately, reminding me of that fact only made me more frustrated.
Oh, what an arrogant man I am. To think that I could have the smallest amount of control of the circumstances in my life is quite laughable. I suppose this all hearkens back to what the heart wants. I remember that much of my thoughts today were of the “I want now!” variety. There wasn’t much joy surfacing as I considered my trials.
Sometimes it takes frustrations like these to put us back in our place. I don’t think God sits up in heaven and holds us at arms length as we swing our fists indignantly. Then again, maybe He does. Sometimes that’s what we need. I do believe, though, that today was a bit of a wake up call to Kailen, letting him know he wasn’t the center of the universe. Not only is that humbling (putting me back in my place,) but it also makes me realize the things I’ve taken for granted. Either that or it’s helped me to realize just how demanding I truly am. That I should demand my laptop to boot up and be ready to serve me the moment I open it not only shows how much I take for granted, but also how much I’ve convinced myself of things I deserve. That’s a dangerous word: deserve. What do we “deserve?” That’s a great question to ask someone from the States. What, as an American, do I “deserve?” Thoughts to ponder, friend.
Blessings.
Kailen
October 27, 2008: Further Detoxification
Dear Friend,
I took another day off today to rest and recoup. That pizza (or whatever it was) really did a number on me. However, I did do some work, mainly on KINGDOM WORK. After all the events of the past week – culture shock, Boal paper, A.R.T. Fusion workshop, food poisoning – I’ve gotten, shall we say, a little behind in my blogging. I also rediscovered my affection for Star Trek, but don’t worry. I wouldn’t dare bore you with those details (ha!)
Diana was also staying home from the office today. The office can be a very distracting environment, so being able to work from home can be a major benefit. Diana’s sister, Corina, teaches Romanian at a nearby high school, so she’s usually up and out the door rather early in the morning. Sometimes she has private lessons at home, but those are after school gets out.
Diana and I got the chance to talk over lunch. It’s been such a blessing to be able to talk with someone I’m living with. Granted, I can’t blame Iris, Vali, or their mother for not being able to give me a whole lot of attention. During the day, each of them was working, and as I’m not much of a night person, we weren’t really able to socialize much when they all were home. What interaction we did have, though, I greatly cherish, probably more so because it was so infrequent. Being able to have frequent conversations with Diana, therefore, has been really nice. Our discussions of late have been about our families, our family drama, Christian schools, living in the city, and theatre. We connect on many levels.
I expressed a desire to go grocery shopping at some point in the day, so later in the afternoon we went. I had been planning on buying my own groceries, but that didn’t happen. Romanians are very adamant about serving their guests, something I noticed with Iris’ mother. Grocery shopping is very expensive here, and compared to the kind of grocery shopping I do with my family in the States, we didn’t get that much. When I’m home, we’re usually able to stuff and heap up two grocery carts full of items, making our price quite high. Today, we filled maybe half of a cart, which is only about three-quarters the size of one in the states, and had to pay quite a bit. Diana even paid for my new toothbrush.
Janelle had called me a couple days ago about some mishap the Lupeni students had during their midterm break in Greece. You may find out more on their website (http://nwcromania.blogspot.com/) in a couple days, I’d imagine, but apparently one of them had their passport stolen. Beginning this week, they’re all supposed to be in Cluj, so when we returned from shopping I called Janelle to find out what the status was. The student whose passport was stolen had remained in Greece with another student, and the other three managed their way to Cluj. Everyone was alright, and a passport was going to be provided soon, but the whole ordeal still sounded quite outrageous. When I called, they had all just sat down to supper, so Janelle promised to have the students call me in awhile to chat.
After awhile, my cell phone rang (I would never have expected those words to ever be associated with me.) I had the chance to speak with Anne, Solita, and Hollyann. As Solita had gone to Hungary for her break and hadn’t been in Bucureşti that day I met everyone else, we had quite a bit of catch up to do. It was wonderful to have the chance to speak with each of them. Apparently the Bulgaria/Greece group bought a present for me, but I told them to keep it a surprise.
I’m hoping I’ll be rid of all illness by tomorrow. I hate “skipping out” or “playing hooky” when I know there’s work to be done, but I think these couple of days off were needed. Tomorrow I’m back in the saddle and have to start fleshing out the forum theatre curriculum. That’s a considerably huge project that is going to demand quite a bit of my time.
Blessings.
Kailen
I took another day off today to rest and recoup. That pizza (or whatever it was) really did a number on me. However, I did do some work, mainly on KINGDOM WORK. After all the events of the past week – culture shock, Boal paper, A.R.T. Fusion workshop, food poisoning – I’ve gotten, shall we say, a little behind in my blogging. I also rediscovered my affection for Star Trek, but don’t worry. I wouldn’t dare bore you with those details (ha!)
Diana was also staying home from the office today. The office can be a very distracting environment, so being able to work from home can be a major benefit. Diana’s sister, Corina, teaches Romanian at a nearby high school, so she’s usually up and out the door rather early in the morning. Sometimes she has private lessons at home, but those are after school gets out.
Diana and I got the chance to talk over lunch. It’s been such a blessing to be able to talk with someone I’m living with. Granted, I can’t blame Iris, Vali, or their mother for not being able to give me a whole lot of attention. During the day, each of them was working, and as I’m not much of a night person, we weren’t really able to socialize much when they all were home. What interaction we did have, though, I greatly cherish, probably more so because it was so infrequent. Being able to have frequent conversations with Diana, therefore, has been really nice. Our discussions of late have been about our families, our family drama, Christian schools, living in the city, and theatre. We connect on many levels.
I expressed a desire to go grocery shopping at some point in the day, so later in the afternoon we went. I had been planning on buying my own groceries, but that didn’t happen. Romanians are very adamant about serving their guests, something I noticed with Iris’ mother. Grocery shopping is very expensive here, and compared to the kind of grocery shopping I do with my family in the States, we didn’t get that much. When I’m home, we’re usually able to stuff and heap up two grocery carts full of items, making our price quite high. Today, we filled maybe half of a cart, which is only about three-quarters the size of one in the states, and had to pay quite a bit. Diana even paid for my new toothbrush.
Janelle had called me a couple days ago about some mishap the Lupeni students had during their midterm break in Greece. You may find out more on their website (http://nwcromania.blogspot.com/) in a couple days, I’d imagine, but apparently one of them had their passport stolen. Beginning this week, they’re all supposed to be in Cluj, so when we returned from shopping I called Janelle to find out what the status was. The student whose passport was stolen had remained in Greece with another student, and the other three managed their way to Cluj. Everyone was alright, and a passport was going to be provided soon, but the whole ordeal still sounded quite outrageous. When I called, they had all just sat down to supper, so Janelle promised to have the students call me in awhile to chat.
After awhile, my cell phone rang (I would never have expected those words to ever be associated with me.) I had the chance to speak with Anne, Solita, and Hollyann. As Solita had gone to Hungary for her break and hadn’t been in Bucureşti that day I met everyone else, we had quite a bit of catch up to do. It was wonderful to have the chance to speak with each of them. Apparently the Bulgaria/Greece group bought a present for me, but I told them to keep it a surprise.
I’m hoping I’ll be rid of all illness by tomorrow. I hate “skipping out” or “playing hooky” when I know there’s work to be done, but I think these couple of days off were needed. Tomorrow I’m back in the saddle and have to start fleshing out the forum theatre curriculum. That’s a considerably huge project that is going to demand quite a bit of my time.
Blessings.
Kailen
October 26, 2008: “Why doesn’t the heart want God?”
Dear Friend,
I woke up this morning not feeling well at all. It’s quite possible the pizza from last night got to me and that I’m now battling a bout of food poisoning. That being said, I took my Sunday to have an actual “day of rest.” I didn’t even shower, which is unusual for me. There’s something quite wonderful about sitting and lying around in your room for an entire day, wearing something exceedingly comfortable (along with slippers,) not combing your hair or wearing your contacts, and just taking the day off. I eventually got restless, though, and started reading a book which happened to provide me anything but rest.
I was reading more of Not the Way It’s Supposed to Be. Interestingly, I ended up reading a chapter that asked some questions I had been pondering myself. Plantinga explores in this chapter (“The Progress of Corruption”) why and how sin pervades over our lives. As sin works its way through our lives, it gives birth to more sin. Sin continues to corrupt as it grows and grows in the heart, mind, and soul of a person. This is the “how.” The “why” is more difficult to answer. Plantinga has discovered the only clear answer to why people continue to sin is that “the heart wants what it wants.[1]”
That doesn’t seem good enough for me, though, and I thin that’s the frustration Plantinga is addressing. As a Christian, someone who knows not only the penalty of sin but also the alternative, I find myself asking the same questions he asks:
“…why doesn’t the heart want God, trust God, look childlike to God for life’s joys and securities? Why doesn’t the heart seek final good where it can actually be found? Why turn again and again, in small matters and large, to satisfactions that are mutable, damaging, and imperiled?[2]”
The Bible says, “the heart is deceitful above all things and beyond cure.[3]” Jesus himself said, “For from within, out of men’s hearts, come evil thoughts, sexual immorality, theft, murder, adultery, greed, malice, deceit, lewdness, envy, slander, arrogance and folly.[4]” So, as we know that “the wages of sin is death[5]” why, then, don’t we submit ourselves to God?[6] The reason, once again, goes back to the heart wanting what it wants.
I’ve been asking myself the same questions, pertaining to my own faith-walk. Why don’t I draw near to God when I know His way is so much better than mine? Even in the little things. At any given point in time, I don’t feel like praying or praising or reading my Bible. Yet, I know that praying can bring me into communion with the God I love, praising will please the God I love, and reading His Word can fill me with His life. I’m not saying this to make it sound easy, and therein lies the reason, I think, for our sin. It’s easy.
Aspiring to be more like Christ takes so much more than just praying, praising, and reading the Bible. You have to know why you pray, praise, and read beyond the simple action of each. Oftentimes, all three must work together in order to accomplish anything in your heart, that heart that’s so deceitful. It takes some work. Sometimes I think that our simply saying “faith, not works” can be misconstrued into allowing us to believe we don’t have to do anything. Christ has saved us, but He’s also given us the choice (I believe) to enter or not enter into communion with His Spirit. Therefore, it takes some work on our part.
This reminds me somewhat of what Nouwen said concerning solitude. Not so much solitude as in “being alone,” but solitude as in “from God alone.” That’s a tough idea to grasp in a world polluted with so many perverted facsimiles of what God has created. Yes, “from God alone,” but we can see God in His creation, which points back to God. However, as sin corrupts the world, God’s creation becomes corrupted as well, and is turned into marketable immediacies that can instantaneously, though only marginally, satisfy the deceit of our hearts. God doesn’t always feel as “immediate,” which is why we sin.
As bleak as this entry is, these have been my thoughts lately. Now I need to implement what I know. That’s the responsibility of self-reflection, I guess. I can’t just think constructive criticism and then say, “That was humbling,” and leave it at that. Nope. “Go, and sin no more” always follows repentance. Therefore, affirmative action must follow navel-gazing. I guess that can be our prayers for each other, friend, that we will act on what we know to be true. So, I pray you will draw near to God in these coming days, because He promises to draw near to you. It’s all a part of shalom.
Blessings.
Kailen
[1] Plantinga Jr., Cornelius. Not the Way It’s Supposed to Be: A Breviary of Sin. Grand Rapids: William B. Eerdmans Publishing Company, 1995. pg. 62.
[2] Plantinga Jr., Cornelius. Not the Way It’s Supposed to Be: A Breviary of Sin. Grand Rapids: William B. Eerdmans Publishing Company, 1995. pg. 62.
[3] Jeremiah 17:9, NIV
[4] Mark 7:21-22, NIV
[5] Romans 6:23, NIV
[6] “Submit yourselves, then, to God. Resist the devil, and he will flee from you. Come near to God and he will come near to you. Wash your hands, you sinners, and purify your hearts, you double-minded. Grieve, mourn and wail. Change your laughter into mourning and your joy to gloom. Humble yourselves before the Lord, and he will lift you up.” (James 4:7-10, NIV)
I woke up this morning not feeling well at all. It’s quite possible the pizza from last night got to me and that I’m now battling a bout of food poisoning. That being said, I took my Sunday to have an actual “day of rest.” I didn’t even shower, which is unusual for me. There’s something quite wonderful about sitting and lying around in your room for an entire day, wearing something exceedingly comfortable (along with slippers,) not combing your hair or wearing your contacts, and just taking the day off. I eventually got restless, though, and started reading a book which happened to provide me anything but rest.
I was reading more of Not the Way It’s Supposed to Be. Interestingly, I ended up reading a chapter that asked some questions I had been pondering myself. Plantinga explores in this chapter (“The Progress of Corruption”) why and how sin pervades over our lives. As sin works its way through our lives, it gives birth to more sin. Sin continues to corrupt as it grows and grows in the heart, mind, and soul of a person. This is the “how.” The “why” is more difficult to answer. Plantinga has discovered the only clear answer to why people continue to sin is that “the heart wants what it wants.[1]”
That doesn’t seem good enough for me, though, and I thin that’s the frustration Plantinga is addressing. As a Christian, someone who knows not only the penalty of sin but also the alternative, I find myself asking the same questions he asks:
“…why doesn’t the heart want God, trust God, look childlike to God for life’s joys and securities? Why doesn’t the heart seek final good where it can actually be found? Why turn again and again, in small matters and large, to satisfactions that are mutable, damaging, and imperiled?[2]”
The Bible says, “the heart is deceitful above all things and beyond cure.[3]” Jesus himself said, “For from within, out of men’s hearts, come evil thoughts, sexual immorality, theft, murder, adultery, greed, malice, deceit, lewdness, envy, slander, arrogance and folly.[4]” So, as we know that “the wages of sin is death[5]” why, then, don’t we submit ourselves to God?[6] The reason, once again, goes back to the heart wanting what it wants.
I’ve been asking myself the same questions, pertaining to my own faith-walk. Why don’t I draw near to God when I know His way is so much better than mine? Even in the little things. At any given point in time, I don’t feel like praying or praising or reading my Bible. Yet, I know that praying can bring me into communion with the God I love, praising will please the God I love, and reading His Word can fill me with His life. I’m not saying this to make it sound easy, and therein lies the reason, I think, for our sin. It’s easy.
Aspiring to be more like Christ takes so much more than just praying, praising, and reading the Bible. You have to know why you pray, praise, and read beyond the simple action of each. Oftentimes, all three must work together in order to accomplish anything in your heart, that heart that’s so deceitful. It takes some work. Sometimes I think that our simply saying “faith, not works” can be misconstrued into allowing us to believe we don’t have to do anything. Christ has saved us, but He’s also given us the choice (I believe) to enter or not enter into communion with His Spirit. Therefore, it takes some work on our part.
This reminds me somewhat of what Nouwen said concerning solitude. Not so much solitude as in “being alone,” but solitude as in “from God alone.” That’s a tough idea to grasp in a world polluted with so many perverted facsimiles of what God has created. Yes, “from God alone,” but we can see God in His creation, which points back to God. However, as sin corrupts the world, God’s creation becomes corrupted as well, and is turned into marketable immediacies that can instantaneously, though only marginally, satisfy the deceit of our hearts. God doesn’t always feel as “immediate,” which is why we sin.
As bleak as this entry is, these have been my thoughts lately. Now I need to implement what I know. That’s the responsibility of self-reflection, I guess. I can’t just think constructive criticism and then say, “That was humbling,” and leave it at that. Nope. “Go, and sin no more” always follows repentance. Therefore, affirmative action must follow navel-gazing. I guess that can be our prayers for each other, friend, that we will act on what we know to be true. So, I pray you will draw near to God in these coming days, because He promises to draw near to you. It’s all a part of shalom.
Blessings.
Kailen
[1] Plantinga Jr., Cornelius. Not the Way It’s Supposed to Be: A Breviary of Sin. Grand Rapids: William B. Eerdmans Publishing Company, 1995. pg. 62.
[2] Plantinga Jr., Cornelius. Not the Way It’s Supposed to Be: A Breviary of Sin. Grand Rapids: William B. Eerdmans Publishing Company, 1995. pg. 62.
[3] Jeremiah 17:9, NIV
[4] Mark 7:21-22, NIV
[5] Romans 6:23, NIV
[6] “Submit yourselves, then, to God. Resist the devil, and he will flee from you. Come near to God and he will come near to you. Wash your hands, you sinners, and purify your hearts, you double-minded. Grieve, mourn and wail. Change your laughter into mourning and your joy to gloom. Humble yourselves before the Lord, and he will lift you up.” (James 4:7-10, NIV)
October 25, 2008: The Workshop
Dear Friend,
I led my workshop for A.R.T. Fusion today. It was very well received, if not completely improvised. I had asked for four hours to do the workshop, but with people showing up late and breaks running longer than scheduled, the actual amount of time spent doing workshop exercises was around two and a half hours. Welcome to Romania.
I had twelve volunteers from A.R.T. Fusion at the workshop. The main purpose of the workshop was for them to see what kind of things I do at Northwestern. That being said, the workshop was rather simple to lead with regards to preparation. I just compiled a list of exercises that are characteristic of what we do in the theatre department back home. Trying to explain concepts and give reason to some of the exercises got a little complicated, but overall I was able to denote the importance of each exercise.
I started by introducing some focus exercises. Trying to get a group of theatre artists to focus can be quite difficult, but I realized today it can be even more difficult to get a group of volunteers to focus. I had to remind myself the way I felt when I was first introduced to a lot of these exercises. I remember as a freshman, I thought a lot of them were ridiculous. I think a lot of the volunteers thought the same. I was able, though, to emphasize the importance of focus within an ensemble, and I think the majority understood.
After a short break (explaining and then doing the focus exercises satisfactorily took quite a while) I moved on to some diction exercises. Diction exercises are always fun for me, as I love working with words. Also, diction exercises are rather quick exercises to do. I did a lot of call-and-response, as no one knew the exercises. The reason for these exercises is, obviously, to exercise your mouth so you don’t say your lines sloppily or lazily. Enunciation is the key and is the desired result of diction exercises. The one problem with introducing these exercises was that most of them were in English. Unless an ensemble is performing in English, English diction exercises could be a hassle.
Next were the energy exercises. These are difficult to explain and do at the same time. You can’t lead by example either, otherwise you just look silly. You look silly anyway, but if you’re able to explain the exercise and look silly at the same time, then you’ve accomplished something. Energy exercises also seem to be the most difficult to get newcomers to participate in. Some of these exercises do require people to be rather ridiculous, which is something most people don’t want to be. I’ve noticed that even at Northwestern it can be difficult to get people to participate, even if they’ve been a part of the department for a number of years. What’s convenient about these exercises is that some of them are also improv exercises. Some of the exercises require you to think on the spot. This made them a bit more appealing, as that’s why these volunteers were participating in the workshop.
Finally, after having gone through all of the exercises, we got to the part of the workshop where everyone would get the chance to do some improv. I introduced the inprov concept known to me as “Yes, and…” I learned “Yes, and…” while at Northwestern and believe very strongly in its fundamentals. This was, in my mind, the most important and most difficult exercise I had to explain during the workshop. This is what I really wanted to get to at the end and it took some doing to explain the concept. That being said, it’ll probably lose in translation as I explain it now.
“Yes, and…” keeps an improv scene going. If I ask my partner, “What do you have in your hands?” and my partner says, “It’s a kitten,” I can respond in two ways. I could say, “No, it’s not,” or I could say, “Really, what’s its name?” The first response completely halts the scene. Suddenly, my partner needs to find a way to save the scene, needs to work extra hard and come up with something fast. The second response, however, helps the scene along. My partner can answer, “Its name is Fluffy,” and then I can ask, “Where did you get Fluffy?” A scene is building. This is “Yes, and…,” a form of improv that encourages the actors to continue building things on top of each other and easily make a scene. What’s great about “Yes, and…” is that, most of the time, the building becomes funny, which makes the improv funny. Having to go along with each other’s ideas can take you just about anywhere.
The lunch break had gone longer than expected so time near the end was short. Everyone got the chance to improv for about two minutes with two different partners. Each of them actually did really well with “Yes, and…” and many of their scenes were quite funny. When everyone had their chance onstage I called the workshop to a close and invited the volunteers into a session of feedback and processing. They all wished they could’ve had more time to improv, but enjoyed the workshop nonetheless. They also appreciated the explanations of each of the exercises. After the feedback session was over, Carmen expressed her personal appreciation for the workshop and mentioned how she hoped A.R.T. Fusion would be able to use some of the things learned here in their forum theatre.
Before we all left, I expressed how I really wanted them to understand that theatre is for everybody. I confessed that a lot of my beliefs stemmed from being a Christian and that a lot of my personal theories on improv came from being a part of a Christian college (remember A.R.T. Fusion isn’t a Christian organization), but I wanted to stress my belief that theatre should be shared. I knew Boal would agree, so that worked in my favor when expressing this belief to volunteers of an organization that works with forum theatre. I also encouraged them to also practice “Yes, and…” outside of improv and in their own lives. I said that doing so would help them to create some very wonderful things. Granted, one can’t be “Yes, and…” all the time, but even in spirit being so could do so much.
The reason our improv time was so short was because there was a party scheduled for after the workshop. I was told the party was New Horizon’s “thank you” to A.R.T. Fusion for helping out with IMPACT artfest in Cluj two weeks ago. We all headed over to the office where the party was held. We ate pizza, watched some powerpoint presentations of pictures taken during the Festival, and had a meeting (in English this time) about upcoming events. Shortly after the meeting, everyone started leaving, so Diana and I did, too.
I have to admit that I was exhausted after the workshop. Just the mental power it takes to facilitate even the smoothest running workshop must be draining. I felt very good about it, though, mostly because everyone who participated felt good. Eugen commented how he wanted the workshop to go longer. I was told that usually such workshops go for about eight hours here in Romania. At least, that’s how A.R.T. Fusion does their workshops. I couldn’t imagine, quite frankly, what it would take to lead an eight hour workshop. I’m lucky I got by after four hours. The sentiment, though, meant a lot. It meant that these people not only appreciated what I did, but also trusted me. For me, that counts for something.
Blessings.
Kailen
I led my workshop for A.R.T. Fusion today. It was very well received, if not completely improvised. I had asked for four hours to do the workshop, but with people showing up late and breaks running longer than scheduled, the actual amount of time spent doing workshop exercises was around two and a half hours. Welcome to Romania.
I had twelve volunteers from A.R.T. Fusion at the workshop. The main purpose of the workshop was for them to see what kind of things I do at Northwestern. That being said, the workshop was rather simple to lead with regards to preparation. I just compiled a list of exercises that are characteristic of what we do in the theatre department back home. Trying to explain concepts and give reason to some of the exercises got a little complicated, but overall I was able to denote the importance of each exercise.
I started by introducing some focus exercises. Trying to get a group of theatre artists to focus can be quite difficult, but I realized today it can be even more difficult to get a group of volunteers to focus. I had to remind myself the way I felt when I was first introduced to a lot of these exercises. I remember as a freshman, I thought a lot of them were ridiculous. I think a lot of the volunteers thought the same. I was able, though, to emphasize the importance of focus within an ensemble, and I think the majority understood.
After a short break (explaining and then doing the focus exercises satisfactorily took quite a while) I moved on to some diction exercises. Diction exercises are always fun for me, as I love working with words. Also, diction exercises are rather quick exercises to do. I did a lot of call-and-response, as no one knew the exercises. The reason for these exercises is, obviously, to exercise your mouth so you don’t say your lines sloppily or lazily. Enunciation is the key and is the desired result of diction exercises. The one problem with introducing these exercises was that most of them were in English. Unless an ensemble is performing in English, English diction exercises could be a hassle.
Next were the energy exercises. These are difficult to explain and do at the same time. You can’t lead by example either, otherwise you just look silly. You look silly anyway, but if you’re able to explain the exercise and look silly at the same time, then you’ve accomplished something. Energy exercises also seem to be the most difficult to get newcomers to participate in. Some of these exercises do require people to be rather ridiculous, which is something most people don’t want to be. I’ve noticed that even at Northwestern it can be difficult to get people to participate, even if they’ve been a part of the department for a number of years. What’s convenient about these exercises is that some of them are also improv exercises. Some of the exercises require you to think on the spot. This made them a bit more appealing, as that’s why these volunteers were participating in the workshop.
Finally, after having gone through all of the exercises, we got to the part of the workshop where everyone would get the chance to do some improv. I introduced the inprov concept known to me as “Yes, and…” I learned “Yes, and…” while at Northwestern and believe very strongly in its fundamentals. This was, in my mind, the most important and most difficult exercise I had to explain during the workshop. This is what I really wanted to get to at the end and it took some doing to explain the concept. That being said, it’ll probably lose in translation as I explain it now.
“Yes, and…” keeps an improv scene going. If I ask my partner, “What do you have in your hands?” and my partner says, “It’s a kitten,” I can respond in two ways. I could say, “No, it’s not,” or I could say, “Really, what’s its name?” The first response completely halts the scene. Suddenly, my partner needs to find a way to save the scene, needs to work extra hard and come up with something fast. The second response, however, helps the scene along. My partner can answer, “Its name is Fluffy,” and then I can ask, “Where did you get Fluffy?” A scene is building. This is “Yes, and…,” a form of improv that encourages the actors to continue building things on top of each other and easily make a scene. What’s great about “Yes, and…” is that, most of the time, the building becomes funny, which makes the improv funny. Having to go along with each other’s ideas can take you just about anywhere.
The lunch break had gone longer than expected so time near the end was short. Everyone got the chance to improv for about two minutes with two different partners. Each of them actually did really well with “Yes, and…” and many of their scenes were quite funny. When everyone had their chance onstage I called the workshop to a close and invited the volunteers into a session of feedback and processing. They all wished they could’ve had more time to improv, but enjoyed the workshop nonetheless. They also appreciated the explanations of each of the exercises. After the feedback session was over, Carmen expressed her personal appreciation for the workshop and mentioned how she hoped A.R.T. Fusion would be able to use some of the things learned here in their forum theatre.
Before we all left, I expressed how I really wanted them to understand that theatre is for everybody. I confessed that a lot of my beliefs stemmed from being a Christian and that a lot of my personal theories on improv came from being a part of a Christian college (remember A.R.T. Fusion isn’t a Christian organization), but I wanted to stress my belief that theatre should be shared. I knew Boal would agree, so that worked in my favor when expressing this belief to volunteers of an organization that works with forum theatre. I also encouraged them to also practice “Yes, and…” outside of improv and in their own lives. I said that doing so would help them to create some very wonderful things. Granted, one can’t be “Yes, and…” all the time, but even in spirit being so could do so much.
The reason our improv time was so short was because there was a party scheduled for after the workshop. I was told the party was New Horizon’s “thank you” to A.R.T. Fusion for helping out with IMPACT artfest in Cluj two weeks ago. We all headed over to the office where the party was held. We ate pizza, watched some powerpoint presentations of pictures taken during the Festival, and had a meeting (in English this time) about upcoming events. Shortly after the meeting, everyone started leaving, so Diana and I did, too.
I have to admit that I was exhausted after the workshop. Just the mental power it takes to facilitate even the smoothest running workshop must be draining. I felt very good about it, though, mostly because everyone who participated felt good. Eugen commented how he wanted the workshop to go longer. I was told that usually such workshops go for about eight hours here in Romania. At least, that’s how A.R.T. Fusion does their workshops. I couldn’t imagine, quite frankly, what it would take to lead an eight hour workshop. I’m lucky I got by after four hours. The sentiment, though, meant a lot. It meant that these people not only appreciated what I did, but also trusted me. For me, that counts for something.
Blessings.
Kailen
October 24, 2008: Moving Day
Dear Friend,
Today my homestay with Iris and her family ended. I’ve officially been in Bucureşti for a month. Iris ordered a cab and we made our way to Diana’s flat, in a completely different corner of the city than where Iris lives. I won’t have any animals to deal with at Diana’s. It’ll just be her, her sister, and I. When we finally arrived I noticed the flat wouldn’t be big enough anyway for three people and a pet to live in together. Diana apologized for the small size, but I think my room is the biggest in the flat. I certainly won’t complain.
I finally got to see the art museum today. Ana, Luisa’ friend, went with me. Unlike most of the museums I attended in London, we had to pay in order to see just one exhibit. Each exhibit was priced, there wasn’t a flat entrance fee that allowed you to see everything. As I was in Romania I figured it was appropriate to view Romanian art, so that’s the exhibit I started with. Most of what I saw was religious art, icons from Orthodox churches dating from the Middle Ages into the Renaissance. I’ve been told since being in Romania that much of Eastern Europe was untouched by the Enlightenment for some time, so it made sense that much of the art I saw was not only iconography but also art of a style dating before the Renaissance. It was all very interesting, but it started getting monotonous.
We had enough time to see another exhibit after we finished with the Romanian one, so I chose the European art exhibit. Interestingly, the religious overtones continued into this exhibit, as well. There were the typical Anglo-centric themes incorporated into this art, just as they were incorporated into the religious Renaissance art I saw in London. If Mary was wealthy enough to wear the clothing she wore in each of these paintings, I doubt she still would have had to give birth in a stable.
Shortly after I returned to the office, I had to leave and meet Mihai, Carmen’s husband. After his concert in Cluj he had invited me to visit his recording studio. I went to our designated meeting place and found him and Eugen waiting for me. He then took me to Big Mamou, the bar I had gone to the night I was introduced to many of the A.R.T. Fusion volunteers. We didn’t go into Big Mamou. Instead, we went to a door behind Big Mamou that led us literally underground to where Mihai had his recording studio.
I’ve never scene a recording studio in person, but I’ve scene a number of professional ones in behind-the-scenes videos. For being built by non-professionals, the facilities Mihai showed me looked rather impressive. He excitedly showed me around the “dungeon” he was renting from a friend. He and his band are in the middle of renovating a number of rooms, cleaning them up and sound proofing them, laying down carpet and installing light and sound fictures. The actual studio they use is a room covered in a fabric frame which absorbs all echo and reverb. I also got to see the recording equipment they use, most of which is from America. Mihai told me that prices in America are so much better than they are here.
I felt a bit like a producer or a potential client as Mihai showed me around as he was so attentive as he guided me through his tour. He asked me questions about the professional and independent music circuits in the States, and I answered as best as I could. I’m not very familiar with the inner workings of the music world. It was during this conversation that Mihai confessed how difficult it was here in Romania to start your own band. He and each of his band members (they make up three together) each need jobs to support their music because they obviously don’t get enough doing their gigs. He really wants to get to the States, or at least Western Europe.
The rest of the evening was spent hanging out. It was honestly the first time I had felt comfortable in a very long while. At one point Carmen joined us. I spent another hour or so with her, Mihai, and Eugen and had a great time just hanging out, not having to be anywhere, and just relaxing with friends. These were my friends, I decided. I listened to stories about how Mihai and Carmen met, more about Mihai’s work in the independent music world, and also about past projects with A.R.T. Fusion. The two of them and Eugen recounted to me anecdotes about other foreigners who volunteered with A.R.T. Fusion, many of which were really funny. It was a very enjoyable night.
Blessings.
Kailen
Today my homestay with Iris and her family ended. I’ve officially been in Bucureşti for a month. Iris ordered a cab and we made our way to Diana’s flat, in a completely different corner of the city than where Iris lives. I won’t have any animals to deal with at Diana’s. It’ll just be her, her sister, and I. When we finally arrived I noticed the flat wouldn’t be big enough anyway for three people and a pet to live in together. Diana apologized for the small size, but I think my room is the biggest in the flat. I certainly won’t complain.
I finally got to see the art museum today. Ana, Luisa’ friend, went with me. Unlike most of the museums I attended in London, we had to pay in order to see just one exhibit. Each exhibit was priced, there wasn’t a flat entrance fee that allowed you to see everything. As I was in Romania I figured it was appropriate to view Romanian art, so that’s the exhibit I started with. Most of what I saw was religious art, icons from Orthodox churches dating from the Middle Ages into the Renaissance. I’ve been told since being in Romania that much of Eastern Europe was untouched by the Enlightenment for some time, so it made sense that much of the art I saw was not only iconography but also art of a style dating before the Renaissance. It was all very interesting, but it started getting monotonous.
We had enough time to see another exhibit after we finished with the Romanian one, so I chose the European art exhibit. Interestingly, the religious overtones continued into this exhibit, as well. There were the typical Anglo-centric themes incorporated into this art, just as they were incorporated into the religious Renaissance art I saw in London. If Mary was wealthy enough to wear the clothing she wore in each of these paintings, I doubt she still would have had to give birth in a stable.
Shortly after I returned to the office, I had to leave and meet Mihai, Carmen’s husband. After his concert in Cluj he had invited me to visit his recording studio. I went to our designated meeting place and found him and Eugen waiting for me. He then took me to Big Mamou, the bar I had gone to the night I was introduced to many of the A.R.T. Fusion volunteers. We didn’t go into Big Mamou. Instead, we went to a door behind Big Mamou that led us literally underground to where Mihai had his recording studio.
I’ve never scene a recording studio in person, but I’ve scene a number of professional ones in behind-the-scenes videos. For being built by non-professionals, the facilities Mihai showed me looked rather impressive. He excitedly showed me around the “dungeon” he was renting from a friend. He and his band are in the middle of renovating a number of rooms, cleaning them up and sound proofing them, laying down carpet and installing light and sound fictures. The actual studio they use is a room covered in a fabric frame which absorbs all echo and reverb. I also got to see the recording equipment they use, most of which is from America. Mihai told me that prices in America are so much better than they are here.
I felt a bit like a producer or a potential client as Mihai showed me around as he was so attentive as he guided me through his tour. He asked me questions about the professional and independent music circuits in the States, and I answered as best as I could. I’m not very familiar with the inner workings of the music world. It was during this conversation that Mihai confessed how difficult it was here in Romania to start your own band. He and each of his band members (they make up three together) each need jobs to support their music because they obviously don’t get enough doing their gigs. He really wants to get to the States, or at least Western Europe.
The rest of the evening was spent hanging out. It was honestly the first time I had felt comfortable in a very long while. At one point Carmen joined us. I spent another hour or so with her, Mihai, and Eugen and had a great time just hanging out, not having to be anywhere, and just relaxing with friends. These were my friends, I decided. I listened to stories about how Mihai and Carmen met, more about Mihai’s work in the independent music world, and also about past projects with A.R.T. Fusion. The two of them and Eugen recounted to me anecdotes about other foreigners who volunteered with A.R.T. Fusion, many of which were really funny. It was a very enjoyable night.
Blessings.
Kailen
Monday, October 27, 2008
October 23, 2008: Paper Two Done
Dear Friend,
Four sentences over ten pages. That is the length of my paper on Augusto Boal’s Theatre of the Oppressed, along with the subsequent observations I’ve made concerning A.R.T. Fusion in relation to the theories presented by Boal. Hoorah!
Other than language lessons with Ana, the rest of the day was mine to do with as I wished. When Iris and I returned to her flat that night I was able to present her, Vali, and their mother with the gifts I had purchased for them in Sioux Falls. I had bought them each dream catchers. They were each very happy with their gifts. Iris told me she had always wanted one and her mother kissed me on both cheeks. I tried explaining where I had bought them, but Iris told me that her mother was saying it didn’t matter where they had come from. It only mattered that I had given them as gifts.
The rest of the night was spent packing, which didn’t take all that long. I really just threw everything into convenient luggage places. They weren’t going to remain there for long. Tomorrow morning at nine-thirty I’ll be heading over to my new place, which happens to be Diana’s apartment. I’ve been told there are no crazy animals there.
Blessings.
Kailen
Four sentences over ten pages. That is the length of my paper on Augusto Boal’s Theatre of the Oppressed, along with the subsequent observations I’ve made concerning A.R.T. Fusion in relation to the theories presented by Boal. Hoorah!
Other than language lessons with Ana, the rest of the day was mine to do with as I wished. When Iris and I returned to her flat that night I was able to present her, Vali, and their mother with the gifts I had purchased for them in Sioux Falls. I had bought them each dream catchers. They were each very happy with their gifts. Iris told me she had always wanted one and her mother kissed me on both cheeks. I tried explaining where I had bought them, but Iris told me that her mother was saying it didn’t matter where they had come from. It only mattered that I had given them as gifts.
The rest of the night was spent packing, which didn’t take all that long. I really just threw everything into convenient luggage places. They weren’t going to remain there for long. Tomorrow morning at nine-thirty I’ll be heading over to my new place, which happens to be Diana’s apartment. I’ve been told there are no crazy animals there.
Blessings.
Kailen
October 22, 2008: Paper Two, Day Two – Over-Compensating?
Dear Friend,
My theatre movement classes are offered every Monday and Wednesday. Traffic was insanely busy this morning, so I thought I wasn’t going to make it. I was about five or ten minutes late, which, in Romania, means you’re doing pretty well. If I hadn’t made it, I would have just gone to the office and worked on my paper. I made it, though.
Today in class we did a lot of “roll downs.” We call them “roll downs” at Northwestern, but I’m not certain what they’re called here. Essentially what happens is you stand with your feet about shoulder length apart and then roll yourself down until you’re bent completely over. Our instructor told us to concentrate on the uppermost top of our heads as being the highest point of our bodies. As we rolled down, that uppermost top point would move along the back of our head, down our backbone, and finally to our tailbone.
These “roll downs” were much more complicated than the ones at Northwestern because we actually had to concentrate on so much more. Usually at Northwestern we just bend over, do some breathing exercises, roll back up, and call it good. Not so here. Aside from concentrating on the uppermost part of our bodies as we rolled down, we also had to concentrate on what the rest of our bodies were doing as we rolled down. This became very nitpicky and precise. When we were bent over, we did some shaking to loosen up our bodies, and to raise ourselves up we had to imagine that our tailbone was lowering to the ground and thereby straightening the rest of us. I took this literally, and every time I straightened up (we did the “roll downs” a number of times) I would start by squatting and lowering my butt closer to the ground and then stand up. After the lesson, the instructor told me I was supposed to imagine it not actually do it. I was over-compensating.
The rest of the lesson was walking around again, observing the way others in the room walked. The group was smaller today than it was on Wednesday. I was the only guy, other than the instructor. I remembered with some amusement an interview Jay Leno had with Sir Michael Caine a couple months ago about why he had decided to do theatre. Sir Michael responded by saying essentially that all the girls were in the theatre classes in high school, so it made sense for him to be there instead of playing basketball with the guys. Back in middle school, that’s essentially how I got into theatre, but that’s another story altogether.
At the office, I bulldozed my way through my paper. It was gratuitously agonizing, a lot of sighing involved. I decided not to worry about the page length. In fact, as I wrote the paper, I constructed a defense for why my paper was longer than six pages. I predicted my paper would be about ten to twelve pages. Page length was actually not discussed concerning my papers, but I felt that some explanation had to be given. My explanation involved, among other things, the sheer impossibility it would be to condense Boal into six pages. When I finished, it was two sentences over ten pages. Over-compensating?
The feeling one has when a paper is done (alright, I still have to proof read it, but it’s done!) is indescribable. As Iris and I made our way back to her flat I expressed this feeling, which she understood very well. She has written a number of grant proposals, each of which involve some sort of “gratuitous agonizing” as well, so she was able to understand my relief.
Once we returned to the flat, I asked Iris how I could tell her mother that I would be moving on Friday. Friday, aside from being the due date for my paper, was the end of my homestay. Iris told me her mother knew this, but I wanted to have the decency to tell her myself. I wrote down in my notebook as Iris dictated to me, “Eu mă mut vineri.” (“I move on Friday.”) I then told this to Iris’ mother, who actually (from my understanding) took it better than I had expected. I keep forgetting that Romanians aren’t offended easily. She expressed her apologies for not being able to provide as much for me as she would’ve liked and even acknowledged that her home was not the most comfortable, but also how she had done her best. I told her, “Apreciez tot ce faci pentru mine,” which I had expressed to her all those weeks ago.
I felt bad about the whole thing. I know everyone was doing there best, but I also knew that my moving had to happen for a number of reasons that I believed would benefit everyone. I do indeed appreciate everything the three of them have done for me, and despite all of the craziness I will take many fond memories with me as I leave. Lord, bless this family a thousand fold for each blessing they have bestowed upon me. Thank you.
Blessings.
Kailen
My theatre movement classes are offered every Monday and Wednesday. Traffic was insanely busy this morning, so I thought I wasn’t going to make it. I was about five or ten minutes late, which, in Romania, means you’re doing pretty well. If I hadn’t made it, I would have just gone to the office and worked on my paper. I made it, though.
Today in class we did a lot of “roll downs.” We call them “roll downs” at Northwestern, but I’m not certain what they’re called here. Essentially what happens is you stand with your feet about shoulder length apart and then roll yourself down until you’re bent completely over. Our instructor told us to concentrate on the uppermost top of our heads as being the highest point of our bodies. As we rolled down, that uppermost top point would move along the back of our head, down our backbone, and finally to our tailbone.
These “roll downs” were much more complicated than the ones at Northwestern because we actually had to concentrate on so much more. Usually at Northwestern we just bend over, do some breathing exercises, roll back up, and call it good. Not so here. Aside from concentrating on the uppermost part of our bodies as we rolled down, we also had to concentrate on what the rest of our bodies were doing as we rolled down. This became very nitpicky and precise. When we were bent over, we did some shaking to loosen up our bodies, and to raise ourselves up we had to imagine that our tailbone was lowering to the ground and thereby straightening the rest of us. I took this literally, and every time I straightened up (we did the “roll downs” a number of times) I would start by squatting and lowering my butt closer to the ground and then stand up. After the lesson, the instructor told me I was supposed to imagine it not actually do it. I was over-compensating.
The rest of the lesson was walking around again, observing the way others in the room walked. The group was smaller today than it was on Wednesday. I was the only guy, other than the instructor. I remembered with some amusement an interview Jay Leno had with Sir Michael Caine a couple months ago about why he had decided to do theatre. Sir Michael responded by saying essentially that all the girls were in the theatre classes in high school, so it made sense for him to be there instead of playing basketball with the guys. Back in middle school, that’s essentially how I got into theatre, but that’s another story altogether.
At the office, I bulldozed my way through my paper. It was gratuitously agonizing, a lot of sighing involved. I decided not to worry about the page length. In fact, as I wrote the paper, I constructed a defense for why my paper was longer than six pages. I predicted my paper would be about ten to twelve pages. Page length was actually not discussed concerning my papers, but I felt that some explanation had to be given. My explanation involved, among other things, the sheer impossibility it would be to condense Boal into six pages. When I finished, it was two sentences over ten pages. Over-compensating?
The feeling one has when a paper is done (alright, I still have to proof read it, but it’s done!) is indescribable. As Iris and I made our way back to her flat I expressed this feeling, which she understood very well. She has written a number of grant proposals, each of which involve some sort of “gratuitous agonizing” as well, so she was able to understand my relief.
Once we returned to the flat, I asked Iris how I could tell her mother that I would be moving on Friday. Friday, aside from being the due date for my paper, was the end of my homestay. Iris told me her mother knew this, but I wanted to have the decency to tell her myself. I wrote down in my notebook as Iris dictated to me, “Eu mă mut vineri.” (“I move on Friday.”) I then told this to Iris’ mother, who actually (from my understanding) took it better than I had expected. I keep forgetting that Romanians aren’t offended easily. She expressed her apologies for not being able to provide as much for me as she would’ve liked and even acknowledged that her home was not the most comfortable, but also how she had done her best. I told her, “Apreciez tot ce faci pentru mine,” which I had expressed to her all those weeks ago.
I felt bad about the whole thing. I know everyone was doing there best, but I also knew that my moving had to happen for a number of reasons that I believed would benefit everyone. I do indeed appreciate everything the three of them have done for me, and despite all of the craziness I will take many fond memories with me as I leave. Lord, bless this family a thousand fold for each blessing they have bestowed upon me. Thank you.
Blessings.
Kailen
October 21, 2008: Paper Two, Day One – Condensing Boal
Dear Friend,
My paper on Theatre of the Oppressed is due on Friday this week. I tried to start writing it today with marginal success. I have about two pages done. I started to realize as I read the book all those days ago that this would probably be one of the most important papers I would ever write in my undergraduate career and that feeling hadn’t subsided as the weeks went by. In all honesty, I’m really excited about writing this paper. However, today I realized that words weren’t going to come to me as easily as I would’ve wished.
Trying to condense Theatre of the Oppressed, the work of a genius (seriously) into a paper the length of four to six pages is just impossible. On top of that, I have to manage to correlate what I’ve read with what I’ve observed. My experiences in Cluj and during the high school forum theatre festival have to make it into those four to six pages. That’s just not going to happen. The paper has to be longer, but how long is too long? If it gets to be too long, I might as well just hand in the book and tell Karen (my advisor) to read it. Unfortunately, that won’t work, so I have to rack my brain, construct thoughtful sentences full of so much critical thinking, and then compare it to my observations in the past two weeks. I need a blender.
Wish me luck, friend. I’m jumping with excitement over this paper, which is something I haven’t done in a long time, but I’m also going to agonize over it a little.
Blessings.
Kailen
My paper on Theatre of the Oppressed is due on Friday this week. I tried to start writing it today with marginal success. I have about two pages done. I started to realize as I read the book all those days ago that this would probably be one of the most important papers I would ever write in my undergraduate career and that feeling hadn’t subsided as the weeks went by. In all honesty, I’m really excited about writing this paper. However, today I realized that words weren’t going to come to me as easily as I would’ve wished.
Trying to condense Theatre of the Oppressed, the work of a genius (seriously) into a paper the length of four to six pages is just impossible. On top of that, I have to manage to correlate what I’ve read with what I’ve observed. My experiences in Cluj and during the high school forum theatre festival have to make it into those four to six pages. That’s just not going to happen. The paper has to be longer, but how long is too long? If it gets to be too long, I might as well just hand in the book and tell Karen (my advisor) to read it. Unfortunately, that won’t work, so I have to rack my brain, construct thoughtful sentences full of so much critical thinking, and then compare it to my observations in the past two weeks. I need a blender.
Wish me luck, friend. I’m jumping with excitement over this paper, which is something I haven’t done in a long time, but I’m also going to agonize over it a little.
Blessings.
Kailen
October 20, 2008: Teatrul Fără Frontiere
Dear Friend,
A couple weeks ago, Iris managed to find me some theatre movement classes being offered in the area. They sounded interesting to I signed up for six classes. This morning was my first class. The classes are being held at the National Theatre and are being sponsored (I think) by an organization called Teatrul Fără Frontiere. I had somewhat of an idea of what to expect, as I had experienced some movement training during my years at Northwestern, but I only had an inkling.
The room we were in was some kind of dance room. Our instructor was a gentleman from Norway who looked very young, fit, and the type of person who would be instructing movement classes. As he was from Norway, he conducted the class in English, which was a bonus for me. There were about twenty-five of us, I think, I didn’t count. Most of what we did involved concentrating on relaxing the body. I’ll try to recount what we did exactly, but it will probably lose in translation.
We had to imagine relaxing every part of our bodies and then building our skeleton from the ground up. Our instructor helped us along by telling us to imagine our toes and feet being built and then up our legs and vertebrae all the way to our skulls and out to our hands. We then had to lie down on the ground and allow our bodies to relax in such a way that we surrendered completely to gravity. This meant that our muscles and skin should “sag” or “melt” off our bodies as we relaxed. It was quite the sensation.
The purpose of all of this is to release any tension we may have in our bodies. The way this helps actors is to allow them to be able to build their characters physically from a “clean slate,” as it were. Boal talks about this in Games for Actors and Non-Actors, and it’s a common practice for most actors. We each, throughout time, form physical habits that program our bodies in certain ways which limit us from performing to the extent our bodies are capable of. Doing these relaxation exercises helps us to break those habits and explore what else our bodies can do.
On the floor, after we had relaxed ourselves, our instructor told us to lift an appendage and allow it to lead the rest of our body in whatever direction it went. So, if my right hand crossed over my body to the left, the rest of my body would follow it and make me roll over. It was rather strange, but that’s what we were supposed to do. This lasted awhile, and then we had to stand up. As we stood up, though, we weren’t supposed to shoot up into the air like we normally would, but instead concentrate on what each part of our body was doing as we stood up.
Then we did some walking. Our instructor told us to observe the way each of us walked. We were to watch each others feet and how they landed on the floor and lifted. We were to watch each others ankles and thighs, how they moved as we walked. Then each others torsos, how they were held. Then the shoulders and the neck, and finally the head. None of these exercises were necessarily meant to bring up things we had to change. Instead, these exercises were meant to make us aware of what our bodies do and how they work, and by that I mean each of our individual bodies. It was an interesting class.
My meeting with Carmen went very well. We went to the park near the office. I had emailed her about my conversation with Diana and expressed how I didn’t want to blame anyone for the miscommunication that had happened but that I did want to find a way to keep it from happening again. She agreed, and most of our conversation was spent discussing what was coming up next on the calendar. It was a great time for us to content and understand each other. There hadn’t been much time after our return from Cluj, so this was our opportunity to give feedback to each other. Afterwards, she said she was glad we had the conversation. So was I.
Already, things are getting better, which I knew they would. The challenge I was given by Carmen, and also by Diana, was to be more up front about my needs. I had mentioned before that I’m not used to that, but that’s, once again, all part of the learning experience. No one is going to feel offended if I get a little pushy, because that’s how everyone here behaves. It’s an example of those cross-cultural differences I read about in Duane Elmer’s book and it’s one I’m going to have to adapt myself to. Being pushy is part of what it takes to be a part of this particular community.
Blessings.
Kailen
A couple weeks ago, Iris managed to find me some theatre movement classes being offered in the area. They sounded interesting to I signed up for six classes. This morning was my first class. The classes are being held at the National Theatre and are being sponsored (I think) by an organization called Teatrul Fără Frontiere. I had somewhat of an idea of what to expect, as I had experienced some movement training during my years at Northwestern, but I only had an inkling.
The room we were in was some kind of dance room. Our instructor was a gentleman from Norway who looked very young, fit, and the type of person who would be instructing movement classes. As he was from Norway, he conducted the class in English, which was a bonus for me. There were about twenty-five of us, I think, I didn’t count. Most of what we did involved concentrating on relaxing the body. I’ll try to recount what we did exactly, but it will probably lose in translation.
We had to imagine relaxing every part of our bodies and then building our skeleton from the ground up. Our instructor helped us along by telling us to imagine our toes and feet being built and then up our legs and vertebrae all the way to our skulls and out to our hands. We then had to lie down on the ground and allow our bodies to relax in such a way that we surrendered completely to gravity. This meant that our muscles and skin should “sag” or “melt” off our bodies as we relaxed. It was quite the sensation.
The purpose of all of this is to release any tension we may have in our bodies. The way this helps actors is to allow them to be able to build their characters physically from a “clean slate,” as it were. Boal talks about this in Games for Actors and Non-Actors, and it’s a common practice for most actors. We each, throughout time, form physical habits that program our bodies in certain ways which limit us from performing to the extent our bodies are capable of. Doing these relaxation exercises helps us to break those habits and explore what else our bodies can do.
On the floor, after we had relaxed ourselves, our instructor told us to lift an appendage and allow it to lead the rest of our body in whatever direction it went. So, if my right hand crossed over my body to the left, the rest of my body would follow it and make me roll over. It was rather strange, but that’s what we were supposed to do. This lasted awhile, and then we had to stand up. As we stood up, though, we weren’t supposed to shoot up into the air like we normally would, but instead concentrate on what each part of our body was doing as we stood up.
Then we did some walking. Our instructor told us to observe the way each of us walked. We were to watch each others feet and how they landed on the floor and lifted. We were to watch each others ankles and thighs, how they moved as we walked. Then each others torsos, how they were held. Then the shoulders and the neck, and finally the head. None of these exercises were necessarily meant to bring up things we had to change. Instead, these exercises were meant to make us aware of what our bodies do and how they work, and by that I mean each of our individual bodies. It was an interesting class.
My meeting with Carmen went very well. We went to the park near the office. I had emailed her about my conversation with Diana and expressed how I didn’t want to blame anyone for the miscommunication that had happened but that I did want to find a way to keep it from happening again. She agreed, and most of our conversation was spent discussing what was coming up next on the calendar. It was a great time for us to content and understand each other. There hadn’t been much time after our return from Cluj, so this was our opportunity to give feedback to each other. Afterwards, she said she was glad we had the conversation. So was I.
Already, things are getting better, which I knew they would. The challenge I was given by Carmen, and also by Diana, was to be more up front about my needs. I had mentioned before that I’m not used to that, but that’s, once again, all part of the learning experience. No one is going to feel offended if I get a little pushy, because that’s how everyone here behaves. It’s an example of those cross-cultural differences I read about in Duane Elmer’s book and it’s one I’m going to have to adapt myself to. Being pushy is part of what it takes to be a part of this particular community.
Blessings.
Kailen
October 19, 2008: Revisiting Solitude, Community, and Ministry
Dear Friend,
Diana got me in touch with Bart, Dana Bates’ brother, a couple days ago. Bart is an English teacher and attends on an on-and-off basis a multi-cultural church not far from the office. I agreed to meet Bart outside the church, which happened to be right next to a McDonald’s. I was able to walk there from the office, which was convenient because I was pretty familiar with that area.
Bart looks quite a bit like Dana, so he wasn’t that difficult to spot. Once we met up we walked into the church, which happens to be in a part of an old municipal building of some kind. We got to meet a number of people, the names of which I can’t remember, but all of them were very welcoming. The church is indeed multi-cultural, as there were people from many different countries, some of them students. It was very refreshing to be at a church service again. Diana was hoping that such an opportunity would help me get over my culture shock. The service started with some very familiar praise songs and then went into the message.
The congregation had been going through a series by Henri Nouwen and today was the last day of the series. I had never seen Henri Nouwen speak, so this was exciting for me. What was even better was that his message was on solitude, community, and ministry, a topic I had explored only a month ago in Lupeni. Instead of reading an article, though, I got to watch the dynamics of this very expressive man as he delivered his message to a rather large, outdoor congregation. The video took up the rest of the service.
I wrote in a previous entry my thoughts on Nouwen’s message about solitude, community, and ministry. Nouwen says that Christians typically do things backwards. They try to minister, thinking they can do it by themselves. When doing it by themselves doesn’t work, they go to other people for help. When that doesn’t work, they go to God as a last resort. Nouwen believes it should be the other way around. A Christian starts out in solitude, alone time with God as it were, and in solitude comes to know his/her relationship to God as God’s beloved. After this, the Christian joins community with other Christians who also discovered in solitude they’re beloved to God. Finally, within community ministry can take place.
As someone dealing with culture shock, feeling very much alone in the world, Nouwen’s message was very reassuring. I had been, as I mentioned, trying to make a good impression for quite awhile now, which meant I was depending on affirmation from those I was working with. Ironically, I was receiving affirmation but it wasn’t enough and I needed more in order to know I had truly done my job. Nouwen described this as dependence, something one human being should never have for another. Our dependence should be on God because only He can give us what we need, which is the knowledge of how we are beloved by Him. Only God can make us beloved, and that’s what I needed. Obviously, I was looking for it in the wrong place.
I had to think awhile longer, though, on Nouwen’s community aspect. The community I had become a part of was rather different than the one I was used to. The most obvious difference on my mind was that my community at Northwestern is Christian, while my A.R.T. Fusion community isn’t. At least, my A.R.T. Fusion community doesn’t profess to be Christian. This leads, in some regards, to something of a block in forming community. That’s what I thought, anyway, as I listened to Nouwen, but even as I thought that I began to realize the absurdity of that thought. Of course I’m able to form a community with the volunteers at A.R.T. Fusion. In fact, they’ve already started trying themselves, by including me in their activities. Whether they’re professed Christians or not doesn’t matter as they’ve already expressed a desire through their actions for wanting me to be a part of their group.
This is what I’m trying to convince myself of. I think it’s rather arrogant to think a Christian can’t form some kind of a community with non-Christians. It’s a fine line, I know. There are things that will be lacking in a community with non-Christians that I could have from a Christian community, but that shouldn’t keep me from forming community with non-Christians. That should keep me from loving them. Also, as I’m finding what I need in God, I should be able to form community. I think that’s what my colleagues at A.R.T. Fusion want with me. I could be completely off the deep end, but I don’t think so. I know what I’m proposing is difficult, but no one said being a Christian is easy. As I recall St. Francis’ prayer, seeking to console, understand, and love, I feel community will be the outcome.
I spent the rest of the afternoon with Bart and a friend of his from church. Our service at the restaurant we chose for lunch was rather terrible, but the food was good. We spoke about living in the city, different denominations represented here, and also the upcoming elections in the States. It was around four o’clock when I returned to the office.
I really hope things start getting better. Being in church this morning helped a whole and I’m planning on returning to that church for upcoming services. Tomorrow I’ll be having a conversation with Carmen about a lot of this. She’s also been very helpful and understanding, so I know things can only get better if we all work everything out. It’s all a part of the learning experience.
Blessings.
Kailen
Diana got me in touch with Bart, Dana Bates’ brother, a couple days ago. Bart is an English teacher and attends on an on-and-off basis a multi-cultural church not far from the office. I agreed to meet Bart outside the church, which happened to be right next to a McDonald’s. I was able to walk there from the office, which was convenient because I was pretty familiar with that area.
Bart looks quite a bit like Dana, so he wasn’t that difficult to spot. Once we met up we walked into the church, which happens to be in a part of an old municipal building of some kind. We got to meet a number of people, the names of which I can’t remember, but all of them were very welcoming. The church is indeed multi-cultural, as there were people from many different countries, some of them students. It was very refreshing to be at a church service again. Diana was hoping that such an opportunity would help me get over my culture shock. The service started with some very familiar praise songs and then went into the message.
The congregation had been going through a series by Henri Nouwen and today was the last day of the series. I had never seen Henri Nouwen speak, so this was exciting for me. What was even better was that his message was on solitude, community, and ministry, a topic I had explored only a month ago in Lupeni. Instead of reading an article, though, I got to watch the dynamics of this very expressive man as he delivered his message to a rather large, outdoor congregation. The video took up the rest of the service.
I wrote in a previous entry my thoughts on Nouwen’s message about solitude, community, and ministry. Nouwen says that Christians typically do things backwards. They try to minister, thinking they can do it by themselves. When doing it by themselves doesn’t work, they go to other people for help. When that doesn’t work, they go to God as a last resort. Nouwen believes it should be the other way around. A Christian starts out in solitude, alone time with God as it were, and in solitude comes to know his/her relationship to God as God’s beloved. After this, the Christian joins community with other Christians who also discovered in solitude they’re beloved to God. Finally, within community ministry can take place.
As someone dealing with culture shock, feeling very much alone in the world, Nouwen’s message was very reassuring. I had been, as I mentioned, trying to make a good impression for quite awhile now, which meant I was depending on affirmation from those I was working with. Ironically, I was receiving affirmation but it wasn’t enough and I needed more in order to know I had truly done my job. Nouwen described this as dependence, something one human being should never have for another. Our dependence should be on God because only He can give us what we need, which is the knowledge of how we are beloved by Him. Only God can make us beloved, and that’s what I needed. Obviously, I was looking for it in the wrong place.
I had to think awhile longer, though, on Nouwen’s community aspect. The community I had become a part of was rather different than the one I was used to. The most obvious difference on my mind was that my community at Northwestern is Christian, while my A.R.T. Fusion community isn’t. At least, my A.R.T. Fusion community doesn’t profess to be Christian. This leads, in some regards, to something of a block in forming community. That’s what I thought, anyway, as I listened to Nouwen, but even as I thought that I began to realize the absurdity of that thought. Of course I’m able to form a community with the volunteers at A.R.T. Fusion. In fact, they’ve already started trying themselves, by including me in their activities. Whether they’re professed Christians or not doesn’t matter as they’ve already expressed a desire through their actions for wanting me to be a part of their group.
This is what I’m trying to convince myself of. I think it’s rather arrogant to think a Christian can’t form some kind of a community with non-Christians. It’s a fine line, I know. There are things that will be lacking in a community with non-Christians that I could have from a Christian community, but that shouldn’t keep me from forming community with non-Christians. That should keep me from loving them. Also, as I’m finding what I need in God, I should be able to form community. I think that’s what my colleagues at A.R.T. Fusion want with me. I could be completely off the deep end, but I don’t think so. I know what I’m proposing is difficult, but no one said being a Christian is easy. As I recall St. Francis’ prayer, seeking to console, understand, and love, I feel community will be the outcome.
I spent the rest of the afternoon with Bart and a friend of his from church. Our service at the restaurant we chose for lunch was rather terrible, but the food was good. We spoke about living in the city, different denominations represented here, and also the upcoming elections in the States. It was around four o’clock when I returned to the office.
I really hope things start getting better. Being in church this morning helped a whole and I’m planning on returning to that church for upcoming services. Tomorrow I’ll be having a conversation with Carmen about a lot of this. She’s also been very helpful and understanding, so I know things can only get better if we all work everything out. It’s all a part of the learning experience.
Blessings.
Kailen
October 18, 2008: High School Forum Theatre
Dear Friend,
Move over High School Musical, and take your silly, coercive catharsis with you. A new age of high school theatre has begun, and that is the age of forum theatre. Today the three high school groups A.R.T. Fusion spent the past two days working with performed their forum theatre pieces. It was a great experience, more so for the high school students involved than for me. I had only been a part of three or so hours of training Thursday morning, before my meeting with Diana, so the credit really belonged to the A.R.T. Fusion volunteers and their students. The students were so happy with the chance to perform.
The entire day was actually a festival called Free Your Mind and it dealt with battling prejudices. The students had to write forum theatre pieces that dealt with certain kinds of prejudice. As was the case with the forum theatre piece performed in Cluj, after each of the pieces was performed, spectators were able to take the place of people onstage and explore solutions to the prejudice, which was the oppression. The students in the audience took many chances to come onstage and act out their solutions. I sat in the audience and observed as best as I could. Everything was conducted in Romanian, but I was able to understand some of the action.
I also got to lead a warm-up. “Boom-Chicka-Boom,” of course. Adi and Eugen were leading warm-ups during the lunch period in between two of the pieces. I participated and then expressed a desire to lead what I knew would be an instant hit warm-up with the high school students. Naturally, it did become a hit, and I once again cemented my reputation as the American who led “Boom-Chicka-Boom.”
It was a great day of high school theatre, I think. Granted, it was high school theatre, but everyone involved seemed very happy with results. The students especially felt very happy about their work, and as they had gotten the opportunity to be on stage, seemed even more confident about themselves. The day, in that regard, was a success. I now also have plenty of observations to incorporate into my paper on Theatre of the Oppressed once I get to writing it.
Blessings.
Kailen
Move over High School Musical, and take your silly, coercive catharsis with you. A new age of high school theatre has begun, and that is the age of forum theatre. Today the three high school groups A.R.T. Fusion spent the past two days working with performed their forum theatre pieces. It was a great experience, more so for the high school students involved than for me. I had only been a part of three or so hours of training Thursday morning, before my meeting with Diana, so the credit really belonged to the A.R.T. Fusion volunteers and their students. The students were so happy with the chance to perform.
The entire day was actually a festival called Free Your Mind and it dealt with battling prejudices. The students had to write forum theatre pieces that dealt with certain kinds of prejudice. As was the case with the forum theatre piece performed in Cluj, after each of the pieces was performed, spectators were able to take the place of people onstage and explore solutions to the prejudice, which was the oppression. The students in the audience took many chances to come onstage and act out their solutions. I sat in the audience and observed as best as I could. Everything was conducted in Romanian, but I was able to understand some of the action.
I also got to lead a warm-up. “Boom-Chicka-Boom,” of course. Adi and Eugen were leading warm-ups during the lunch period in between two of the pieces. I participated and then expressed a desire to lead what I knew would be an instant hit warm-up with the high school students. Naturally, it did become a hit, and I once again cemented my reputation as the American who led “Boom-Chicka-Boom.”
It was a great day of high school theatre, I think. Granted, it was high school theatre, but everyone involved seemed very happy with results. The students especially felt very happy about their work, and as they had gotten the opportunity to be on stage, seemed even more confident about themselves. The day, in that regard, was a success. I now also have plenty of observations to incorporate into my paper on Theatre of the Oppressed once I get to writing it.
Blessings.
Kailen
October 17, 2008: Home Sick
Dear Friend,
Dave Nonnemacher told me that at some point I would get sick, and so I did. For some time now, the scratchiness in the back of my throat that I feel just about every morning when I wake up has been increasing. I’m usually able to get rid of it by mid-morning, but this time I decided to take a day off and rest. This meant I wouldn’t be able to partake in the trainings today, but I felt that considering my recent culture shock and my deteriorating health, I should take some time for myself. I was only able to stay at Iris’ flat until a little after noon, though, because the dogs kept scratching on the door and moaning and the bird wouldn’t shut up. So, I eventually got out of bed and went to the office.
I had the office to myself, which is what I wanted. I received a message a day ago from Hollyann telling me that she, Anne, Chelsea, Stacey, and Andrew would be in Bucureşti today on their way to Bulgaria for their midterm break and they wanted to hang out. I told them I probably wouldn’t be available until after five o’clock in the afternoon, but also told them where the office was. So, I waited and prayed that we would be able to meet.
As I sat in the office, I thought a lot about home. I really missed it. I knew, though, that I wouldn’t see it for another month and a half and tried to consign myself to that thought. I began to think about my culture shock again. Another way to say that you’re going through culture shock is to say that the “honeymoon phase” is over. By this time, in someone’s cross-cultural experience, the “romance” of being in a foreign country wears off and suddenly the real work begins, along with all the annoyance and even animosity that accompanies such a wake-up call. The honeymoon phase had certainly ended for me this weekend.
As there is such a thing as a honeymoon phase in something like a Romanian internship, I began to think of my experience in the context of marriage, or at least something involving a commitment of similar importance. People get very romantic about marriage. I’ll admit, even I do. I can be very cynical about marriage, but there’s still a small part of me that has remained untarnished by my parents’ divorce which still believes that marriage is a good thing. However, as I’ve grown and matured, I’ve uncovered more and more of what a marriage truly involves, and romance happens to be very little of even the icing on the cake. Therefore, it stands to reason that there’s so much more to spending a semester overseas than just the romance of it all.
So after the honeymoon phase in marriage, the real work begins. Suddenly you realize you’ve become a part of a relationship involving two separate, independently thinking entities. I mean, you’ve always known that, but now you actually realize it. Suddenly it’s not as much fun as you had intended it to be. What’s worse is that you no longer have any primary control over the way your relationship goes. You can choose to or not to do things that you hope bring something good to the relationship, but there’s also the factor of the other person in the relationship. I can imagine now, as a husband and wife return after their honeymoon and life kind of goes back to normal, each is going to have to fight not only the monotony but also the selfish desire to go after what they want within the monotony of everyday life. These are two separate people with very unique ideas, feelings, and needs that will be in competition with each other. It’s the duties of both members of the relationship to work out these competitions if they hope to continue what they’ve started. Either way, they shouldn’t expect their marriage will unfold the way they think it will. This can apply equally to what I’m going through now.
This all sounds rather morbid, but even within the context of Christianity I think it rings true. I think Christians especially, because they understand the importance of love in marriage, tend to romanticize even more the idea of marriage and thereby run the risk of completely deluding themselves into a situation they’re not fully prepared to face. Now, one can argue, is anyone truly prepared for marriage? No, but there are certainly those who more mature than others to enter marriage. As with my internship, marriage requires a degree of humility, which confesses the plain and simple fact that we only know a little bit of what we’re doing and know even less of what to expect. It also requires a degree of patience, which gets us through the tough times; trust, which allows us to remain individuals with individual thoughts, feelings, and actions; hope, which propels us into the future; and love, which drives every nanosecond of our lives together. That’s what marriage needs and that’s what I need in this internship, in this commitment. It’s not meant to be easy, and I should stop trying so hard to make it so. Instead, I should face the difficult times as difficult, learn from them, and move on.
Anne and Chelsea had decided to take a walk to see if I was at the office. Apparently they had tried earlier in the day, but I wasn’t there. I’m glad they tried one last time before their train left. I spent a good two hours with the group. Solita was in Hungary for midterm break, visiting friends from Calvin College. I confessed my culture shock to the others. I also spent most of the time talking their ears off about the discoveries I had been making recently after reading Theatre of the Oppressed. I had been cross-examining what I read there with what I had been reading about “shalom” in Plantinga’s Not the Way It’s Supposed to Be. I was very excited to be sharing my ideas with them, and they were very excited about my excitement. It was so good to see them and talk with them. I waited at the station as they got on their train and found their compartment, then watched and waved as their train pulled out. I then walked back to the bus stop by the office and headed back to Iris’ flat.
I had some of my homesickness alleviated today by the presence of friends. I was so thankful we actually got the chance to meet. Hollyann encouraged me to not “check out” even though my honeymoon phase had ended. I’m still amazed at how circumstances created such great friendships. I probably wouldn’t have formed friendships with the others had I not spent time with them in Lupeni and it’s possible I would’ve formed friendships with others had the semester abroad roster been different. That doesn’t matter, though. I’m just glad they are my friends and that they care for me so much. Knowing that helps me get my work done and even helps me to make friends with others. I hope that may continue.
Blessings.
Kailen
Dave Nonnemacher told me that at some point I would get sick, and so I did. For some time now, the scratchiness in the back of my throat that I feel just about every morning when I wake up has been increasing. I’m usually able to get rid of it by mid-morning, but this time I decided to take a day off and rest. This meant I wouldn’t be able to partake in the trainings today, but I felt that considering my recent culture shock and my deteriorating health, I should take some time for myself. I was only able to stay at Iris’ flat until a little after noon, though, because the dogs kept scratching on the door and moaning and the bird wouldn’t shut up. So, I eventually got out of bed and went to the office.
I had the office to myself, which is what I wanted. I received a message a day ago from Hollyann telling me that she, Anne, Chelsea, Stacey, and Andrew would be in Bucureşti today on their way to Bulgaria for their midterm break and they wanted to hang out. I told them I probably wouldn’t be available until after five o’clock in the afternoon, but also told them where the office was. So, I waited and prayed that we would be able to meet.
As I sat in the office, I thought a lot about home. I really missed it. I knew, though, that I wouldn’t see it for another month and a half and tried to consign myself to that thought. I began to think about my culture shock again. Another way to say that you’re going through culture shock is to say that the “honeymoon phase” is over. By this time, in someone’s cross-cultural experience, the “romance” of being in a foreign country wears off and suddenly the real work begins, along with all the annoyance and even animosity that accompanies such a wake-up call. The honeymoon phase had certainly ended for me this weekend.
As there is such a thing as a honeymoon phase in something like a Romanian internship, I began to think of my experience in the context of marriage, or at least something involving a commitment of similar importance. People get very romantic about marriage. I’ll admit, even I do. I can be very cynical about marriage, but there’s still a small part of me that has remained untarnished by my parents’ divorce which still believes that marriage is a good thing. However, as I’ve grown and matured, I’ve uncovered more and more of what a marriage truly involves, and romance happens to be very little of even the icing on the cake. Therefore, it stands to reason that there’s so much more to spending a semester overseas than just the romance of it all.
So after the honeymoon phase in marriage, the real work begins. Suddenly you realize you’ve become a part of a relationship involving two separate, independently thinking entities. I mean, you’ve always known that, but now you actually realize it. Suddenly it’s not as much fun as you had intended it to be. What’s worse is that you no longer have any primary control over the way your relationship goes. You can choose to or not to do things that you hope bring something good to the relationship, but there’s also the factor of the other person in the relationship. I can imagine now, as a husband and wife return after their honeymoon and life kind of goes back to normal, each is going to have to fight not only the monotony but also the selfish desire to go after what they want within the monotony of everyday life. These are two separate people with very unique ideas, feelings, and needs that will be in competition with each other. It’s the duties of both members of the relationship to work out these competitions if they hope to continue what they’ve started. Either way, they shouldn’t expect their marriage will unfold the way they think it will. This can apply equally to what I’m going through now.
This all sounds rather morbid, but even within the context of Christianity I think it rings true. I think Christians especially, because they understand the importance of love in marriage, tend to romanticize even more the idea of marriage and thereby run the risk of completely deluding themselves into a situation they’re not fully prepared to face. Now, one can argue, is anyone truly prepared for marriage? No, but there are certainly those who more mature than others to enter marriage. As with my internship, marriage requires a degree of humility, which confesses the plain and simple fact that we only know a little bit of what we’re doing and know even less of what to expect. It also requires a degree of patience, which gets us through the tough times; trust, which allows us to remain individuals with individual thoughts, feelings, and actions; hope, which propels us into the future; and love, which drives every nanosecond of our lives together. That’s what marriage needs and that’s what I need in this internship, in this commitment. It’s not meant to be easy, and I should stop trying so hard to make it so. Instead, I should face the difficult times as difficult, learn from them, and move on.
Anne and Chelsea had decided to take a walk to see if I was at the office. Apparently they had tried earlier in the day, but I wasn’t there. I’m glad they tried one last time before their train left. I spent a good two hours with the group. Solita was in Hungary for midterm break, visiting friends from Calvin College. I confessed my culture shock to the others. I also spent most of the time talking their ears off about the discoveries I had been making recently after reading Theatre of the Oppressed. I had been cross-examining what I read there with what I had been reading about “shalom” in Plantinga’s Not the Way It’s Supposed to Be. I was very excited to be sharing my ideas with them, and they were very excited about my excitement. It was so good to see them and talk with them. I waited at the station as they got on their train and found their compartment, then watched and waved as their train pulled out. I then walked back to the bus stop by the office and headed back to Iris’ flat.
I had some of my homesickness alleviated today by the presence of friends. I was so thankful we actually got the chance to meet. Hollyann encouraged me to not “check out” even though my honeymoon phase had ended. I’m still amazed at how circumstances created such great friendships. I probably wouldn’t have formed friendships with the others had I not spent time with them in Lupeni and it’s possible I would’ve formed friendships with others had the semester abroad roster been different. That doesn’t matter, though. I’m just glad they are my friends and that they care for me so much. Knowing that helps me get my work done and even helps me to make friends with others. I hope that may continue.
Blessings.
Kailen
October 16, 2008: Culture Shock
Dear Friend,
Before I begin, I want you to understand, friend, the delicacy with which I want to address this situation, but also to understand that there probably isn’t anyway to delicately address it. This is something everyone experiences to some degree at some point in his or her cross-cultural experience. That being said, as this is a natural occurrence that is bound to happen, I’m not placing blame on anyone. However, I am going to express my feelings for the simple reason that not doing so would be lying and would only make the situation worse.
Last night was the most recent in a string of nights where I almost lost it. As I mentioned in yesterday’s entry, I usually find a way to just go with the flow. Sometimes this is the only thing I can do, whether I want to invest or not. Last night was a perfect example where I had to go with the flow. A.R.T. Fusion had a meeting that I attended. Everyone was speaking in Romanian and Eugen was trying very hard to translate for me, which became difficult as most of the time everyone was talking at the same time. I appreciated his effort, and obviously didn’t demand he do his job better as it was obvious way too many things were happening at once. Therefore, for the sake of not getting in the way and not being the “helpless American,” I simply sat patiently and waited for someone to address me. By the end of the night, no one really had, so I figured I was off the hook.
I then scheduled a time with Ana when we could meet regularly for my Romanian language lessons. To make up for lost time, we decided to meet tomorrow (which is actually today.) I knew that something was happening tomorrow with A.R.T. Fusion that I would be a part of, but I foolishly assumed that my part in the day would’ve been mentioned to me during the meeting. I was also hoping to speak with Carmen about the day, and even the weekend, so as to know concretely what my obligations would be. As she was still talking with three or four other people, I naturally waited patiently for my turn. I went upstairs to do some work, but a couple minutes later I heard Iris shout up to me that we would be leaving the office in two minutes. I quickly gathered my things and went downstairs. Carmen had already left, which meant I wouldn’t be able to speak with her.
It was as we made our way upstairs to Iris’ flat that I became exceedingly frustrated with the whole ordeal. Iris turned to me and rather bluntly told me I had to make some quick decisions. I had inconveniently scheduled my lessons during a time I would not be available. I hadn’t known this, so I asked Iris what the plan was for the day. Getting the actual plan out of her was difficult, as she couldn’t tell me what the plan was but could tell me when things were planned. I double and triple checked with her on the spot what the plans were so that I could know beyond the shadow of a doubt what would be going on. I then decided to cancel my language lessons and partake in A.R.T. Fusion’s plans.
A.R.T. Fusion would be working this Thursday, Friday, and Saturday with three high school student groups to stage forum theatre pieces they had written. The first two days would be training and the last day would be a day long festival where all three groups would present. As my internship deals heavily with working with forum theatre, it was obvious I would participate in some way, or at least observe. This is what I had wanted to discuss with Carmen, but as I hadn’t gotten that opportunity everything had gotten really jumbled and confused and I was the one who, naturally, had to fix it. Essentially, I had fallen victim to miscommunication, but on a level that had become exceedingly overwhelming.
I got to speak with Diana about this very thing today during our meeting. She told me I was experiencing culture shock, but not only from the miscommunication. If the culture shock had been rooted in the miscommunication, I highly doubt it would’ve hit me as hard as it did. No, I was experiencing a culture shock that had been building up from the moment I moved to the city. Bucureşti is hardly the easiest city to live in, and with my desires to make a good impression heaped on top of my belief that I could just go with the flow and make everyone else feel comfortable with me, I was mixing up a recipe for disaster. Disaster hit last night, and I was reaching out to Diana for some stability and semblance of order in what had become a very unstable and chaotic last couple of days. I was miserable and felt as if I had failed.
Diana, to her credit, knew exactly what I needed to hear, and after our conversation there were many things I had to begin to realize. First off, I’m not Romanian. I’m a college student from Orange City, Iowa, who, while having experienced his fair share of eye opening experiences, doesn’t really know how to live in the situation he’s living in. Just read my life story and you’ll understand. However, I took all the trials I had been through and molded them into some excuse for not experiencing culture shock in Romania. In fact, I wasn’t allowing myself even the possibility. So many times I had to keep myself going, not even acknowledge my trials for what they were, because if I did I would fall apart. That’s what I was trying to do here. Culture shock was out of the question for me, because I was better than that. I had to be.
Secondly, and this correlates well with the first point I made, I had to lower my expectations. Diana told me this. I was expecting so much of myself in this internship that my expectations were unreachable. In my head, I believed that as the first and only Northwestern student to do a cross-cultural internship, I had to, again, make a good impression. How I would do that, I’m not entirely sure, but part of it would be to avoid culture shock. Part of it, as I mentioned before, would also have to be avoiding awkward situations. I had to be a solid student, know the answers, and be able to work with anyone. This, in a sense, raised me to the status of some kind of superhuman or even god compared to the people I would be working with, which was very “ugly American” of me. Who was I to think that I was impervious to not only the usual craziness of any life but also the craziness of the life of an American working in Bucureşti? I mean, the very idea is not only absurd but also downright pompous.
I had essentially, at this point, hit rock bottom, but was still not allowing myself to acknowledge it. Yes, I was miserable, I was willing to allow myself that, but I had to keep going. I didn’t want to ruffle any feathers or rock the boat. I just wanted to keep going and suck it up, but even I realized the futility of that argument. So, Diana and I agreed that this had to be addressed, at least the issue of miscommunication. I would do my part in being more up front and even blunt about my needs, which would in and of itself be a great challenge for me, and Diana would speak with Carmen about A.R.T. Fusion doing their part. I’ve never been good about being blunt, and the idea of my needs again makes me feel like an inconvenience. However, I once again had to bring myself to understand that I am human and that I do have needs.
I spoke with Iris about my meeting with Diana. I simply wanted to clear the air, as there was much clearing that needed to be done between the two of us after last night. I don’t know how much clearing actually took place, as I was still quite irritated by the whole ordeal, and Iris didn’t offer much comfort, but I at least said my piece and told her where I was at, which she appreciated. I guess whatever expectation I had for comfort was kind of silly. Iris isn’t the type of person to beat around the bush. Also, I think the fact that we not only work but live together added to the stress. We were also getting physically sick from whatever cold was floating around during that time, so our social graces weren’t up to par. Again, very difficult to delicately address this situation.
Friend, these days are really difficult. I really just want to come home, but I also don’t want to give up. I’m torn between my two desires and am trying to depend on God, but I’m so overwhelmed. Please continue to pray.
Blessings.
Kailen
Before I begin, I want you to understand, friend, the delicacy with which I want to address this situation, but also to understand that there probably isn’t anyway to delicately address it. This is something everyone experiences to some degree at some point in his or her cross-cultural experience. That being said, as this is a natural occurrence that is bound to happen, I’m not placing blame on anyone. However, I am going to express my feelings for the simple reason that not doing so would be lying and would only make the situation worse.
Last night was the most recent in a string of nights where I almost lost it. As I mentioned in yesterday’s entry, I usually find a way to just go with the flow. Sometimes this is the only thing I can do, whether I want to invest or not. Last night was a perfect example where I had to go with the flow. A.R.T. Fusion had a meeting that I attended. Everyone was speaking in Romanian and Eugen was trying very hard to translate for me, which became difficult as most of the time everyone was talking at the same time. I appreciated his effort, and obviously didn’t demand he do his job better as it was obvious way too many things were happening at once. Therefore, for the sake of not getting in the way and not being the “helpless American,” I simply sat patiently and waited for someone to address me. By the end of the night, no one really had, so I figured I was off the hook.
I then scheduled a time with Ana when we could meet regularly for my Romanian language lessons. To make up for lost time, we decided to meet tomorrow (which is actually today.) I knew that something was happening tomorrow with A.R.T. Fusion that I would be a part of, but I foolishly assumed that my part in the day would’ve been mentioned to me during the meeting. I was also hoping to speak with Carmen about the day, and even the weekend, so as to know concretely what my obligations would be. As she was still talking with three or four other people, I naturally waited patiently for my turn. I went upstairs to do some work, but a couple minutes later I heard Iris shout up to me that we would be leaving the office in two minutes. I quickly gathered my things and went downstairs. Carmen had already left, which meant I wouldn’t be able to speak with her.
It was as we made our way upstairs to Iris’ flat that I became exceedingly frustrated with the whole ordeal. Iris turned to me and rather bluntly told me I had to make some quick decisions. I had inconveniently scheduled my lessons during a time I would not be available. I hadn’t known this, so I asked Iris what the plan was for the day. Getting the actual plan out of her was difficult, as she couldn’t tell me what the plan was but could tell me when things were planned. I double and triple checked with her on the spot what the plans were so that I could know beyond the shadow of a doubt what would be going on. I then decided to cancel my language lessons and partake in A.R.T. Fusion’s plans.
A.R.T. Fusion would be working this Thursday, Friday, and Saturday with three high school student groups to stage forum theatre pieces they had written. The first two days would be training and the last day would be a day long festival where all three groups would present. As my internship deals heavily with working with forum theatre, it was obvious I would participate in some way, or at least observe. This is what I had wanted to discuss with Carmen, but as I hadn’t gotten that opportunity everything had gotten really jumbled and confused and I was the one who, naturally, had to fix it. Essentially, I had fallen victim to miscommunication, but on a level that had become exceedingly overwhelming.
I got to speak with Diana about this very thing today during our meeting. She told me I was experiencing culture shock, but not only from the miscommunication. If the culture shock had been rooted in the miscommunication, I highly doubt it would’ve hit me as hard as it did. No, I was experiencing a culture shock that had been building up from the moment I moved to the city. Bucureşti is hardly the easiest city to live in, and with my desires to make a good impression heaped on top of my belief that I could just go with the flow and make everyone else feel comfortable with me, I was mixing up a recipe for disaster. Disaster hit last night, and I was reaching out to Diana for some stability and semblance of order in what had become a very unstable and chaotic last couple of days. I was miserable and felt as if I had failed.
Diana, to her credit, knew exactly what I needed to hear, and after our conversation there were many things I had to begin to realize. First off, I’m not Romanian. I’m a college student from Orange City, Iowa, who, while having experienced his fair share of eye opening experiences, doesn’t really know how to live in the situation he’s living in. Just read my life story and you’ll understand. However, I took all the trials I had been through and molded them into some excuse for not experiencing culture shock in Romania. In fact, I wasn’t allowing myself even the possibility. So many times I had to keep myself going, not even acknowledge my trials for what they were, because if I did I would fall apart. That’s what I was trying to do here. Culture shock was out of the question for me, because I was better than that. I had to be.
Secondly, and this correlates well with the first point I made, I had to lower my expectations. Diana told me this. I was expecting so much of myself in this internship that my expectations were unreachable. In my head, I believed that as the first and only Northwestern student to do a cross-cultural internship, I had to, again, make a good impression. How I would do that, I’m not entirely sure, but part of it would be to avoid culture shock. Part of it, as I mentioned before, would also have to be avoiding awkward situations. I had to be a solid student, know the answers, and be able to work with anyone. This, in a sense, raised me to the status of some kind of superhuman or even god compared to the people I would be working with, which was very “ugly American” of me. Who was I to think that I was impervious to not only the usual craziness of any life but also the craziness of the life of an American working in Bucureşti? I mean, the very idea is not only absurd but also downright pompous.
I had essentially, at this point, hit rock bottom, but was still not allowing myself to acknowledge it. Yes, I was miserable, I was willing to allow myself that, but I had to keep going. I didn’t want to ruffle any feathers or rock the boat. I just wanted to keep going and suck it up, but even I realized the futility of that argument. So, Diana and I agreed that this had to be addressed, at least the issue of miscommunication. I would do my part in being more up front and even blunt about my needs, which would in and of itself be a great challenge for me, and Diana would speak with Carmen about A.R.T. Fusion doing their part. I’ve never been good about being blunt, and the idea of my needs again makes me feel like an inconvenience. However, I once again had to bring myself to understand that I am human and that I do have needs.
I spoke with Iris about my meeting with Diana. I simply wanted to clear the air, as there was much clearing that needed to be done between the two of us after last night. I don’t know how much clearing actually took place, as I was still quite irritated by the whole ordeal, and Iris didn’t offer much comfort, but I at least said my piece and told her where I was at, which she appreciated. I guess whatever expectation I had for comfort was kind of silly. Iris isn’t the type of person to beat around the bush. Also, I think the fact that we not only work but live together added to the stress. We were also getting physically sick from whatever cold was floating around during that time, so our social graces weren’t up to par. Again, very difficult to delicately address this situation.
Friend, these days are really difficult. I really just want to come home, but I also don’t want to give up. I’m torn between my two desires and am trying to depend on God, but I’m so overwhelmed. Please continue to pray.
Blessings.
Kailen
October 15, 2008: Self-Reflection
Dear Friend,
Iris asked me last night how I enjoyed Cluj. I told her I enjoyed it very much. This surprised her, as she believed I hadn’t interacted a whole lot with the others while we were there. I felt a pang of guilt at hearing that. It’s true, I didn’t interact all that much with the others. I tried explaining to her why this had been the case, stating that aside from how busy and exhausting the entire experience had been I was also trying to feel out the dynamics of the group. It was difficult, being an introvert, to understand the dynamics of the group in such a way that I’d be able to socialize and contribute to the group. I also mentioned how embarrassed I was about the chocolate covered cherry and making supper and how both instances contributed to my non-socializing. The chocolate covered cherry incident was especially embarrassing for me. Eugen had told me that it was good I was “over-reacting” as the group had gotten the opportunity to see me open up. I don’t want my “opening up” to only happen when I over-react.
I’m beginning to think, though that there’s more than just my introversion that’s hampering my interaction with the others. I think, in fact, it’s some passive aggressive form of pride, hiding under the guise of wanting to make a good impression. I remember during grade school, a favorite teacher of mine would always give the same speech before the class went on a field trip. “Remember,” he would say, “you represent your family, your school, your community, and yourselves.” We had to behave everywhere we went. We had to make a good impression. I heard that speech a lot, knew it by heart, and believed firmly in its principals. I wanted to be the best at making a good impression. It was a very noble goal to have.
As I’ve completed the first half of my Romanian semester, I begin to think again about this idea of making a good impression and how it’s influenced my relationships. I still represent my family, my school, my community, and myself, but now I represent my country. It’s still a very noble goal to have, yet somehow I’ve misconstrued the goal. I’m so afraid of not making a good impression that I feel I’m keeping myself from doing much of anything. In a way, it’s a kind of fear induced paralysis. This may seem kind of harsh, as it is my first major cross-cultural experience, but there in hindsight I’m able to notice instances where my observations (accusations?) are quite valid.
I try to avoid awkward situations. I’ve been a part of or have witnessed so many awkward situations to know when one is imminent. I’m therefore usually able to avoid them. However, by avoiding them – or rather, by avoiding what I perceive will be an awkward situation – I feel I, in a way, cheat myself out of fruitful opportunities. I look at awkwardness as if it were a bad thing, something embarrassing or humiliating. Yet, awkward doesn’t have to mean bad. In fact, awkward can mean good. And anyways, I’m an American in Romania, so there are bound to be a number of really awkward moments.
I guess what I’m realizing as I think back on all the times I feel I’ve avoided an awkward situation, I can see a lost opportunity of investing. Usually, to avoid these awkward situations, I keep my mouth shut. I simply go with the flow of whatever’s happening and manage to come out alright. However, by keeping my mouth shut I’ve kept myself from investing, from interacting. And going with the flow is simply settling for whatever circumstances I’m in at the time, knowing I won’t have to settle with those circumstances for very long. That’s not investing.
This all stems back to the pride that I mentioned. It’s not a directly malicious pride. I’m not seeking to harm anyone, and I’ve only recently recognized this pride myself. However, it’s certainly indirectly malicious. It’s keeping me from investing in the people I meet and work with, or, more importantly, giving them the benefit of the doubt that they’ll be understanding of me. Investing would mean the existence of potential risk, which within the context of cross-cultural relations could become very awkward. This risk could lead to some kind of humiliation (i.e. setting off the fire alarm in the hostel your group is staying in, etc.) which would be accompanied by some uncomfortable embarrassment. No one in their right mind would wish for that. No one, that is, except for one person I know of.
Christ was willing to go through a lot of humiliation and embarrassment for the investment he made. What’s even more shocking is that he didn’t learn anything from investing. We did. We learned a lot through the investing of someone else. We learned that investing is what we’re called to do and that any humiliation or embarrassment we face – and we will face it, guaranteed – is all meant to add, in some way, to the glory of God. The first chapter of James begins with a challenge to consider all trials as opportunities to mature. So, any trials I face in investing are all opportunities for growth.
Also, if Christ lives in me, I shouldn’t have to worry about embarrassment. There is certainly grace enough for the times when I commit major cross-cultural infringements, so that would mean there is plenty of grace for a few awkward moments. God did not give me a spirit of fear, so I should not be afraid. As for making a good impression, the only person I should concentrate on representing is Christ, who is with me in all my awkward moments. Besides, the people I’m working with have already shown themselves to be understanding people. I think that should allow me to feel more ready to connect and to invest.
Blessings.
Kailen
Iris asked me last night how I enjoyed Cluj. I told her I enjoyed it very much. This surprised her, as she believed I hadn’t interacted a whole lot with the others while we were there. I felt a pang of guilt at hearing that. It’s true, I didn’t interact all that much with the others. I tried explaining to her why this had been the case, stating that aside from how busy and exhausting the entire experience had been I was also trying to feel out the dynamics of the group. It was difficult, being an introvert, to understand the dynamics of the group in such a way that I’d be able to socialize and contribute to the group. I also mentioned how embarrassed I was about the chocolate covered cherry and making supper and how both instances contributed to my non-socializing. The chocolate covered cherry incident was especially embarrassing for me. Eugen had told me that it was good I was “over-reacting” as the group had gotten the opportunity to see me open up. I don’t want my “opening up” to only happen when I over-react.
I’m beginning to think, though that there’s more than just my introversion that’s hampering my interaction with the others. I think, in fact, it’s some passive aggressive form of pride, hiding under the guise of wanting to make a good impression. I remember during grade school, a favorite teacher of mine would always give the same speech before the class went on a field trip. “Remember,” he would say, “you represent your family, your school, your community, and yourselves.” We had to behave everywhere we went. We had to make a good impression. I heard that speech a lot, knew it by heart, and believed firmly in its principals. I wanted to be the best at making a good impression. It was a very noble goal to have.
As I’ve completed the first half of my Romanian semester, I begin to think again about this idea of making a good impression and how it’s influenced my relationships. I still represent my family, my school, my community, and myself, but now I represent my country. It’s still a very noble goal to have, yet somehow I’ve misconstrued the goal. I’m so afraid of not making a good impression that I feel I’m keeping myself from doing much of anything. In a way, it’s a kind of fear induced paralysis. This may seem kind of harsh, as it is my first major cross-cultural experience, but there in hindsight I’m able to notice instances where my observations (accusations?) are quite valid.
I try to avoid awkward situations. I’ve been a part of or have witnessed so many awkward situations to know when one is imminent. I’m therefore usually able to avoid them. However, by avoiding them – or rather, by avoiding what I perceive will be an awkward situation – I feel I, in a way, cheat myself out of fruitful opportunities. I look at awkwardness as if it were a bad thing, something embarrassing or humiliating. Yet, awkward doesn’t have to mean bad. In fact, awkward can mean good. And anyways, I’m an American in Romania, so there are bound to be a number of really awkward moments.
I guess what I’m realizing as I think back on all the times I feel I’ve avoided an awkward situation, I can see a lost opportunity of investing. Usually, to avoid these awkward situations, I keep my mouth shut. I simply go with the flow of whatever’s happening and manage to come out alright. However, by keeping my mouth shut I’ve kept myself from investing, from interacting. And going with the flow is simply settling for whatever circumstances I’m in at the time, knowing I won’t have to settle with those circumstances for very long. That’s not investing.
This all stems back to the pride that I mentioned. It’s not a directly malicious pride. I’m not seeking to harm anyone, and I’ve only recently recognized this pride myself. However, it’s certainly indirectly malicious. It’s keeping me from investing in the people I meet and work with, or, more importantly, giving them the benefit of the doubt that they’ll be understanding of me. Investing would mean the existence of potential risk, which within the context of cross-cultural relations could become very awkward. This risk could lead to some kind of humiliation (i.e. setting off the fire alarm in the hostel your group is staying in, etc.) which would be accompanied by some uncomfortable embarrassment. No one in their right mind would wish for that. No one, that is, except for one person I know of.
Christ was willing to go through a lot of humiliation and embarrassment for the investment he made. What’s even more shocking is that he didn’t learn anything from investing. We did. We learned a lot through the investing of someone else. We learned that investing is what we’re called to do and that any humiliation or embarrassment we face – and we will face it, guaranteed – is all meant to add, in some way, to the glory of God. The first chapter of James begins with a challenge to consider all trials as opportunities to mature. So, any trials I face in investing are all opportunities for growth.
Also, if Christ lives in me, I shouldn’t have to worry about embarrassment. There is certainly grace enough for the times when I commit major cross-cultural infringements, so that would mean there is plenty of grace for a few awkward moments. God did not give me a spirit of fear, so I should not be afraid. As for making a good impression, the only person I should concentrate on representing is Christ, who is with me in all my awkward moments. Besides, the people I’m working with have already shown themselves to be understanding people. I think that should allow me to feel more ready to connect and to invest.
Blessings.
Kailen
Wednesday, October 15, 2008
October 14, 2008: The Oppressed
Dear Friend,
He carries an old twenty ounce pop bottle in his right hand and holds the squeegee in his left. Or is it the other way around. I can’t remember. All I remember is the limp in his step and the despair in his face. He was crying, crying about the licking he’s going to get for not making enough money, crying about the fact he can’t go and play like the other boys can, crying because he’s walking around in busy traffic, or crying because his leg hurts and he’s limping, I don’t know why and I don’t care. All that matters to me is that he’s crying, stifling his sobs so no one can notice. But I notice. I notice and my heart is rent from me so violently and savagely I can’t imagine what possibly could’ve done it.
I’ve come this way before, on my way home from the office, and I’ve seen many like him. He has to be no older than twelve, quite possibly younger. He reminds me of my brother when we adopted him from Bulgaria. He was only seven then. Is that how old this boy is? He’s one of many, I can imagine, all skinny and scrawny, either begging from car window to car window for some doggy bag feast or hoping the next idling vehicle they begin to wash will in turn produce a few bani with which they can purchase something to tide them over for twenty-four hours or more. He’s probably crying because this is what he did last night and the night before that and the night before that. He’s probably crying because he knows he’ll be doing this tomorrow night and the nights that follow. There’s no escape. This is his lot in life.
I sit at the tram stop, wishing I could take my eyes away, wishing like him that I could escape. In his face, in his very walk, in the state of his clothes and the age of the plastic bottle he carries, in his vulture-like hovering around cars in the four lanes of traffic behind me I can see the oppression. These are the losers of society, losers because they have truly had everything taken from them. It sits right in front of them, all fifty-plus of them, puffing exhaust into the already polluted air, purring and humming to their own individual tempo and tune because they have the choice to. They have the choice to be individuals. They have the choice to leave this place and they can choose where they go because where they go there will be security, there will be safety, there will be comfort. It may be small comfort, but it is comfort nonetheless. I realize now that maybe I’m also talking about myself.
What is oppression but one shalom being sacrificed for another? If shalom must be sacrificed, then there’s no possible way another can be created in its place, but people don’t realize that. Oppressors don’t believe that. In order to maintain their flourishing, their justice, and their delight, they must reap from that of another. They are vampires whose lust for blood drives them to the marrow of another’s shalom. But who are these oppressors? Can any of them be named? Can anyone truly point the finger, spin the dial until fate lands the arrow on the one responsible? Can the boy with the squeegee and old plastic bottle show me his oppressor? If so, would he point at me? How did I get here, an American in Romania? How can I ask the question, “Who is your oppressor?”
Many would say the boy chose this lifestyle, or his father chose it for him, and so on and so forth until the rationalization turns the boy into a thing. We’re not dealing with flesh and a soul, something like me, oh no. We’re dealing with a thing, a parasite of society, the dirty laundry that remains dirty no matter how many times you wash it. I’ve heard this argument before and have used it myself shamelessly in order to elevate my own self to a position of morality. I don’t give because I know it will be used for ill. Giving will only feed the dependency he has on the vice that he practices, making his circumstance that much more difficult to break away from. Yet I look in his face and think to myself how much I would want justice were I in his shoes, a justice I have no power to bring about. That’s why I would cry, because there is no justice. How can there be when I’m still in the mess I’ve been in for so long?
I am oppressed, too, though I, in a way, choose my oppression. Another much greater than I once, in a way, chose his oppression also, but he chose it because he knew full well the consequences of not choosing. The magnitude of not choosing seemed a much greater oppression to bear than the oppression he chose. And so, he died, taking with him all oppressions and thereby working once again towards a justice we all imagine, yet never gain, a shalom we all sense exists but never fully see. It is for this shalom that I choose my oppression, the oppression of empathy. It is an oppression that sadly, at this point, leaves me without action. I just sit and watch, wanting to find a solution but finding no easy ones. How then can action take place in the presence of such oppression? What is the difference that can be made by one American in a land not his own, for a people he doesn’t understand? Can the stage, possibly, be a place where such actions can be rehearsed, where oppression can be defeated and a difference made, a step forward to shalom? Or is it just rehearsal, just fiction, just a fantasy? Am I the only person that can answer that question? No. Who else must answer?
I hearken back to a time when I shared the same pitiful look as the boy with the squeegee and old plastic bottle, a time when I too felt such agony that no tears and no crying to possibly expel the feelings I had. In many of these cases, it wasn’t even in the face of my abusive father. As horrible as those times were, the times I hearken back to were times of utter loneliness. I didn’t make a noise when I cried, because there was no one there to hear me. Utter loneliness then morphed into utter hopelessness. That is what the boy with the squeegee and old plastic bottle felt as he limped through idle traffic, risking his life in front of a fickle red traffic light in order to feed his starving belly. That is what I felt also as I sat waiting for my tram, not because our situations were similar, but because I empathized. Empathy alone, without action: utter hopelessness.
Blessings.
Kailen
He carries an old twenty ounce pop bottle in his right hand and holds the squeegee in his left. Or is it the other way around. I can’t remember. All I remember is the limp in his step and the despair in his face. He was crying, crying about the licking he’s going to get for not making enough money, crying about the fact he can’t go and play like the other boys can, crying because he’s walking around in busy traffic, or crying because his leg hurts and he’s limping, I don’t know why and I don’t care. All that matters to me is that he’s crying, stifling his sobs so no one can notice. But I notice. I notice and my heart is rent from me so violently and savagely I can’t imagine what possibly could’ve done it.
I’ve come this way before, on my way home from the office, and I’ve seen many like him. He has to be no older than twelve, quite possibly younger. He reminds me of my brother when we adopted him from Bulgaria. He was only seven then. Is that how old this boy is? He’s one of many, I can imagine, all skinny and scrawny, either begging from car window to car window for some doggy bag feast or hoping the next idling vehicle they begin to wash will in turn produce a few bani with which they can purchase something to tide them over for twenty-four hours or more. He’s probably crying because this is what he did last night and the night before that and the night before that. He’s probably crying because he knows he’ll be doing this tomorrow night and the nights that follow. There’s no escape. This is his lot in life.
I sit at the tram stop, wishing I could take my eyes away, wishing like him that I could escape. In his face, in his very walk, in the state of his clothes and the age of the plastic bottle he carries, in his vulture-like hovering around cars in the four lanes of traffic behind me I can see the oppression. These are the losers of society, losers because they have truly had everything taken from them. It sits right in front of them, all fifty-plus of them, puffing exhaust into the already polluted air, purring and humming to their own individual tempo and tune because they have the choice to. They have the choice to be individuals. They have the choice to leave this place and they can choose where they go because where they go there will be security, there will be safety, there will be comfort. It may be small comfort, but it is comfort nonetheless. I realize now that maybe I’m also talking about myself.
What is oppression but one shalom being sacrificed for another? If shalom must be sacrificed, then there’s no possible way another can be created in its place, but people don’t realize that. Oppressors don’t believe that. In order to maintain their flourishing, their justice, and their delight, they must reap from that of another. They are vampires whose lust for blood drives them to the marrow of another’s shalom. But who are these oppressors? Can any of them be named? Can anyone truly point the finger, spin the dial until fate lands the arrow on the one responsible? Can the boy with the squeegee and old plastic bottle show me his oppressor? If so, would he point at me? How did I get here, an American in Romania? How can I ask the question, “Who is your oppressor?”
Many would say the boy chose this lifestyle, or his father chose it for him, and so on and so forth until the rationalization turns the boy into a thing. We’re not dealing with flesh and a soul, something like me, oh no. We’re dealing with a thing, a parasite of society, the dirty laundry that remains dirty no matter how many times you wash it. I’ve heard this argument before and have used it myself shamelessly in order to elevate my own self to a position of morality. I don’t give because I know it will be used for ill. Giving will only feed the dependency he has on the vice that he practices, making his circumstance that much more difficult to break away from. Yet I look in his face and think to myself how much I would want justice were I in his shoes, a justice I have no power to bring about. That’s why I would cry, because there is no justice. How can there be when I’m still in the mess I’ve been in for so long?
I am oppressed, too, though I, in a way, choose my oppression. Another much greater than I once, in a way, chose his oppression also, but he chose it because he knew full well the consequences of not choosing. The magnitude of not choosing seemed a much greater oppression to bear than the oppression he chose. And so, he died, taking with him all oppressions and thereby working once again towards a justice we all imagine, yet never gain, a shalom we all sense exists but never fully see. It is for this shalom that I choose my oppression, the oppression of empathy. It is an oppression that sadly, at this point, leaves me without action. I just sit and watch, wanting to find a solution but finding no easy ones. How then can action take place in the presence of such oppression? What is the difference that can be made by one American in a land not his own, for a people he doesn’t understand? Can the stage, possibly, be a place where such actions can be rehearsed, where oppression can be defeated and a difference made, a step forward to shalom? Or is it just rehearsal, just fiction, just a fantasy? Am I the only person that can answer that question? No. Who else must answer?
I hearken back to a time when I shared the same pitiful look as the boy with the squeegee and old plastic bottle, a time when I too felt such agony that no tears and no crying to possibly expel the feelings I had. In many of these cases, it wasn’t even in the face of my abusive father. As horrible as those times were, the times I hearken back to were times of utter loneliness. I didn’t make a noise when I cried, because there was no one there to hear me. Utter loneliness then morphed into utter hopelessness. That is what the boy with the squeegee and old plastic bottle felt as he limped through idle traffic, risking his life in front of a fickle red traffic light in order to feed his starving belly. That is what I felt also as I sat waiting for my tram, not because our situations were similar, but because I empathized. Empathy alone, without action: utter hopelessness.
Blessings.
Kailen
October 13, 2008: Quotes
Dear Friend,
I managed to find my way back to Iris’ flat by myself once I left the train station. Iris had gone ahead of us back in Cluj because Paolo had to catch his flight. Vali had to go to work once we arrived in the city. He gave me instructions and I hopped a bus to get back home. It wasn’t all that difficult. Once I reached my bed I went to sleep.
When I wasn’t sleeping, I was working. Diana had told me to take the day off, but there wasn’t much else to do. I decided to start working on my final project, which I’ll present once I return to Northwestern. A lot of my work today involved finding quotes from the books I’ve been reading. I poured over Games for Actors and Non-Actors and Theatre of the Oppressed by Augusto Boal, Cross-Cultural Connections by Duane Elmer, How We Survived Communism and Even Laughed and Café Europa by Slavenka Draculić, and Not the Way It’s Supposed to Be by Cornelius Plantinga, Jr.
I do a lot of underlining when I read. I used to not because I thought it ruined the book. Now I do it because I need to make some sign that a certain part of the page is more important to remember than the others. These turn into quotes. I like quotes, though sometimes they can be pithy. I realized as I was typing quotes that some things I underlined, once taken out of context, could mean absolutely nothing or mean the opposite of what the entire paragraph or even chapter meant to communicate. Sentences in Theatre of the Oppressed or How We Survived Communism and Even Laughed, for example, wouldn’t make sense on their own.
Overall, it was a relaxing day. I interacted with Vali a little bit. He was feeling pretty ill when we got off the train, so he ended up coming home early from work and taking the day off. When I spoke with him he was feeling a little better. Other than that, I had the day alone. Tomorrow it’s back to the grindstone.
Blessings.
Kailen
I managed to find my way back to Iris’ flat by myself once I left the train station. Iris had gone ahead of us back in Cluj because Paolo had to catch his flight. Vali had to go to work once we arrived in the city. He gave me instructions and I hopped a bus to get back home. It wasn’t all that difficult. Once I reached my bed I went to sleep.
When I wasn’t sleeping, I was working. Diana had told me to take the day off, but there wasn’t much else to do. I decided to start working on my final project, which I’ll present once I return to Northwestern. A lot of my work today involved finding quotes from the books I’ve been reading. I poured over Games for Actors and Non-Actors and Theatre of the Oppressed by Augusto Boal, Cross-Cultural Connections by Duane Elmer, How We Survived Communism and Even Laughed and Café Europa by Slavenka Draculić, and Not the Way It’s Supposed to Be by Cornelius Plantinga, Jr.
I do a lot of underlining when I read. I used to not because I thought it ruined the book. Now I do it because I need to make some sign that a certain part of the page is more important to remember than the others. These turn into quotes. I like quotes, though sometimes they can be pithy. I realized as I was typing quotes that some things I underlined, once taken out of context, could mean absolutely nothing or mean the opposite of what the entire paragraph or even chapter meant to communicate. Sentences in Theatre of the Oppressed or How We Survived Communism and Even Laughed, for example, wouldn’t make sense on their own.
Overall, it was a relaxing day. I interacted with Vali a little bit. He was feeling pretty ill when we got off the train, so he ended up coming home early from work and taking the day off. When I spoke with him he was feeling a little better. Other than that, I had the day alone. Tomorrow it’s back to the grindstone.
Blessings.
Kailen
October 12, 2008: Cluj, Day Five – The Botanical Garden
Dear Friend,
We checked out of the hostel at noon, after which we went and had pizza for lunch. Everyone had slept in this morning, so for many of us our pizza was our first meal of the day. I’ve become pretty good at not only ordering my own pizzas but also knowing what kind of pizzas I’m ordering. I don’t want anything with “masline” (olives) so that cancels out about two-thirds of the pizzas on the menu. I usually order a “rustica” pizza, which typically includes the usual cheese and tomato sauce, but also an assortment of meat, onions, and mushrooms. It all turns out well.
Our train wasn’t leaving until ten o’clock in the evening, so we had the afternoon to walk around. The group decided on visiting the botanical garden. It looked the way a botanical garden would look, I assume, at the beginning of autumn. The flowers that remained were beginning to wilt and the trees were changing color. I was still rather groggy, so I walked around while the others played “mafia,” a game that is really complicated for me to explain and one I don’t particular enjoy playing. I joined for a game near the end of our stay, but was glad when we had to leave for supper.
During the festival I didn’t really get the chance to meet everyone who was involved, but I got the chance to speak with some of them anyway. I met Carmen’s husband, the lead singer of the band I enjoyed so much last night, during lunch. I told him how much I enjoyed his concert, which he really appreciated, and asked if his band had done any recordings. This turned into an invitation for me to come and see their recording studio. They didn’t have a CD but had recorded some things. He also mentioned how he heard I had once played the saxophone and even offered to ask his friend if I could have a go on his saxophone. (To clarify, his friend with the saxophone is not, to my knowledge, the saxophonist from the other band last night.) I mentioned I hadn’t played in years, but that didn’t bother him at all. This all sounded really exciting to me. Hopefully we can pull it off.
The other new acquaintance I met was Andreea’s boyfriend (again, I don’t know his name.) We discussed college and each of our majors. He’s going to college for architecture and emphasized how one has to have a love of drawing in order be an architect. This reminded me of my design classes, which is what an architect is really, a designer. He told me he really wants to design hospitals and schools, not just houses, which apparently every architect designs at one point in their career.
I’m glad the festival is over, but I’m not really happy to be returning to Bucureşti. Cluj seems so much more relaxing and friendly, and there’s so much more I want to see. However, playtime is over and it’s time to go back to work. Diana expressed her wish that I take tomorrow off to rest up. I’ll need it, because our festival in Cluj was only the beginning of a string of things we have to accomplish before the end. Here we go again.
Blessings.
Kailen
We checked out of the hostel at noon, after which we went and had pizza for lunch. Everyone had slept in this morning, so for many of us our pizza was our first meal of the day. I’ve become pretty good at not only ordering my own pizzas but also knowing what kind of pizzas I’m ordering. I don’t want anything with “masline” (olives) so that cancels out about two-thirds of the pizzas on the menu. I usually order a “rustica” pizza, which typically includes the usual cheese and tomato sauce, but also an assortment of meat, onions, and mushrooms. It all turns out well.
Our train wasn’t leaving until ten o’clock in the evening, so we had the afternoon to walk around. The group decided on visiting the botanical garden. It looked the way a botanical garden would look, I assume, at the beginning of autumn. The flowers that remained were beginning to wilt and the trees were changing color. I was still rather groggy, so I walked around while the others played “mafia,” a game that is really complicated for me to explain and one I don’t particular enjoy playing. I joined for a game near the end of our stay, but was glad when we had to leave for supper.
During the festival I didn’t really get the chance to meet everyone who was involved, but I got the chance to speak with some of them anyway. I met Carmen’s husband, the lead singer of the band I enjoyed so much last night, during lunch. I told him how much I enjoyed his concert, which he really appreciated, and asked if his band had done any recordings. This turned into an invitation for me to come and see their recording studio. They didn’t have a CD but had recorded some things. He also mentioned how he heard I had once played the saxophone and even offered to ask his friend if I could have a go on his saxophone. (To clarify, his friend with the saxophone is not, to my knowledge, the saxophonist from the other band last night.) I mentioned I hadn’t played in years, but that didn’t bother him at all. This all sounded really exciting to me. Hopefully we can pull it off.
The other new acquaintance I met was Andreea’s boyfriend (again, I don’t know his name.) We discussed college and each of our majors. He’s going to college for architecture and emphasized how one has to have a love of drawing in order be an architect. This reminded me of my design classes, which is what an architect is really, a designer. He told me he really wants to design hospitals and schools, not just houses, which apparently every architect designs at one point in their career.
I’m glad the festival is over, but I’m not really happy to be returning to Bucureşti. Cluj seems so much more relaxing and friendly, and there’s so much more I want to see. However, playtime is over and it’s time to go back to work. Diana expressed her wish that I take tomorrow off to rest up. I’ll need it, because our festival in Cluj was only the beginning of a string of things we have to accomplish before the end. Here we go again.
Blessings.
Kailen
October 11, 2008: Cluj, Day Four – IMPACT artfest
Dear Friend,
Today was the day. Everything was happening. The festival took place in a parking lot by a lake. All the tents were set up with their respective banners, as was a stage. The festival was going to feature four bands, one in the afternoon and three at night. The stage was near the back of the parking lot and band members were testing sound and instruments while the rest of us finished setting up. We even had a graffiti artist. I was designated by Diana as one of the many photographers we had within the group.
The entire festival was about volunteering, an important aspect both in New Horizons and A.R.T. Fusion. One tent was devoted entirely to promoting volunteering. Other tents focused on pottery, where people could work with clay; street animation, where people learned how to do things like juggle and walk on stilts; and also the New Horizons IMPACT and A.R.T. Fusion tents. There was also a climbing wall, which some friends from Straja, including Ilie and Claudius, helped youngsters climb an artificial cliff face.
The forum theatre model about ecology went over rather well, from what I could tell. I didn’t have a translator with me, which was alright because I was taking pictures, which meant I was walking around getting different angles. That would indeed be an inconvenience for whoever would be translating for me. I at least understood the general gist of the model.
A couple is joined by a belligerent businessman in the compartment on their train ride to Cluj. Conversations take place about the litter inside the compartment and outside on the streets. The businessman doesn’t care and in fact takes the garbage from inside the compartment and throws it out the window. In Cluj, the boyfriend encounters an environmentally unfriendly couple and their little daughter. He tries to have a conversation with the daughter, who squeals and runs to her mother, frightened by the stranger trying to tell her the tissue paper she’s throwing on the ground is litter. The husband and wife get into an argument with the boyfriend about talking with their daughter. The businessman arrives and tries to quell the fighting, explaining to the married couple that the boyfriend is just a crazy volunteer, a taboo in these parts. The argument elevates so much that a policeman arrives and tries to put everyone in their place. The final scene is an argument between the boyfriend and the businessman. The former tries fighting for cleaning up the litter and getting others to volunteer to clean up as while. The latter shoots him down and explains that everyone does it and that he has no right to tell others to volunteer. I think he even tells the boyfriend to do it himself.
That’s the general idea I gleaned from the model. What took place after the model was presented was the actual forum. Carmen, the “Joker” or facilitator, explained more of the purpose of forum theatre, identified the oppressors and the oppressed, and then invited members of the audience to come and replace characters as the model was presented again. The spectators were generally hesitant to participate, but in the end three did volunteer. The first was a middle aged woman who replaced the girlfriend in the train compartment scene. The idea of replacing someone on stage in forum theatre is that the “spect-actor” (a Boal term) continues the action of the model in a direction away from oppression. In the case of this scene, the woman who replaced the girlfriend attempted to stand up against the oppression of the businessman, who doesn’t change anything about his goals and tries to throw the litter inside the compartment out the window. It was pretty confusing to see, not only because it was in Romanian, but at least spectators were beginning to take the stage.
The second spect-actor was a girl around my age (maybe a teenager) who replaced the wife in the scene where the boyfriend tries to speak with the little girl. The little girl still ran to her mother and the husband still argued with the boyfriend, but the wife/mother now tried to mediate the situation. Once the businessman joined, though, things got more complicated. The husband, being told off not only by the boyfriend and businessman but also by his wife, was now becoming more agitated. An actual brawl was inevitable, and the policeman showed up twice in the course of this scene.
The final spect-actor replaced the boyfriend in the final scene with the businessman. I have no clue what actually happened, except that the spect-actor began picking up litter as he was speaking with the businessman. He was also remaining rather calm, while the businessman continued to mount in his argument. In the end, the spect-actor won, or the businessman (oppressor) gave up. Maybe they’re the same thing. At any rate, the model was over and everyone started clapping. At the end of each spect-actor’s turn onstage, Carmen asked them questions about their experience. It all seemed to work out really well. Everyone was pretty happy about the result.
Following the forum theatre model we went and did our flash-mob. This is when I discovered what a flash-mob actually is. We went to the site we had chosen, an area where a lot of people congregate. The eight letters went to different areas of the site and waited for the signal. I began recognizing some of the congregants were people I had seen at the festival. I made sure to keep Maria in my sites, as she was the one who would blow the whistle for us to begin. We were supposed to do the flash-mob for three minutes, running around and getting into formation, then running around again after twenty seconds of being in formation, and repeat. When Maria blew the whistle, something happened I hadn’t expected. I did run around and get into formation when I was supposed to, but all the congregants I had recognized from the festival were frozen in place, in mid-action. This reminded me of other flash-mobs (many are like this) where suddenly a large group of people froze in place at once. The experience was quite surreal. We only got to be in formation twice, because the police came and halted the exercise. We could tell when Maria blew the whistle again and was speaking with two boys in blue. We all pealed away as we were told, though, and went in separate directions, not speaking or acknowledging anything.
As I reflected on the experience, I couldn’t help but be impressed with how it all went off. Sure we were stopped, but what took place was pretty spectacular. That everyone froze in place and stayed still for even a short period of time was really fascinating, let alone all eight of us letters managing to do what we did. I had to weave through some of the human statues as I ran, which was quite the challenge. The fact that the police showed up made me wonder how this compared to my thoughts of Invisible Theatre. We hadn’t performed Invisible Theatre, as Boal defines it. We hadn’t really performed theatre, I don’t think. Maybe we did. At any rate, at this point in my development as an artist I think flash-mobs are far less dangerous than Invisible Theatre in all the reasons I had mentioned in my blog on the subject. Then again, maybe I need to go back and rethink what I just wrote.
The night ended with some cool rock concerts. I’m such an old man, though (ha,) I have to stand quite a ways away from the stage in order to enjoy them. Rock concerts, which I rarely attend, are just too loud for me. I’m one of those people who wish to preserve as much of his eardrums as he can.
I missed the first band of the night, but arrived for the second, which featured a saxophone player. I enjoyed their music, but their lyrics were somewhat unsettling at times. I still got to boogey, though, in my own Kailen way. This usually involves nodding my head, snapping my fingers, and bouncing on the balls of my feat to the tempo. Out of context (within context, too, I guess) it looks rather goofy. Then again, I could’ve been head-banging like some other people, but I didn’t. I remembered too well how I feel after I’m done head-banging and I didn’t want to feel that feeling tonight.
The final band included both Carmen’s husband and Maria’s brother. I really liked these guys, as they were versatile in what instruments they could play. There were only three of them, but each could play a number of different things, from the guitar to the accordion. Also, during the last three quarters of their performance, a group of fire manipulators (fire benders was the first thing that came to mind, but if I were to use that I would have to force myself to stop watching cartoons) performed some cool tricks. Do you know how to blow fire? You fill your mouth with kerosene, or something like it, then spit it out at an open flame. Sounds kind of gross, but it looks pretty cool.
After the concerts we had to clean up everything. Dismantling things usually doesn’t take as much time as putting things up, but there’s always the clean-up that follows. I was reminded of strike after a show. Something of this was familiar to me as I helped others take down tents. Eventually, so much was taken down that there were too many people to take down the rest. This meant I could go back to the hostel and go to bed, which is exactly what I did. It was a great feeling, too, knowing I accomplished with the group something really great. I hope that may continue.
Blessings.
Kailen
Today was the day. Everything was happening. The festival took place in a parking lot by a lake. All the tents were set up with their respective banners, as was a stage. The festival was going to feature four bands, one in the afternoon and three at night. The stage was near the back of the parking lot and band members were testing sound and instruments while the rest of us finished setting up. We even had a graffiti artist. I was designated by Diana as one of the many photographers we had within the group.
The entire festival was about volunteering, an important aspect both in New Horizons and A.R.T. Fusion. One tent was devoted entirely to promoting volunteering. Other tents focused on pottery, where people could work with clay; street animation, where people learned how to do things like juggle and walk on stilts; and also the New Horizons IMPACT and A.R.T. Fusion tents. There was also a climbing wall, which some friends from Straja, including Ilie and Claudius, helped youngsters climb an artificial cliff face.
The forum theatre model about ecology went over rather well, from what I could tell. I didn’t have a translator with me, which was alright because I was taking pictures, which meant I was walking around getting different angles. That would indeed be an inconvenience for whoever would be translating for me. I at least understood the general gist of the model.
A couple is joined by a belligerent businessman in the compartment on their train ride to Cluj. Conversations take place about the litter inside the compartment and outside on the streets. The businessman doesn’t care and in fact takes the garbage from inside the compartment and throws it out the window. In Cluj, the boyfriend encounters an environmentally unfriendly couple and their little daughter. He tries to have a conversation with the daughter, who squeals and runs to her mother, frightened by the stranger trying to tell her the tissue paper she’s throwing on the ground is litter. The husband and wife get into an argument with the boyfriend about talking with their daughter. The businessman arrives and tries to quell the fighting, explaining to the married couple that the boyfriend is just a crazy volunteer, a taboo in these parts. The argument elevates so much that a policeman arrives and tries to put everyone in their place. The final scene is an argument between the boyfriend and the businessman. The former tries fighting for cleaning up the litter and getting others to volunteer to clean up as while. The latter shoots him down and explains that everyone does it and that he has no right to tell others to volunteer. I think he even tells the boyfriend to do it himself.
That’s the general idea I gleaned from the model. What took place after the model was presented was the actual forum. Carmen, the “Joker” or facilitator, explained more of the purpose of forum theatre, identified the oppressors and the oppressed, and then invited members of the audience to come and replace characters as the model was presented again. The spectators were generally hesitant to participate, but in the end three did volunteer. The first was a middle aged woman who replaced the girlfriend in the train compartment scene. The idea of replacing someone on stage in forum theatre is that the “spect-actor” (a Boal term) continues the action of the model in a direction away from oppression. In the case of this scene, the woman who replaced the girlfriend attempted to stand up against the oppression of the businessman, who doesn’t change anything about his goals and tries to throw the litter inside the compartment out the window. It was pretty confusing to see, not only because it was in Romanian, but at least spectators were beginning to take the stage.
The second spect-actor was a girl around my age (maybe a teenager) who replaced the wife in the scene where the boyfriend tries to speak with the little girl. The little girl still ran to her mother and the husband still argued with the boyfriend, but the wife/mother now tried to mediate the situation. Once the businessman joined, though, things got more complicated. The husband, being told off not only by the boyfriend and businessman but also by his wife, was now becoming more agitated. An actual brawl was inevitable, and the policeman showed up twice in the course of this scene.
The final spect-actor replaced the boyfriend in the final scene with the businessman. I have no clue what actually happened, except that the spect-actor began picking up litter as he was speaking with the businessman. He was also remaining rather calm, while the businessman continued to mount in his argument. In the end, the spect-actor won, or the businessman (oppressor) gave up. Maybe they’re the same thing. At any rate, the model was over and everyone started clapping. At the end of each spect-actor’s turn onstage, Carmen asked them questions about their experience. It all seemed to work out really well. Everyone was pretty happy about the result.
Following the forum theatre model we went and did our flash-mob. This is when I discovered what a flash-mob actually is. We went to the site we had chosen, an area where a lot of people congregate. The eight letters went to different areas of the site and waited for the signal. I began recognizing some of the congregants were people I had seen at the festival. I made sure to keep Maria in my sites, as she was the one who would blow the whistle for us to begin. We were supposed to do the flash-mob for three minutes, running around and getting into formation, then running around again after twenty seconds of being in formation, and repeat. When Maria blew the whistle, something happened I hadn’t expected. I did run around and get into formation when I was supposed to, but all the congregants I had recognized from the festival were frozen in place, in mid-action. This reminded me of other flash-mobs (many are like this) where suddenly a large group of people froze in place at once. The experience was quite surreal. We only got to be in formation twice, because the police came and halted the exercise. We could tell when Maria blew the whistle again and was speaking with two boys in blue. We all pealed away as we were told, though, and went in separate directions, not speaking or acknowledging anything.
As I reflected on the experience, I couldn’t help but be impressed with how it all went off. Sure we were stopped, but what took place was pretty spectacular. That everyone froze in place and stayed still for even a short period of time was really fascinating, let alone all eight of us letters managing to do what we did. I had to weave through some of the human statues as I ran, which was quite the challenge. The fact that the police showed up made me wonder how this compared to my thoughts of Invisible Theatre. We hadn’t performed Invisible Theatre, as Boal defines it. We hadn’t really performed theatre, I don’t think. Maybe we did. At any rate, at this point in my development as an artist I think flash-mobs are far less dangerous than Invisible Theatre in all the reasons I had mentioned in my blog on the subject. Then again, maybe I need to go back and rethink what I just wrote.
The night ended with some cool rock concerts. I’m such an old man, though (ha,) I have to stand quite a ways away from the stage in order to enjoy them. Rock concerts, which I rarely attend, are just too loud for me. I’m one of those people who wish to preserve as much of his eardrums as he can.
I missed the first band of the night, but arrived for the second, which featured a saxophone player. I enjoyed their music, but their lyrics were somewhat unsettling at times. I still got to boogey, though, in my own Kailen way. This usually involves nodding my head, snapping my fingers, and bouncing on the balls of my feat to the tempo. Out of context (within context, too, I guess) it looks rather goofy. Then again, I could’ve been head-banging like some other people, but I didn’t. I remembered too well how I feel after I’m done head-banging and I didn’t want to feel that feeling tonight.
The final band included both Carmen’s husband and Maria’s brother. I really liked these guys, as they were versatile in what instruments they could play. There were only three of them, but each could play a number of different things, from the guitar to the accordion. Also, during the last three quarters of their performance, a group of fire manipulators (fire benders was the first thing that came to mind, but if I were to use that I would have to force myself to stop watching cartoons) performed some cool tricks. Do you know how to blow fire? You fill your mouth with kerosene, or something like it, then spit it out at an open flame. Sounds kind of gross, but it looks pretty cool.
After the concerts we had to clean up everything. Dismantling things usually doesn’t take as much time as putting things up, but there’s always the clean-up that follows. I was reminded of strike after a show. Something of this was familiar to me as I helped others take down tents. Eventually, so much was taken down that there were too many people to take down the rest. This meant I could go back to the hostel and go to bed, which is exactly what I did. It was a great feeling, too, knowing I accomplished with the group something really great. I hope that may continue.
Blessings.
Kailen
October 10, 2008: Cluj, Day Three – Flash-mob
Dear Friend,
Another assignment I received during that meeting a couple days ago was to be a part of the flash-mob. I have to admit, I don’t really know what a flash-mob is. I haven’t even seen the videos on youtube. What I do know, though, is that it’s a group of people who gather at a certain public place and for a certain period of time perform a certain unusual act. An example would be when a bunch of people in the crowded streets of Toronto suddenly started having a pillow fight with each other, and everyone else around them who weren’t in on the plan. That’s an example.
Our flash-mob, thankfully, will not involve pillow fights, as I’m sure that would get out of hand. Instead, eight of us will where festival T-shirts with a letter on it. When we line up in order, the letters will form the word “voluntar,” volunteer in Romanian. I’m “U.” The plan is that when we arrive at our destination we’re supposed to run around like crazy, then when Eugen (“O”) stops and gives the hand signal (putting his hands in the air) we’re all suppose to line up to form the word. We can’t speak, move, or react in any way to what people are doing around us. This sounds somewhat like Invisible Theatre, I realize, but it’s not quite that. At least, not in my mind, and at least not right now it isn’t.
Our actual scheduled flash-mob takes place on Saturday, but for rehearsal and publicity purposes, we’re going to do some of it today. We ended up going to a number of sites around Cluj. Each time our tactic changed. We would run around, move in slow motion, or walk in a line and make train noises. When we formed the word, others would hand out flyers for the festival. We also handed out flyers when we were walking to our next site. It was an interesting experience, but nothing like I had imagined it would be. Some people we met asked questions about volunteering and about the festival. I just smiled and “coercively” handed out flyers.
Tonight was my night to cook. Maria told me she thought that since the first night the Italian made something Italian, the second night the American should make something American. I decided on grilled cheese and soup. We couldn’t find tomato, so we dealt with a Ramen kind of chicken flavored soup. While I was cooking (or attempted to) the others were at the site of the festival, setting things up. After the experience I had, I think I should’ve declined the invitation to cook. I’ll explain presently.
I know how to cook. I’m not a gourmet chef (I once thought of going to school for culinary arts,) but I can cook. I know how to make things other than macaroni and cheese (which I really don’t like.) The only unforeseeable issue with this statement is context. I know how to cook at home, with my stove, in my kitchen. I can even cook in the kitchen of Northwestern’s cafeteria (I’ve done it before.) In another country, though, with a temperamental gas stove, I discovered I wasn’t very skilled. My own stove at home is a gas stove, but this one was a temperamental gas stove. It was a disaster.
I got everything set up, prepared the ingredients I needed, even had the pans out I would be using. The kitchen of the hostel was, for lack of a better term, claustrophobic. There wasn’t enough counter space and everything was tucked in a corner. The kitchen was also an area where people walked through. There were three different entrances/exits and the kitchen was the apex. I even remembered all the times my mom telling me that having the burner on high doesn’t necessarily preparing food quicker. I took every precaution I could think of to keep the system running smoothly. However, it was all in vain. I threw away a quarter of the sandwiches I made, after setting the fire alarm off twice, and burned myself a number of times. I ended up resorting to making my sandwiches in the microwave, which solved, in my mind, nothing but making the sandwiches gooey.
Remember those stages of “challenge by choice?” I was very near the red panic zone by now. I was so embarrassed by the whole ordeal, especially after what had happened last night. I was really trying to invest and make what I thought was a simple, American meal only for the entire thing to blow up in my face. I was probably still inhaling the smoke from the last alarm when I started doing dishes.
The reactions were not as I had expected. Actually, I had been trying to not expect anything from my colleagues upon their return. I was just hoping there would be food to eat. However, everyone was very thankful for the work I had done. I was so exhausted from the stress by that point that I looked half dead to the world. I’m very serious, I was really bent out of shape and burnt out by it all. Everyone, though, was very gracious and did indeed enjoy the food I had prepared. I felt better, at least, about my effort.
I had the chance to express my disappointment from the past two nights to Diana. I explained once again my desire to invest, but not knowing how. Diana then told me I had already invested quite a bit with the banners and just sticking to making supper despite all the obstacles. I could’ve snapped and given up, but I didn’t and that was investment to her. She empathized with my stress and reminded me that I was in a different country among people of a different culture and that I needed to not have such high expectations. She assured me I was doing fine.
I felt better after my conversation with Diana. She had plenty going on that day, but still had the grace and concern to listen to what I had to say and give me her thoughts. She also said that Romanians are not typically people who give a lot of compliments, so when they do they mean it. That being said, I need to learn to believe that the compliments I receive are true, something I’ve struggled with for a long time. Thank you, God, for grace, because today was certainly a day I needed it.
Blessings.
Kailen
Another assignment I received during that meeting a couple days ago was to be a part of the flash-mob. I have to admit, I don’t really know what a flash-mob is. I haven’t even seen the videos on youtube. What I do know, though, is that it’s a group of people who gather at a certain public place and for a certain period of time perform a certain unusual act. An example would be when a bunch of people in the crowded streets of Toronto suddenly started having a pillow fight with each other, and everyone else around them who weren’t in on the plan. That’s an example.
Our flash-mob, thankfully, will not involve pillow fights, as I’m sure that would get out of hand. Instead, eight of us will where festival T-shirts with a letter on it. When we line up in order, the letters will form the word “voluntar,” volunteer in Romanian. I’m “U.” The plan is that when we arrive at our destination we’re supposed to run around like crazy, then when Eugen (“O”) stops and gives the hand signal (putting his hands in the air) we’re all suppose to line up to form the word. We can’t speak, move, or react in any way to what people are doing around us. This sounds somewhat like Invisible Theatre, I realize, but it’s not quite that. At least, not in my mind, and at least not right now it isn’t.
Our actual scheduled flash-mob takes place on Saturday, but for rehearsal and publicity purposes, we’re going to do some of it today. We ended up going to a number of sites around Cluj. Each time our tactic changed. We would run around, move in slow motion, or walk in a line and make train noises. When we formed the word, others would hand out flyers for the festival. We also handed out flyers when we were walking to our next site. It was an interesting experience, but nothing like I had imagined it would be. Some people we met asked questions about volunteering and about the festival. I just smiled and “coercively” handed out flyers.
Tonight was my night to cook. Maria told me she thought that since the first night the Italian made something Italian, the second night the American should make something American. I decided on grilled cheese and soup. We couldn’t find tomato, so we dealt with a Ramen kind of chicken flavored soup. While I was cooking (or attempted to) the others were at the site of the festival, setting things up. After the experience I had, I think I should’ve declined the invitation to cook. I’ll explain presently.
I know how to cook. I’m not a gourmet chef (I once thought of going to school for culinary arts,) but I can cook. I know how to make things other than macaroni and cheese (which I really don’t like.) The only unforeseeable issue with this statement is context. I know how to cook at home, with my stove, in my kitchen. I can even cook in the kitchen of Northwestern’s cafeteria (I’ve done it before.) In another country, though, with a temperamental gas stove, I discovered I wasn’t very skilled. My own stove at home is a gas stove, but this one was a temperamental gas stove. It was a disaster.
I got everything set up, prepared the ingredients I needed, even had the pans out I would be using. The kitchen of the hostel was, for lack of a better term, claustrophobic. There wasn’t enough counter space and everything was tucked in a corner. The kitchen was also an area where people walked through. There were three different entrances/exits and the kitchen was the apex. I even remembered all the times my mom telling me that having the burner on high doesn’t necessarily preparing food quicker. I took every precaution I could think of to keep the system running smoothly. However, it was all in vain. I threw away a quarter of the sandwiches I made, after setting the fire alarm off twice, and burned myself a number of times. I ended up resorting to making my sandwiches in the microwave, which solved, in my mind, nothing but making the sandwiches gooey.
Remember those stages of “challenge by choice?” I was very near the red panic zone by now. I was so embarrassed by the whole ordeal, especially after what had happened last night. I was really trying to invest and make what I thought was a simple, American meal only for the entire thing to blow up in my face. I was probably still inhaling the smoke from the last alarm when I started doing dishes.
The reactions were not as I had expected. Actually, I had been trying to not expect anything from my colleagues upon their return. I was just hoping there would be food to eat. However, everyone was very thankful for the work I had done. I was so exhausted from the stress by that point that I looked half dead to the world. I’m very serious, I was really bent out of shape and burnt out by it all. Everyone, though, was very gracious and did indeed enjoy the food I had prepared. I felt better, at least, about my effort.
I had the chance to express my disappointment from the past two nights to Diana. I explained once again my desire to invest, but not knowing how. Diana then told me I had already invested quite a bit with the banners and just sticking to making supper despite all the obstacles. I could’ve snapped and given up, but I didn’t and that was investment to her. She empathized with my stress and reminded me that I was in a different country among people of a different culture and that I needed to not have such high expectations. She assured me I was doing fine.
I felt better after my conversation with Diana. She had plenty going on that day, but still had the grace and concern to listen to what I had to say and give me her thoughts. She also said that Romanians are not typically people who give a lot of compliments, so when they do they mean it. That being said, I need to learn to believe that the compliments I receive are true, something I’ve struggled with for a long time. Thank you, God, for grace, because today was certainly a day I needed it.
Blessings.
Kailen
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