Clueless Democrats

I came to this country to raise my voice. Not just by voting, but making a solid contribution to the way decisions are made. Ever since I felt this was my home, I vowed to myself that when I would become a citizen, I would immediately register as a Democrat voter and volunteer for the party as much as possible. Because it matters! If you live here, if you use the public system (education, transportation, city services) and if you pay taxes, you need to be responsible. You need to be involved.

Despite my noble intentions, I was recently embarassed in a conversation with a gentleman who was hoping to get involved in local politics. I asked him when his elections were coming up. (I thought it may be different by type of election and vary also depending on the socio-political agenda - as it does in my homecountry.) His jaw dropped open and then he collected himself enough to utter "November..." Gee, it's my birth month too! "It's always in November," he explained in a belittling voice. I deserved the condescending tone though. I lived here all this time and never realized the cyclical nature of elections. Imminent coups, fractured governments and dissolved cabinets had become such the norm for me that I didn't understand how stable the U.S. was. Heck, you can even time the elections!

Later in our conversation, I asked him if he knew that France had a two-tier election system. Or that in Italy they frequently called for elections and had a turbulent political scene. Or that Turkey was stricken with coalition cabinets until recently. He did not know. But he sure was involved in his hometown community. And that was a solid contribution indeed. I maintain my respect for his intentions.

Cherry Blossoms from DC

I went to Washington DC on business. I didn't have time to breathe outside of conference halls. Dragging my tired heels, I took a cab to Union Station. A quiet Korean driver showed me the monuments on our way. He said, "Next week...cherry blossom festival...all this very beautiful," casting his hand over dry land on the road side. He then imitated how the trumpets would play, announcing the arrival of spring. He was on the mark with each note. I asked him if he played any instruments. "Yes, I play the trumpet," he answered. "How did you know?" he asked. "You had the right key," I smiled.

He carried my suitcase to the curb. He shook my hand handing him his tip. "Come next week...Call me when you come...It will be beautiful here," he assured.

Montreal, ca va :-)

Those who know me would be more likely to associate me with Miami, than with any place that gets a flake of snow. But I must admit that my recent trip to Montreal taught me that it's not the climate that matters; it's the people. Connections keep us happy, hopeful, alive. Since the minute I got on the AirCanada flight, until the hour I left, Montreal's people touched me with sincere, warm gestures.

The cheerful, sweet lady sitting next to me on the plane shared her newspaper with me and then a portion of her life story. Delighted, I listened on. Her family had gone from Tiflis (Georgia) to Istanbul (!) and then to Israel and Canada. We even shared the same last name, so who knows, perhaps we had passed each other by in another lifetime or another era.

When I finished presenting at the conference, the colleagues who helped set up the event came up to kiss me on both cheeks. It felt quite refreshing to have the human touch, instead of the usual half-hearted hand shakes.

The woman who exchanged my U.S. dollars into Canadian dollars was from Alexandria. She said she wanted to see the art and history of Istanbul. I told her I wish I could have seen the infamous library of her city.

The cab driver, who politely asked me if I minded his blasting raggae music, gave me his email address when he heard my brother might be a regular of the city. OK, I do recognize his entrepreneurial spirit. But I also appreciate his initiative. A trusted contact is better than one that goes by unregistered.

Upon my return to the office, I thanked our group secretary for rushing the business cards I had left behind to my home. Funny enough, I used them only to make friends.

Loneliness

How could I keep a blog about living abroad, away from your family and not mention loneliness? I am not talking about the obvious sadness that comes from being away from your homeland. I mean the loneliness you feel in your adopted home, when someone you have counted on as a friend and treated almost as your new family member fails you.

I am disappointed beyond words when friendships end for no good reason. When they just fizzle as if they had no character to begin with. (Whereas, you knew the relationship to be strong and the bond to be sincere.) There is honor in having a fight, saying "no more" outright. But when it's so dead that you do not even bother to bang the door, then the whole friendship feels fake, wasted, lofty...

"It's part of becoming an adult," another friends offers consolation. "We witness people go through life events, change, grow distant...It happens to all of us," she explains. Perhaps...

I remember the words of a wise girl I had met in college. I was so thankful for her friendship and sane advice amidst the storm of heavy-load classes, dormitory cliques and culture clashes that I told her I thought she was the best! She refused. "I do not want you to think of me that way," she said immediately. "Why?" I asked, surprised to hear someone reject the compliment of all compliments. "Because I will inevitably do something that will disappoint you. I do not want to fall short of your expectations. We all do, eventually," she said. Looking back, I know she was right. But so was I. She was pretty cool and gave sound advice.