Three months.

I have a lot to say about Ukraine. That will come once I find the words.

Words are difficult, though.

But I will jot down some feelings in the last week here, and where I feel I'm going as a person.

A bit of soul-baring, if you will.

The past three months have been difficult in so many ways, but the rewards have always surpassed these difficulties in plenty. I wanted to find myself in a better light, but what I ended up finding was different than what I hoped for. But better that what I could imagine.
I found a sense of belonging in a place where my roots grew before I was born. A sense of culture and heritage. A language that felt like the comfort and pitter-patter of a prairie rainstorm. I found these things and they became a part of me that I will always have here.
And I found that I didn't know what I want to do with my creativity and talent and eagerness to learn and travel. That I'm still figuring it out and that this is okay. It's a process. I've accepted this with open arms. Three months ago I felt lost because of it. Now, I feel like it's the start of an adventure in itself.

I haven't found a way to fully love myself again after what happened this year, by feeling like all of the love I had was pulled away from me. But I have found that I accept myself as I am and this is a wonderful start. I cannot stress how much happiness this makes me feel.
I can accept myself. This is good.

Something amazing I did find was laughter. So much laughter. I found rock-solid friendships and laughter that melted away sadness like fire on ice. The laughter found me in wonderful places. It found me on dorm room floors, with bottles of beer and music of new friends. It found me in absurd cultural situations that pushed me out of my comfort zone. It found me in the loving and supportive messages from friends and family back home. It found me in videos of my nephew. It found me in the needles of a new tattoo, surrounded by smiling friends. It found me in the streets of Krakow, dancing across the cobblestones behind me as I raced through the night with young hedonists on pub crawls. Laughter spoke with accents and warm hugs with eyes sparkling and giggles echoing off of empty vodka bottles. Laughter was new again.

It was the first time in Krakow that I well and truly laughed and forgot about any remnants of pain or sadness. I laughed until tears ran down my face. I stumbled the streets with new friends who felt like old friends and old friends who felt like exciting new ones. I sat on a clock tower's steps, with arms of new friends wrapped around my shoulders... with such comfort in feeling okay. That I was okay. That I didn't feel the guilt of cheating myself out of some sort of pain. That I could smile and feel the space where that anger and pain used to be. And it was good.

I have so many things to say, so many poems to finish, so many letters to write and emails to reply to and so many new adventures to be had in the next three weeks. So I'll leave it somewhat abruptly at that.

Laughter really is the best medicine.

Packing.

I started packing up my stuff tonight. It's a bit of a process, because I've accumulated so much junk since I moved back from the UK and then again back into my sister's house. I have so many clothes, books and trinkets that I have told myself I will need when I someday move into a more permanent abode (haha, good one, Maarit.)

I think my favourite part of tonight was finding cards - birthday cards, Christmas cards, and beautiful little cards from my sister with my nephew's hand-print traced on, just because. I never throw out cards, especially when someone has taken the time to write me a note. There is a lovely simplicity in a hand written note, full of love and thoughtfulness, that just doesn't come across in an email. I cherish these things.

I have one week until I get on a plane. I'm three parts nervous and one part excited. I'm not quite fully conscious that I'm leaving in a week for four months. I guess the lack of permanency and the knowledge that I'll be back at the end of the summer hasn't quite revved me up. But I know that once I have my backpack packed up and my things sorted that I will be ready to plaster a giant smile on my face for the adventure to come.

Countdown.

I was loved.

Now I'm trying to find what that meant. What it means now. And how to turn a life into past-tense. When frankly, I don't know what I'm doing.

But I hope I will, and I hope travel will change that.

There are less than three weeks until I leave for Kyiv for the summer. I'll be going somewhere where the biggest challenge isn't getting out of bed or putting on my "I'm happy, I'm fine" face, but speaking on a basic level of communication to get by. I'm looking forward to that challenge, because it's something totally different than what the past four months have been. And it means that I'll be pushed out of my comfort zone. And that I'll want to get out of bed in the morning, rush out the door and look at the Dnipro, Pecherska Lavra, St. Sophia's Cathedral, Maidan Square.

To me, to Ukraine, Kyiv will bring change.

Finals are over in less than a week and I can start focussing on leaving this term, this year so far and starting fresh in Kyiv.

And I can work on being happy and loving myself again. Here's to those changes and a fresh start.

New travels.

I'm going to Ukraine in a month and a half.

For about three months. Maybe more if I can secure a work visa. We'll see.

The prospect of travel is the only thing in my life right now that is keeping me somewhat sane. Some days I wake up and wonder what the actual fuck I'm doing.

I need to get lost to get un-lost and right now, I'm pretty sure going to live in a country where I barely speak the languages is the best thing I can do for my sanity.

So here's to me getting lost.

Ten Month Review

Well, here we are.

I have a few things to admit. I haven't been writing, because it makes me feel too emotionally attached to experience. I haven't been taking pictures, because I've convinced myself there's nothing to see. I haven't been keeping in touch, because keeping in touch means I'm not there anymore. Let's face it, I've spent the last ten months in denial!

Leaving a country is hard. And it gets harder the longer you're away from that home. Whether it's the home you grew up in, or the home you made for yourself - it's not easy. A constant note that's been running through my head is a conversation I had at Christmas with my cousin on the phone. He spent nearly a decade in Scotland. He asked me, "How have you been finding it?". I replied, "...It's an adjustment." He told me, "No, it doesn't get any easier."

And it doesn't. And I guess what I've discovered is that it won't. But it's at the point where it's either I have to come to terms with it, or drive myself mad. I think I'll try the former.

I've recently received my certification in TESL/TEFL, and one thing we talked about on the course was culture shock. We talked about symptoms - physical, mental and emotional, about causes and about ways to combat it. Then our instructor asked, "Can you get culture shock when returning home?" The class was silent for a moment, and then a conclusive "yes."

I felt guilty thinking back to 2010 about the summer I spent in Russia. I soaked EVERYTHING up (including copious amounts of vodka) and was so excited for every single cultural experience. But there was a student in my class from the U of M on the trip who was not so keen. He spent countless hours in his room watching Family Guy, drinking Pepsi and eating Lays chips. He wouldn't come out with us, he skipped a lot of classes and he didn't want to speak any Russian. He didn't care to see the city or go to restaurants or try any of the traditional Russian dishes. He sat and watched his Family Guy and ate his North American comfort food. And it bugged me. Why wouldn't you want to love this country with every cell on your body? Why wouldn't you want to hang out with locals and drink local beer and vodka and eat borscht and pelmeni and blini every single day? Why sit in your room and only eat the things that remind you of home?

And when I realised, in our discussion about culture shock, that I completely misunderstood culture shock. It's not because you want to sit in your room and eat hobnobs, drink buckets of Yorkshire Red tea and watch BBC programmes and post numerous "Hey Mate!"'s on your friends' Facebook profiles who aren't there.

It's because coping is hard. Escape to your comfort zone is easier.

I'm learning to see things in a different light. Slowly, but learning at least.

Missing.

I want to go back to Bath.

I want to find a little flat over a quiet street. I want to watch Christmas sleepily and gracefully tiptoe by over the canals. I want to see the wreaths hung on the Georgian facades and I want to cuddle in front of a fireplace with a cup of tea, a book and plans to do nothing at all. I miss walking through the streets, holding hands in mittens and browsing together in shop windows. The roman baths, the little restaurants and the wintry-warm hugs next to the abbey.
It was our first day trip together and I remember Jamie's tea-cosy hat, my red coat and the smell of the antique bookshop we found.

Fond memories.

WINTER IS COMING

Snow is on the ground here in Manitoba.

I used to miss snow so much; now it's here and it's pristine and white and beautiful.

Now, not so much because I'm really dreading winter.
Like, a great deal of dreading.

I hate the bitter, prairie cold and I'm really not looking forward to the experience again.