An open letter of the heart and mind

I think I mentioned before that I often "write" blog entries in my head ... stories of the people you meet on the street, the bizarre things you see, the cultural wives tales couldn't have imagined if you tried, memories of amazing day trips and the hard "what to do next" life choices and questions.  And yet, written as they may be in my head, they never do get written.  Forgiveness may therefore be required in light of tonight's splattering of thoughts.

• 
  
  Springtime! Geneva has changed overnight ... gone are the short, dark, depressing days of winter that relegate man, woman and child to either hibernation or mountain refugee, the lakeside tikki torch bars are up, the parks are packed with reckless scootering toddlers and happy arm-swinging couples and the magnolia trees, daffodils and tulips are in full bloom.  In many ways I find it odd ... it rains relatively rarely here and, in fact, the climate, plants, etc are otherwise strikingly similar to the Pacific Northwest, inspiring the same sense of giddy spring excitement when the air becomes fresher and the time springs forwards, and yet, I endlessly find myself wondering if I would ever be able to happily readjust to the Northwest/Swiss temperate climates ... thank God for warm sunshine and the coming long summer days!! 


• 
  
  Learning to accept.  I've mentioned this to a couple of people, and all have apparently been surprised that I would "do this", but in taking stock of my last seven months in Geneva, I've come to realize that it has been, among other things, a very important lesson in learning to accept - and savoring - things (and people!) for what they are.  Perhaps because I felt fully integrated into Spanish society, I came to Geneva hoping for the same kind of cultural experience ... become one of the locals - talk their language, take part in their community and above all, do whatever possible not to stand out as a foreigner.  This meant that I rarely, if ever, spoke English and, while I would readily talk about the US, culture, politics, etc, I knew no Americans (or other Anglo-foreigners for that matter) and made no effort whatsoever to search them out. Hoping for the same in Geneva, I realize now that, for a long time I "rejected" anything (or anyone) non-francophone, hoping to perfect my French and slip into the local community.  Seven months it's taken me to acknowledge that the local community here IS foreign, does NOT speak French and is equally well worth integrating into.  Hindsight is 20-20, they say ... hopefully I've figured it out soon enough. 


• 
  
  The Tower of Babel.  On one hand, I now laugh when someone tells me they came to Geneva to learn French.  On the other hand I laugh too, but also am endlessly amazed by the breadth of languages spoken anywhere and everywhere, the patience people have on the streets to communicate with you in one language or another (in most other cities, you're simply blown off if you can't put a sentence together logically or if your accent is "too thick"), and the thoughtlessness with which people drift in and out of languages in a single conversation. Even Marcel, Swiss himself and very used to living in an officially trilingual country, was amazed by the linguistic morphing of conversations at a party we went to recently.  Here, people who speak 6, 7, 8 languages fluently are a dime a dozen. Though I feel nowhere near fluent in French, I feel entirely competent ... this surely sounds outrageous to most, but I rarely speak French despite listening to it daily and I swear, after being here and doing nothing but listening to it for four months, I opened my mouth one day and it just came out.  No recent practice, no recent classes, it just came out.  Guess it kind of makes sense seeing that's how babies learn...


• 
  
  Chocolate.  Never, never will I get over the selection of chocolates here.  Here, telemarketers call, not to sell you insurance or tickets to the rodeo, but to survey your chocolate preferences.  Chocolate is an actual department at the department stores, with more flavours than you can possibly dream up.  Case in point, I'm munching on Frey's new dark chocolate with lemon and pepper as I type. 


• 
  
  Bureaucracy.    The UN is a monstrous institution.  Good intentioned and very much limited by the will of the governments making up its body, the phenomenal lack of institutional memory has yet ceased to amaze me.  Call it job insurance if you will, the three and four year staff rotations for both UN staff and embassy staff has effectively succeeded in creating a memory vaccuume.  Time and time again I find myself in meetings on a controversial issue or discussing some new convention or policy that someone would like to craft, only to return to my desk and find, after some digging, that the very same policy, convention, protocol, you name it was debated - by identical actors and with the very same arguments - years earlier.  Raises a sizeable question mark on the "what the heck are we doing????" and "is this even worth my time????" lines of thought.    


• 
  
  Neither here nor there.  This could, I suppose, apply to a great many things.  Age, for instance.  Happily boasting some 24 years, I feel both but a child by European standards and a well-aged adult by North American standards.  While my European friends and colleagues remind me daily that I "am still young" and that I should "be travelling, partying, studying, seeing the world", I look to my North American friends and family and see people married, some with kids, nearly all with good jobs and some money in the back pocket making "practical, adult" choices.  Never mind what my ever supportive parents must be thinking.  Likewise, I've happily put myself into a line of work that is neither here nor there ... one in which "field experience" is craved just as much as HQ positions.  Though I suppose this comes as news to all but Marcel, I recently completed training with UNHCR to be eligible for deployment to work in refugee camps ... I'm the first to say I'd love to go to "the field" and know that, age and life circumstances wise there's no better time than the present, and yet, I can't help but admit that I'm afraid of it.  Not afraid of the "going" itself or the type of work it would be, but afraid of the "humanitarian/travel bug" that has already half got me.  The best metaphor might be the movie "The Matrix" and the choice between the red or blue pills (one allowing you to happily live a ficticious life, the other to unhappily live a life based upon reality).  I would love going to the field, yet I know I would end up constantly searching like so many before me, struggling with the choice of whether to give priority to the field over meaningful relationships and constantly being antsy for the next assignment when "relieved of duty".  On one hand, then, and for as difficult as it is for most Geneva expats to believe, I want nothing more than to stay in Geneva for a few years with an interesting HQ job related to work in the field and enjoying perfectly normal and uneventful weekend activities with friends.  On the other, I wonder if I won't always regret not going to the field if "life" as most people know it creeps up on me soon .... Again, neither here nor there.