I was laying for many hours watching the tele trying to avoid the reality of being back in Syria. It didn’t hit me until I arrived at my gate in Heathrow. It wasn’t really a gate it was a gateway to a room that was away from the terminal and hidden from view. I already felt I was going to a guarded and separate place. There were British Airways officials checking documents and passport but I just felt pushed away. It is how I feel every time I come here.
Abandoned, cold, alone, stuffed into some uncomfortable place with complete strangers that all seem to share a small piece of my reality. Some of them look as if they are looking forward to going home. Some of them look as if they are caught in a distant dream of what they had just been apart. That waking stage of a dream where you want to go back to sleep after realizing you are not where you ought to be. When it is a good dream that is…when it is a bad dream you wake up and feel comfort in your surroundings. Syria is the later.
The long, cold, empty walkway was only inhabited by three people all of which were walking slowly down into the final boarding zone. We didn’t wait in comfort with the rest of the passengers that day, we were pointed down this long winding ramp that ended in a waiting room. Outside the room awaited a short bus ride to the plane. I felt like a cow sensing immanent doom wanting to flee, but there is only one way forward down the chute and onto the truck. I try not to think about what your average Syrian thinks about going back to Syria from a place like London, or Berlin, or even the US. I guess some really miss the sense of familiarity and home, otherwise people like some of the families ?I teach wouldn’t be here. For religious reason I can comprehend. Not for me personally but I can understand the need to feel religious and social comfort for someone else.
The plane was almost full and I knew it was going to be a long flight when a lady with a crying baby sat next to me, and another woman with two “seat kicking” children were behind me. After being kicked for ten minutes and all but telling the lady off, I moved to the bulkhead seat that was empty and in which the seat did not decline. I didn’t care. I can’t handle spoiled kids on the plane knowing that is what I am going back to in the classroom. I just wanted to be alone with my tired misery.
My comfort being here right now is actually having a laptop. It sounds silly but this allows me to write and know I can email and blog with more efficiency. I can connect with my friends and family with more efficiency. I didn’t feel homesick until I was at home. I felt out of place and still shaking off the bad dream I had been living. It didn’t register until I was at home, in a bar, loud music in my ears, and a drink in my hand. I felt out of place. I know I fit right in with every hipster in that place but
I hadn’t felt so alone in a long time. Like when I came home from the military knowing not one person I would meet could have any idea of the world I just came from. I didn’t want to dance I wanted to cry. I felt so alone I just sat there in silence. Luckily, an old friend, apart from the ones that were there and completely out of left field, walked up and dragged me out to the dance floor. It took me a while but I felt more at home. I went from feeling alone to feeling sad. Like I had missed so much. I was feeling the various stages of death for the past eight months of my former life. Not a bad party for a funeral.
Being here I feel I just woke up from the good dream. I want to go back to bed and hope that sweet dream comes back! I know it won’t but sleep cures all that ails. My internal clock is messed up again. It was when I went home and it is now again. I slept for at least a day. I couldn’t sleep when I got home and now I am wide awake in the wee hours of the morning. I watched movies all day and when the sun comes up a little more I am going to go out in the rain.
Spring is pretty here. The trees are budding and the flowers are blooming. The air is clean as it has been raining, and the stench of the local pollution hasn’t filled my nostrils yet. I do feel this is home which is a strange reality for me. I like little to nothing about this place, and the people are wishy-washy. Some of them are great and will give you the shirt off their back, and other will try their darnedest to steal the shirt off yours. I love ‘em and hate ‘em at the same time. What a relationship we have.
When I arrived in town I knew I would have to argue with someone to get a modest rate on a taxi ride into town. I am constantly annoyed by people thinking I am a rich tourist that has millions of dollars to throw away. For all of my friends, family, and anyone else who may read this head ONE warning: if you ever travel, know the customs, the currency, and how much you should pay for things. I am tired of following some dumb tourist that says “ hey it’s really only twenty cents” that turns to “it’s only a dollar or two” and eventually leads to every person who gets that dollar or two thinking they should get a dollar or two more. You want to give to charity…do some research and donate some money, or better yet, donate some time. Giving too much money to people when you are abroad throws the economy eschew and allows some merchants and beggars to feel entitled to extra money and handouts. Instead of doing something productive, kids learn to beg because someone will give them that money. I feel very strongly about not giving money to beggars in any country. Food, water, jobs all good but never money. Every time you give someone money for doing nothing you are subert9ing the system that you base your livelihood upon. I don’t like some aspects of capitalism but damn it if don’t believe in economic systems. If we lived in a barter economy you wouldn’t just hand something you toiled over to someone who didn’t have anything to trade.
Ethics 101 - what about the man with the starving family who steals bread to support his family? From what I have seen, these individuals are living a lifestyle far above the standard from tourist intervention. If the tourists stop…their lifestyle ceases to exist. They have no skill, make more than they should, and live beyond their means. We had a kid beg us for money at one of the ruins who was wearing new clothes, had new shoes on, and was well fed. Obviously begging was working out for his family. These kids are put out to sell gum or hawk whatever junk while there moms and dads do nothing. If kids can’t make money for mom and dad, mom and dad will have to make money. The society here supports them, which is funny because there is no social service. Basically by giving these kids money you are positively rewarding child labor and negligent parenting behaviors. I know there are people that are hungry and need work. Even here if you want work bad enough you can get it. I know guys that work two or three part time jobs driving buses or taxis, riding shotgun on long bus journeys, working shops at night, selling shit door-to-door. These guys are students and are hungry to survive. It’s possible. There aren’t that many jobs here but if you want to survive you can. Rewarding laziness shouldn’t be an option for anyone here, at home, or anywhere.
Education plays a part in all things, and while here, the lack of education plays a part in all things. One could argue that the worst off people have the worst or no education. This is true, the financially worst off people here have little to no education and generally are farmers, nomads, or do grunt labor or “blue collar” jobs just like at home. The structural similarities between here and home are actually mind boggling. The wealthiest few that own industry and are imbedded in government control the country. There is a middle class that is fairly small but still trying to be the “nouveau” rich, and there is a large number of people that are living on the bottom. The poorest people are the worst educated, hold manual labor jobs, and have the largest families, are very religious and aren‘t involved in the politics of their country very much. The middle class are educated to a state standard, work both blue and white collar jobs, have average size families, are moderately religious, and are involved in the countries politics on a discussion level. The upper class hold mostly white collar jobs, many own businesses, have smaller families, are more secular, and are involved in politics on an economic level. The elite own and run the country, marry into power groups and families, and don’t let religion and politics mix unless it has to do with money or power. Sound familiar?! And who says there isn’t a caste system anymore?
It’s getting lighter now and I am getting hungry. In the past two weeks I have met and made new friends, married off two old ones, and was continually told something that stills holds my thought. Many times and in many different forms I have been told to “keep up the good work.” I wish I believed I was doing something here that was good work. I try to be a good example of a level headed American that cares for his fellow humans and the world. At every step I am contradicted by a great number of people and in a variety of ways. It is hard work to explain to someone why you shouldn’t over tip, and then just have ten people walk up and do it right in front of you. To have the discussion about religion with people that want to convert you to one side or the other, and few that hear the common ethics in between. So many want conversions and affirmations to their own beliefs they don’t hear they are preaching the same lessons in different languages and want to argue over what they agree upon. I work for a rich man, in a rich school, for rich parents who pay me to give their children the best education they can afford and argue about it when it is different from what they know. The flowers on the tree are pretty. I try to learn one of the hardest languages on earth and speak to people in their native tongue and they wonder why I would want to learn their language when I know English, and furthermore why I wouldn’t ever want to leave the US when I could stay there. The land of golden opportunity.
I had the “Land of golden opportunity” conversation with my mom and brother in the car a few days ago and my mom didn’t want to admit the opportunity is brighter from some than others. Some are born with the silver spoon and others with a dirt-clod. Yes things are uneven, but also other things like women making less then men, racial division across wealth lines. This place we call home offers anyone the opportunity to be anything they want but to what degree. Can a poor black man from Compton really become president? Is a lesbian Latina going to be your congresswoman? The fact is we still have a long way to go. People are afraid of change, and they are definitely afraid of the unknown. I have met immigrants that were working to go back to their country because the US wasn’t the land of golden opportunity. The school their daughter was in was shit, and the had to really pay to put her in a private school that was up to their standards. Immigrants saying our schools were shit! We have bought our own BS hook line and sinker. We have turned a blind eye to our problems but believing they didn’t exist. Collectively the US is one giant ostrich with it’s head in the sand.
Being home made me realize how insulated we are. You only hear world news from a local perspective. I didn’t hear anything on the news at home that I would hear abroad. We sold almost a billion dollars worth of fighter planes to Pakistan and it was on the second to last page in the A section. That would be a headline somewhere else! Keep looking in the back and see how long it takes us to sell that same amount to India. The US…arming the world one country at a time!
I love my country which is the reason I see the things I want to change, and WANT to change them. I can’t stand when people with their head in the sand complain that you are not patriotic when you criticize the government. I not only criticize the government I criticize them and everything they do until it changes. I vote, and I will continue to squeak until my wheel gets some grease. It’s a REALLY big wheel. Wow give a guy a computer and he thinks he owns the place. I don’t know how much of this will make the blog cause it is a rant but I feel better now. I usually have someone to soundboard this stuff off of but now I just have to write it down.
