Home.

My eyes creep open; I wake up – though I’m not sure which one of those happen first. With the back of my glove I scrape an opening into the frosty window beside me. As I peak through the fresh hole in the glass my eyes come into focus. I see a very familiar winter wonderland. We’re in Zerenda, I’m home. Oh…

Ohhh?

I start to ponder the many places I’ve called home in the past few years: a quaint apartment near the shores of the Mediterranean; a four-level-10 person palace in Columbus; a row-house on Capitol Hill two blocks from the extravagant building itself; home home, the ideally placed house in Lake Michigan’s rolling dunes. I’m definitely awake now. The bus rolls to a stop, but I haven’t finished thinking. How did I end up here? How is this familiar? How is this home?

My adventure started last week, Wednesday, December 30th. The second to last day of the year began with the 5th grade New Year’s party. After taking in the absurd images of 5th graders dancing to Katy Perry and then being forced to join them up on stage at one in the afternoon, I was free of my duties in Zerenda for the next 5 days. In just a few hours I would begin my journey to a city called Karaganda where I would meet several volunteers and have my own New Year’s celebration. Eleven hours on the train was something I was actually looking forward to. I could finish up some reading, doze off when I wanted to, and in just a few short hours many of the friends I had been thinking about over the past 3 months would finally be reunited. Over the next four days we had our fair share of adventures, whether we intended them to be that way or not. Dreams came true via camel rides. Chicken and fireworks were enjoyed by some and despised by others. Windows were mysteriously cracked. Beer pong was played and the boys dominated. Taxi rides may or may not have been fully paid for, but I think I finally learned the word “joke” in Russian permanently. Some very complicated people attended a Georgian restaurant, though I can’t be sure how many people were actually present. At the amusement and frustration of others, I ice-skated for four straight days. Toby’s clone was discovered, playground equipment was mocked. Backs were destroyed and are still sore after sleeping on hard floors. The “Backpacker’s Pantry” was opened and freeze dried cheesecake with sprinkled graham cracker crust was eaten for first time ever in Kazakhstan. And at least one volunteer continues to feel grateful for the relationships he has formed since arriving in country.

I guess, in summary (because I am sure a lot of that doesn’t make any sense), it was a welcomed break from the daily pressures of Peace Corps. Upon departure from Karaganda I learned a couple things. New fact number one: return trips are depressing. An eleven hour trip spent excitedly anticipating your destination is different than an eleven hour time span reflecting on the fact that the time at the destination is sadly over. New fact number two: vacations do not depend on the location to be a good time. In many ways Karaganda is actually a depressing city. During the Soviet Union people were sent there for punishment. It is notorious for the many Gulags and the manual labor Soviet prisoners were forced to endure. For decades people feared an arrival to the city and rejoiced an exit. Over the course of five days my emotions reflected a completely opposite succession. I had no desire to leave and with the right group of people Karaganda can make a great vacation spot. But I made the best of my departure, and my train ride, and my bus ride, and now I am back at...home.

Of course I know the answers to those questions. I’m here in Zerenda because a long time ago I told myself I wanted to be a volunteer and this is where they sent me. I’m home in Zerenda because several months in one location will naturally bring feelings of familiarity. But, I find myself unsatisfied with the literal explanations. Yes all that is true, but how am I really here and how is this really home. I think no matter where you are it shocks you when you have that “home” realization for the first time. Obviously, Kazakhstan is no different. It takes a few moments, but you have to recognize the more complicated aspects of that fact will never be understood. You just have to accept it. Zerenda is home. As I walk through the door, set down my bags and crawl into bed for a brief nap before I head off to school, I realize I’m ok with that. Zerenda is home. I wake up, splash some water on my face, finish a cup of tea and head to school just in time to see the sunrise over the villages’ numerous wood stove smoke stacks. No, I like that.

This blog post would not be complete without mentioning my huge sense of appreciation for everyone included in the Christmas package. It was such an honor to read all of you letters for the twelve full days of Christmas. A Merry Christmas indeed and I owe that to all of you. I hope to respond individually to all of you sometime soon. Thank you so much.

The first picture included is my view of the sunrise on Christmas morning as I exited my apartment building. Celestial is the only word I could use to describe that picture. The next is what I found on the board from on the 8th graders. They may not understand flying reindeers, but they do understand how to spread Christmas cheer. I reciprocated with some Christmas chocolates. Next I included pictures of my school and bedroom. I wanted you to get a sense of my actual living environment, so I didn’t clean my room. That or I’m just too lazy. Finally the new banner picture is what I meant by the sunrise over the villages’ wood stove smoke stacks – smoke billowing out of chimneys until they disappear into an orange horizon. Not bad.