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theadventuresofleelee
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Name: LeeLee
Gender: Female
Interests: Espresso and coffee, sometimes together. Books, esp. on winter nites. Movies and pizza. Maps. History. Laughing. Fresh-powdered snow.
Expertise: Flexibility
Occupation: Traveler
Message: message me
Member Since:
8/10/2007
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| Towards the end of the summer, wedding invites were buzzing around like the flies that plague us over the warm months. The middle and end of summer are when feasts are easier to prepare, as fruits are in season and money easier to come by. I’d attended a few town weddings, and one village wedding in the past. However, this summer found me attending weddings three Sundays in a row, plus another one thrown in there on a Monday night for good measure. Incidentally, I only knew one of the brides at one of the wedding; the rest of the wedding parties were perfect strangers to me. Their relatives and neighbors, however, were not. And everyone wants an “honored guest” or foreigner to attend a wedding. I was happy to play the token foreigner for a few weddings, in exchange for an awesome glimpse at these people in some of their most joyful, celebratory moments!
In this culture, most people have what we westerners would consider as a ‘wedding ceremony’ in their home. Family, neighbors, and a few friends are present. The groom picks up the bride in her home, to the beat of much celebration, drumming, dancing and traditions. Then the groom transports her on the ride of her life, with his buddies wildly swerving their Land Cruisers and Chinese mini-vans through town, streamers flying off their cars, while pedestrians scatter and duck for cover. The bride then arrives at her groom’s home, with only one or two female friends or relatives accompanying her into this new and foreign home (where she often is meeting her groom and his family for the first time). Oh, did I mention that this whole time, she’s supposed to be wearing seven layered headscarves that completely cover her face, two red velour dresses, beaded chokers, a ring on nearly every finger, and a round cap to top it off? Yes, in the summer heat of July. At the groom’s house, she is relieved of her seven headscarves, and allowed to finally look around at the new home that she will be living and working in for the rest of her life. Dancing and blaring music (usually played in the corner by a synthesizer, not to be underestimated for its ability to announce to the entire neighborhood that a wedding is going on) surrounds the entire state of affairs.
Eventually the wedding party and relatives are carted off by the (often inebriated) groom’s buddies to the restaurant. There a few hundred guests have been nibbling and awaiting the party’s arrival. Female family members dance in front of the couple, as they make their way to the banquet table at the head of the room. The next three hours alternate between speeches by various family members and friends and honored guests, and more loud music with wild dancing, hollering, and swirling before the wedded couple. The couple stand every time someone addresses a speech to them, or dances directly in front of them. The rest of the time, they usually sit quietly, talking little, and eating even less. Usually the bride is expected to look sorrowful and demure, as she is leaving her old life and family. At one or two weddings, however, I saw a bride who couldn’t contain her joy and smiled at the entire proceeding.
Three hours and three courses later, the bride and groom are escorted back to their cars and driven to the groom’s home. There, the couple will be visited for several days to come, sitting in a designated part of the house where they are expected to remain constantly for their first few days of marriage. If one of them needs to leave temporarily for personal reasons, someone is required to sit in their spot until their return. At night, they even sleep in that very spot. Finally, the bride’s family come to check up on their little girl, and to commence the “hair-washing ceremony.” The bride is finally relieved of her braids and her wedding dress, and able to change into new clothes. From this point on, she is fully a part of the family, expected to pull her share of work around the home.
I’ve seen bits and pieces of these ceremonies, as they are obviously spread over several days. I think my favorite part still remains the exquisite dancing. When you’re on that dance floor, bobbing your way through the winding hands, the skip-sliding feet, and the glowing faces… in those moments, these people come alive like you rarely see. Their zest for life is in full bloom. Their graceful movements, coy interactions, and heads thrown back in joy draw you in. These are the moments when language no longer matters; neither does cultural background nor your worldview. You can feel the pulsing beat of life in all of your veins, echoing the drum beat and the stamping feet, and you know that we were created for this joy, this life, for celebrations like these. That’s usually when I smile inwardly and remember that this moment is practice for the biggest Wedding of all… that is why our hearts are really glowing. We were created for this. And as I look around the dance floor, I realize that when I participate in the Richest Banquet of all, after seeing the ultimate union between a radiant Bride and her Prince of Peace… I deeply hope to have the same dance partners whirling around beside me.
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| I was nearly skipping home the other day on my way back from the bazaar. Trying to gauge the reasons behind my joy, I reevaluated what had put me in such a good mood. The swift and clear conclusion in my head was, I know that I am loved.
I am ever amazed at the amount of people who have supported me in my time here, through their loving words, encouragement, laughter and listening ears. Talking to family and friends on the phone and via e-mail lately has been such a joy. My family’s support of my work and my life of abandonment gives me such comfort, as well. I am also grateful for my team, for the unity and love He’s granted among us, despite many struggles and uncertainties in our work and lives here. And at the foundation of it all, His CONSTANCY, my friends, that knows no change, no wavering. The love that changes who you are just because you know that you are loved, no matter what idiocies you can conjure up in a day; the kind of Love that transforms our lives.
As I tried (rather unsuccessfully) to politely restrain the grin tugging at my lips over this thought, I started looking around. The watery, work-weary eyes of the women in the booths… the hunched shoulders walking out of the hospital… the stony stares that met my own. I wondered what they thought of me and my bouncy gait, my face alight for no apparent or logical reason.
My elation faltered as it hit me – what would these people would look like if they were reassured of the kind of Love that I daily experience… from others, and from Him. The glint that they would have in their own eyes, boasting of a secret that couldn’t remain anonymous for long. I pictured how they would walk in assurance; no longer feeling shamed, but confident in their worth, their place in this world, and a Love that would never betray them, never forsake them…
The rest of my walk home was a little more sober and thoughtful...
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| Making up a bed without the top sheet. Letting somebody wash my dishes in cold water instead of hot. Putting bread on the table for every meal. Giving lotion and chapstick away, because my friend spotted a surplus. These are the little things that the control freak within has to let of go every day, in order to let friends feel at home in my world.
Little things like this can wear you down if you fight them long enough. As I stand in the middle of my kitchen, trying to kindly explain to my friend why I’d prefer them to wash my dishes in hot water (if they really insist on washing them for me), and somehow I end up in a ridiculous conversation about germs which has even ME wondering what the heck I’m talking about… I wonder if it’s really worth it. How far do I push my own nitty-gritty preferences? Or should I even give them a thought? Didn’t I come here to give up MY comfort zone, to allow others to feel at home, so that we can go deep? At what point is it necessary for me to really care that my dishes still have grease and “microbiya” on them?
Chris Rice hits me upside the head again. Love has gotta break through...
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| I'm smirking at the Chris Rice lyrics echoing my thoughts right now: "We're all at the mercy of punch lines and ironies." Great album, by the way... I listen to it about every day here lately. Check it out if you get a chance.
So yes, changes are on the horizon. Summer, for one. New season, with a lot more possibility for traveling out of the city, into the villages where we can visit projects. My team at work being cut nearly down to 2/3s its former size. People coming to visit and work alongside our office. The apartment building that I now live in is coming alive with the warmer weather. All of the kids greet me whenever I come out the door now. The men on the bench outside our entryway respond to my nods; the women hanging clothes smile shyly when I walk by on my way to work. Lots of possible friendships there. Our group at work is planning some possible trips around this part of the world that I have NOT seen yet, so that's always fun.
With just a little over half a year left... I guess I'm getting some perspective on things, too. The inevitable urgency sets in... to finish well, to leave things in the best possible state. As I watch my roommate and friend counting down her last five weeks, I wonder about my own future countdown. How do I want to leave things? What memories do I still have to make? What conversations will I regret not having? How can I best apply myself? All sorts of wonderings...
Enough of my meanderings. I'll let a better writer and lyricist speak...
LOVE IS GONNA BREAK THROUGH [Chris Rice]
...But change won't come easily / What does this have to do with me? / (Everyday the sun rises on us!) /
Like a swing set in a graveyard / Like a bloom in the desert sands / (Look at my tremblin' hands!) /
LOVE IS GONNA BREAK THROUGH!
World inside a clear blue sky / Teeming with humanity /
Tears and laughter intertwine / Our comedies and tragedies /
And History is a runaway / But not so far that love can't find and save /
LOVE IS GONNA BREAK THROUGH!
It takes my breath, it's come to this / We all bleed red, you can't resist /
The changing wind, the roaring tide / C'mon get on the winning side
LOVE IS GONNA BREAK THROUGH! | | |
| Just over two weeks of vacation are ending in about three hours, when I board my flight back to Mountain land. I managed to see one of my best friends ever, and my parents, in the Balkans. Late nights with movies or internet, lots of free food (hehe), and the shopping spree of the century have me feeling rather refreshed (if slightly clogged as far as my arteries go). Actually, I'm thinking that despite all of the calories I consumed (I think I had like 5 meals a day, between coffeehouses, desserts from the supermarket, restaurants and my mom's cooking), the amount of walking I did on average might have just cancelled them out. At least, my feet think they should.
Last night, my parents waved good-bye at the train platform (yes, WAVED me off, it was like Anne of Green Gables and everything). I had a sleeper cubicle to myself, which was nice. Only like five rooms on our entire car had people. Of course, the three backpacking Asians were in the cubicle next to mine. Once I heard a knock at my door, only to answer it and be greeted by a deserted hall, and stifled giggling from the next room. The next two times, I managed NOT to answer the door. Thankfully I did open it for passport control at 2 am, despite my disheveled state.
Around 7 am, I woke up as we rolled over the Turkish countryside, which slowly gave way to the city of Istanbul. Since I was a little early for meeting some friends of mine, I sat in the Waiting Room for awhile. There were about twelve benches in there, most with a sleeping occupant on them. The smell reminded me of homeless shelters I've been to... unwashed bodies, BO, etc. Feeling somewhat at home, I sat on an empty bench, and pulled out some Sudoku. After awhile, my attention was captured by the old Turkish fellow across from me. His long beard was gray, while his bushy eyebrows were still jet-black. Soon, I noticed that anytime somebody entered the lounge, Longbeard would make some comment to them. "Shut the door behind you," was one of the common themes, but my lack of Turkish prevented me from really understanding. I gathered that he was rather lonely. Snoring reached my ears from a few benches away. Longbeard grunted and harumph'd loudly, as if trying to intimidate his competition. Silence. I continued my Sudoku. Then I heard two very loud, very (forgive me) juicy burps from Longbeard. This wasn't just an accidental burp. This man was RELISHING each burp, as it echoed off the high ceilings. Not sure if that's Turkish culture, or just this guy's culture. Amused, I tried to keep my head down, with occasional glances in his direction as he continued his banter with everyone walking through the area. Finally, I gathered up my luggage and headed out to meet my friends.
Now, it's the end of my time in Istanbul and on vacation. Three hours until boarding, and I'm at Starbuck's in the airport, rockin' the WiFi. A few minutes ago, I rolled up to the counter to order my last Starbuck's drink for the next seven months. I immediately knew what I wanted... a Tall Caramel Frappuccino.
Then I caught sight of the prices. Dang. 7.25 Turkish Lyra. Would the remainders of my coin purse stretch that far? A few airport purchases and a cart had nearly wiped me out. I started counting coins. It came to 6.25 exactly. One Lyra short. D'oh. I rummaged in my coat pockets, my pants pockets. Nada. Slightly deflated, I started perusing the menu board for a slightly cheaper drink. Nothing fit my mood, but oh well.
"Life isn't always fair", I consolingly told myself. "And no, you will NOT bum one Lyra off of someone for something as trivial as this." As I stood there deliberating and sighing to myself, I stuck my hands into my pants pocket. Suddenly my left hand closed around something. One Turkish Lyra in my recently empty pocket. Enough to buy one Tall Caramel Frappuccino.
"I believe in miracles!" was immediately and exultantly echoing through my cranium. And of course, it never hurts when the miracle's in the form of one last, undeserved caffeinated beverage... | | |
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