Thinking back the last 12 years or so, my only memorable birthday was the spring of 2008, when I was studying abroad in Shanghai. My closest friends and I went to the Black Café, a themed restaurant where you ate in pitch-black darkness, served by blind waiters. Without sight, many of us resorted to eating with our hands. Also, I tricked my friend Chen into taking off his pants. My other friend, Emily, took her bra off and passed it around the table. My friends “surprised” me with a Cold Stone ice cream cake. I put “surprise” in quotation marks because I found it earlier in the fridge, and I heard them playing with the dry ice a few days ago.

So here I am, three years later, and three years older. No longer am I in my early 20s, I am now in my mid 20s. I’m the same age as when my mother gave birth to me. Weird, isn’t it? Interestingly enough, this particular birthday is special. Why? Because it’s “my” year. Yes, the year of the rabbit. I am kinda hoping at the exact time of my birth I will be struck with incredible fortune.

I’m having my birthday party in a few weeks, since my site-mate Amanda’s birthday party is next week, but I’m spending my actual birthday alone. Amanda is off in Goycay, and JM is in Baku celebrating her friend Allison’s birthday party. Even though I could’ve invited some friends from the neighboring regions, I’m in a particularly contemplative mood. I finally swept and mopped my floors, and I’m slowly decorating my walls with photos of friends and family, as well as cut-outs from my favorite magazines. As I look at photos from home, I am a bit overwhelmed with my life right now. It’s not being in very bad time machine. Time stops for me, but everybody’s lives are going on without me. My dads found a new job, my sister will be graduating college next year, and some of my best friends are traveling in China or Europe.

When I go back to the states, my friends and family will be in such a different place than when I left them; however, I will be starting my life fresh. I don’t know where I’m going with all this, but it’s definitely given me a lot to think about.

I sure as hell didn’t want to make a salad with just iceberg lettuce so I thought of things I could do with lettuce. I randomly remembered how unsatisfying the Korean food I had a few weeks ago was. It was tasty, but it was more of a Chinese stir fry than anything else. Huge disappointment. So I set my mind of re-creating my fantasies of Korean barbeque here in Azerbaijan. My soy sauce stash is precious, pears are still expensive, and I had no sesame oil…so this would be a Korean inspired dish.

I had some chicken thighs defrosting in the fridge, so I immediately came up with the idea of a spicy Korean wrap, using a marinade of Korean hot pepper paste, garlic, sugar, and some fish sauce. I know the last part isn’t Korean, but who’s counting? Oh, I also squeezed a splash of lemon in there to get some nice acidity to cut through the spiciness.

Even though chicken is the cheapest meat protein here, it’s still pretty pricey. Okay, maybe not pricey…but it is for a guy who spent a good part of his living allowance on daiquiris in Baku. So to stretch out the meal I thought of putting some sort of “slaw” in the wrap. I had some beets and carrots so I thought that’d be a winning combination. But wait, isn’t a slaw supposed to have some cabbage in it? Wrong! I swore off cooking cabbage after three straight days of cabbage soup at my host family’s house. I shredded the beets and carrots while watching Ocean’s 11, and thought that’d be the end of it.

A few hours later it occurred to me that just leaving the beets and carrots plain would be pretty lame, and I thought of banh mi sandwiches. Even though the bread and the pate is what makes a banh mi good, what elevates it, in my opinion, are the pickles. I sprinkled some kosher salt over the slaw and weighed it down a colander to let the water get out. This is becoming more of a generic “Asian” wrap than a Korean one, but it’s good enough for me. After letting it sit for a few minutes I threw in some sugar and a splash of sauce to keep the Asian theme going.

When I was shopping for kitchen stuff in Xachmaz I came across this wok, and I’m not gonna lie…it’s pretty sweet. I stir-fried some sliced onions before throwing in the marinated chicken. Immediately my face is hit with a blast of delicious, spicy, fishy (in a good way) aroma. As a wash the lettuce I realize it’s not actually lettuce but some variation of cabbage. I feel pretty stupid at this point, but the leave to stem ratio is much better so I roll with it (literally).

I throw some of chicken on the cabbage, along with a generous serving of the pickled beets/carrots. I bite down, and I’m immediately transported back to my favorite Korean place in Orange Grove, and as I close my eyes I’m surrounded by the familiar sounds of sizzling meat.  Utterly delicious…probably one of the best things I’ve made since getting in country. The chicken fat (coming from the chicken skin…never de-skin chicken thighs!) combined with the marinade to form some sort of spicy sauce. I’m having a culinary boner at this point. I only prepared a third of what I made (approximately one chicken thigh), and I have enough to make three reasonably sized rolls. I was iffy on how satisfying they would be, but six hours later and I’m not terribly hungry.

This kind of meal has tremendous potential…especially since it’s pretty cost effect. I reckon it probably costs about 1.20 AZN at the most, and I’ll definitely be returning to this in the future. In hindsight, I don’t know why I didn’t get spring onions, which totally would’ve made this dish even more. Cucumbers, if they were not so expensive, would’ve been a nice touch too. Also should’ve sprinkled some of the sesame seeds I have as a garnish…

So whatever happened to the asparagus I bought? I got side-tracked by my spicy Asian rolls, so they’re sitting in my fridge. I figure I’d sauté them in butter and garlic just to see how much potential they have.

“For Sanyo: Who is off changing a world that needs to be changed.”

I’m extremely flattered that Emily took time to talk about me with Mr. Foer and get a signed copy of the book, but these words have been haunting my mind and unfortunately not in the best way. I don’t think I’ll be wrong to think that many people think that’s what we do in Peace Corps: changing the world; however, since starting my work as a volunteer there is a gap between the ideal and reality.

Even though I’ve only been a volunteer for three months, it’s beginning to dawn on me that any real “change” isn’t probably going to happen while I’m here. I can’t get into details about some parts of it, but the Azerbaijan that exists while I’m here will probably still be here long after I leave. So if I’m not able to change Azerbaijan, maybe I can help my community, right? That was what I got out of my training…our “mission” was to help teachers improve their teaching, so they can continue to “mold minds” long after we’re gone. If Mr. Foer knew this is how I’m “changing a world that needs to be changed,” he’d probably want his autograph back.

Obviously I can only speak for my program in this country, but let’s cut the crap…we’re pretty lame in the scheme of things. Teaching English? Helping teachers become better teachers? Compared to other volunteers, even just talking about the other sectors in Azerbaijan, we’re pretty lame. I’m not surprised that TEFL volunteers get their “kicks” from YD or CED related activities, and not just TEFL stuff.

And here’s a scary thought: what happens if your counterpart, who has so passionately taken up lesson-planning or using creative non-textbook related activities, stops doing all that the second you leave? Congratulations! You failed in your primary mission! How does it feel to slave away for two years of your life, only to have your carefully thought out plans for sustainability knocked down like a house of cards?

This is probably a little too harsh…I mean, that isn’t the only goal of the TEFL program here, and there are other things you can hang your hat on right? You know: softball, summer camps, art clubs, sending students to FLEX, etc. But a lot of these things weren’t really focused on during TEFL technical sessions. Somehow by the end of PST, I had forgotten what else I could do as a TEFL volunteer here.

Maybe this is really all my fault. Honestly, if I wanted to even get close to “changing the world,” I should’ve known that TEFL isn’t necessarily the best way to get to that point. For some reason I thought being a TEFL would be a loftier position. I’d be a prime position to be a mentor for a new generation of liberal, western-leaning youth, and through them that’d be my way to “changing the world.” Oh how naïve I was with such expectations. Even though I’m working with much brighter students than what other volunteers have, a lot of them still cling onto the more traditional aspects of Azerbaijani culture. I assumed that better educated automatically meant more liberal…guess I was wrong. A lot of these liberal youth packed and left for Baku long before I got here. And I have to tread so carefully in this culture that thoughts of prodding my students to be more modern are only fantasy.

So I’m trying to find a different way to “changing the world,” but until then I’m perfectly fine teaching a bunch of adorable kids and acting like an idiot in class. Until of course, it’s two months before I leave and I’ve still got nothing.

The reason I feel slight reluctance about this session is because how I conceptualize my own identity. In America when somebody asks me about my ethnic/cultural background, I say that I’m Taiwanese or less frequently, Taiwanese-American. I didn’t really see myself as “American” and amongst some of my Asian friends calling me that were fighting words. Here at Azerbaijan, when the same question is asked I say that I’m 100% American. Saying anything otherwise would probably lead to a long discussion and a defense of my heritage/background. I don’t think I’ve ever tried so hard to be American before in my life.

Interestingly enough, I’m beginning to realize, and accept my “Americanness.” I began to realize how much “American” I really am. Maybe distance makes the heart grow fonder, because I find myself jonesing more for a steak than a bowl of white rice. So I’m getting more comfortable accepting a Taiwanese-American identity, except the struggle now is selling my interpretation of American to the Azerbaijanis. Yes, you can still celebrate all the traditions of your homeland and still be American. Because that’s just one of the millions of ways to be American.

Everybody says that the greatest numbers of early terminations are  in the first three months. I’ve heard stories of volunteers arriving at site and packing up their bags within days. So I wait with abated breath until March 9^th, when the three-month mark arrives. I know it’s ridiculous to think that I’ll be “safe” if I can survive three months…I mean, there are a fair number of people that ET after a year. But it’s mostly a mental thing for me.

Don’t get me wrong, there are definitely things that frustrate me here. The awkward host family, the obnoxious nature of students at school, and the general feeling that I’m not really making any impact on the way students learn English or how teachers learn innovative teaching methodologies. But I try not to dwell on these things,  in the hope that change comes slowly. Also, there are much worse things that can make service unbearable, so I’m  pretty lucky that these are the worst of my frustrations.

What’s been most exciting, if not awkward, experience is life with a conservative Muslim family. The father works in Baku and with the older brother/sister studying in university, many nights it’s just me with the host mother and sister. If that’s the case, I usually have to be in my room unless I’m having meals or tea in the living room. Apparently it’s improper if I’m in the room and the host mom is just lounging on the couch. Also, there have been times when I enter the living room, and the host sister packs up her homework and move into the kitchen. When the host father is there, I try to be more social to “make up” for the time when I can’t be. The host father comes home after dinner, but I’m never sure when he comes home though.

The host father is a very intelligent and funny person, and he is always interested in talking to me when he can, which is a nice change of pace from my old host family. Unlike many of the Muslims in this country, he actually practices it. He prays five times a day, he’s been to Mecca on haj, and because cleanliness is important when praying the hamman (bathroom) is impeccably clean.

He hasn’t talked to me about this, but I know he despises Iran’s brand of Islam, and he believes that politics shouldn’t mix with religion. He also has contempt for men who beat their wives. He neither drinks nor smokes, and when he is at home he’s often helping the younger host sister with homework. It’s a nice change of pace from the typical men of this culture.

I went to Sheki for Christmas and I spent New Years in Shabran and Baku. New Years Eve in Shabran was pretty uneventful. I had to sit in the corner of the house with the host dad because the guests were mostly female, and I was ushered into my room at 8 PM. Super lame, but oh well. I rang in the New Year with my favorite episode of Friends (Season Four, The One with all the Embryos). JM and I headed down to Baku, and we were talked into spending the night, which was pretty nice. I had a few drinks and headed back to the hotel with Sally and Moses, where we watched The Royal Tenenbaums. I passed out early on, but I woke up sober, w00t w00t! Sleeping on the floor was kind of cold, but I snuggled with Sally in the brown monster, so it got quite toasty. Before JM and I went back to Shabran we stopped by the Peace Corps Office and I picked up a few grammar books. I feel inspired to start teaching when the break ends next Thursday.

So for everybody who has complained about the lack of pictures, here’s a non-sequitur photo:

Isn't She Lovely?

Although I’m happy to put all the stress of language class, technical sessions, and just life in general I’m really sad to be leaving. I’ve gotten super-close to everyone in my cluster, and unfortunately we’ve all been scattered to the five corners of Azerbaijan. Only Joey is close, in the neighboring Rayon of Quba but everyone else is pretty far. I haven’t really hadn’t the chance to interact closely with anyone from the Taghiyev group, which perhaps PST’s fault more so than my own…so I’m looking forward to getting closer to a bunch of new faces.

These past two weekends our cluster has been making trips to the capital city of Baku. It’s a completely different world, so much so that it’s hard to believe that we only live 30 minutes away. In our communities the culture/social norms are very conservative. Male-Female intimacy is non-existent, and females are shunned for smoking, drinking, or even sitting on curb/floor/wherever without a cushion underneath them (something about freezing their ovaries or something). But in Baku there are none of these “crazy” rules. Another difference is how we are treated as foreigners. Everyday in our communities double takes are commonplace, and the locals yell out at us in heavily accented “Hello, Hello” or “Where are you from.” We only got one or two obnoxious comments when we were in Baku, and for the most part people seem to be worldlier.

I don’t know why the culture is so liberal in Baku compared to Sumgayit, which isn’t really that far. I mean, in the states the suburbs aren’t really that culturally/socially different from the city center, right? You would think that the city’s “liberal” influence would spread out to neighboring areas, but that doesn’t seem to be the case here. Perhaps the conservative mindset in the regions is so strong that not even a socially liberal place like Baku can do that much change.

Anyway, on to my tragic stories…Here in Azerbaijan, daily showers are out of question, so most of us go days without showering. Some have managed to go at least a week, but my threshold at this point is 4-5 days. With colder weather the idea of going that long without a shower might be more doable. When I took my shower earlier this week I forgot to lock the door, and imagine my surprise when my host dad walked in on me! I was like a deer in the headlights, and no words came out of my mouth. My hands automatically went down and covered my *ahem* area, and he quickly shut the door. We never talked about it, and I’m certain that the language barrier contributed to that.

This past Sunday I was organizing my room, and I nonchalantly tossed my jacket onto the floor. Unfortunately it didn’t land on the floor, it landed on the space heater in my room. Specifically, it landed on my hot space heater. Within a few moments I turned around to see my smoke, and quickly after that the fire alarm went off. I smothered the singed area of the jacket and I opened the window, fanning around with my towel. I ran into the living room, where the rest of my family was standing. They were speaking in rapid-fire Azerbaijani, and I was fumbling to turn off the fire alarm. Everything settled down after a while, and I inspected the damage. There is now a large gaping hole in my favorite jacket, a Ben Sherman military-style jacket that has gotten nothing but compliments. Alas, I only hope I can find a worthy replacement when I visit Baku next weekend.

This last incident just happened this past Thursday, and worst of all, it happened in plain sight for the whole community to see. I was leaving the school to head to Sally’s house, where we were baking a birthday cake for our friend Moses. I wasn’t watching where I was going, and a leg got caught in a manhole. I must emphasize that this was a lidded manhole, but the “lid” was a concrete lid that wasn’t secured properly. So my left leg went into the hole, and my shin was trapped between the hole’s edge and the concrete lid. Very painful indeed. Luckily Moses, Joey, and I think Michael came and rescued me. Quite embarrassing, since all my friends saw, as well as the school children and the people living in that neighborhood.

I’m inclined to think that burning the jacket was probably the worst out of the three, since the jacket had incredible sentimental and fashion value to me. Hopefully this string of unfortunate events has ended, and I have nothing but smooth sailing from here on out.

The English education system in Azerbaijan is geared around the textbook, which is poorly designed. Teachers rarely, if ever, deviate from what’s written in the text. So when I come in with new approaches to the lesson, both the students and teachers are stunned. In one of my classes we were reviewing housework vocabulary. The students quickly listed off the examples in the textbook, and than the class got completely silent. I asked what other examples of housework they could think of, and just repeated the examples from the book. I clarified that I wanted examples not in the book, which led to blank stares or puzzled looks. To prod them I gestured the motion for ironing clothes, and then they were able to give me a few more examples.

This pretty much sums up the frustration of working within the system. It’s not that the students don’t know what to say, they’ve never been given the opportunity to think outside the textbook. Yet during my last lessons of this week when I asked the students about examples of grocery items (clarifying I wanted non-textbook examples), the students were able to come up with a dozen or so examples that weren’t in the book. This may not seem like much, but that moment is my proudest so far in my training so far.