A Fulfilling Day

My writing skills have withered to a sickly stick of their former mediocre adequacy. I spent about ten minutes trying to think of synonyms for "explain" today. I caved and ran to dictionary.com like a whiny little babe. I am glad that I wrote my grad school apps during better days.

Despite my whining and the addition of a "Mаниак" (serial killer) to the otherwise humdrum hubbub of Bishkek, I feel energized today. I have found that small achievements amplify in significance during self-imposed cultural exile. Maybe that is why I have continued to move, emotional thrillseeking with reckless abandon for what I have so carefully invested in by the way of relationships back home. Like most anything that is a passion and piece of identity, I think that it is folly to pursue "why" too far. It is. So be it. Speaking of digression into the netherregions of proper grammar and quasi-irrationality.

Anyway, I had my first conversation in Kyrgyz today unaided by a model. I said that my mom was a dentist and my father a doctor. I regailed my teacher with facts about my siblings, such as their existence and relative ages before moving on to profound insights into the professions of aunts and uncles. I moved mountains for a moment. Then just like that, my potential was spent. The words were all used up. The cases one bridge too far.

Whistfully signing, I returned to the routine of exerices and premeditated dialogue followed by relevant (?) question and answer sessions. We had another hour left. I was pretty tired of signing whistfully by the time we finished.

Ulan missed class again today. Adillet too. They said they were going to help with the trip this weekend. I may have to act as de facto interpreter no. 1. That is not a comforting thought. We learned tuesday that he is going to mosque the full 5 times a day. He wants to me an Allam. That is acheived after decades of study. We have the money all lined up for him to get back into school but we have to film it when we tell him, because I guess Oprah gave us the money.

The cat is considered to be dirty in Kyrgyz culture. They have a utilitarian, if respectful attitude toward animals. The are only quasi-domestic. Thus I fear the dog in the yard more than the serial killer. The cat is welcome in my room (the fam said its okay). It sleeps on my neck. I have a single sized bed.

I live in Bishkek. I study Kyrgyz. I make funny noises all day. I yell at children in broken Russian while they look at me wide eyed with bewildered confusion (should I be scared, laugh, or just ignore this guy?). I sleep with a cat on my neck. My name, is Anders.

Somebody gave some money to the Alpine Fund in my name. Thank you, annonymous stranger.