Slovene Sunday - Vanja Arsenuk

I recently decided that because I can now post from my own home, without traipsing over to my parents' house, I can spend a little more thought, and put a little more focus into my writing, my essays, my posts.

And so, with that, I unveil Slovene Sunday - specifically setting time to remember things about Slovenija - big things, little things, mundane things and things that meant a lot to my heart.

I begin...

When I first moved to Maribor in December of 1999 it was so different than the big city if Ljubljana I had lived in for the previous 8 months. It was smaller, and at first it felt more countrified. If I'm honest, I had a pretty low opinion of the people up there, especially the church members. They just were so small - small in numbers, small-minded. They didn't have the big-city hustle-&-bustle about them, they weren't busy like the folks of Ljubljana were.

I felt like I was being punished in some way. I loved my companion, and I loved the other missionaries I worked with, but... it just wasn't the same. And I had a bad attitude about it. I didn't like the people, I kept away, and aloof. I was mad that where the church building in Ljub had been a nice, open, spacious building above a pizza parlour in a beautiful Italliante courtyard, with wildlife immediate out the south window, the church in Maribor was small.

It was dark. It got almost no sun, the walls were paneled in dark wood, the rooms were laberyntine. The floors creaked, and it was placed above a tailor we affectionatly called "the Sweat Shop". It was quaint, yes, but not the nexus for the church I was used to.

And the members in Maribor were so PLAIN! Nenad Arsenuk, the branch president, and his wife Vanja, who was the Releif Society president. They were not pretty. He was of Ukrainian descent and pale and snaggle-toothed, and Vanja was... well, my first impression of her was that she was really common. She had bad teeth to, and had bulgy eyes, and dark stringy hair that she obviously didn't wash often. She had an over-loud voice AND a stammer. Nenad was quiet, however, but he seemed to only know two subjects to talk about in church - responsibility and authority. Vanja was loud, and seemed to have no decorum, and her ideas for doing things in church meetings were unorthodox and outside of the box. I wished I could ignore both of them.

And so I did. I rolled my eyes when Vanja sang loudly and off key during the meetings, but I ignored her. I tuned out when Nenad spoke to the men about authority, because it was the same every week, yet when he asked me a question, I always had a good reply; because his questions were always stock, so my stock answers would suffice. I didn't put my heart into it, I didn't invest anything in them.

I wanted instead to work with some of the inactive members who were prettier, the handsome handsome Goran, or the doll-like Petra; people who had left because of the way the Arsenuks were, too. I wanted to spend time going out to find NEW people to bring into the church, so Nenad and Vanja could step down from their positions and fade away, and scare new members anymore.

I felt like this for weeks, and it was really getting me down, and I was pretty damn homesick for Ljubljana, and I just didn't feel like I had anything to offer this branch. I wished they would all go away, or I could go back to the big city. It got so bad and noticable in my heart that I eventually realized it was something I had to work on, and not wait for God to fix it. But I had no clue what to do - I did NOT like these people, I had no interest, really, in trying. I was lost.

One Sunday, at the beginning of January, I was sitting there in the first church meeting, all together with everyone, doodling on a scrap of paper to help me ignore the members. It was the monthly testimony meeting and people, if they felt like it, could go up to the podium and tell the rest of us what was in their hearts, unscripted, whatever. In Maribor there had been a couple of these meetings where NO ONE had gotten up to share, and we'd all sat there in polite-coughing silence for 30-40 minutes. This Sunday looked to be more of the same, but we missionaries were determained to not take turns, and leave that to the members; they had to start doing it on their own sometime.

As I was sitting there in the silence, I saw Vanja, who usually wore slacks to church meetings (culturally verboten), stand up to go to the podium. I pointedly looked down at my drawing, focusing on that. She was weird, and un-understandable and I wasn't going to give her the satisfaction of paying her one ounce of attention. She began to speak, and I tuned out, which was easy enough, I just had to stop listening in Slovene and I lost any gist of what was going on around me. I drew and drew.

Even though my comprehension was currently at zero, I could still hear her inflections, and she seemed to be stammering more than usual. "Just SPIT IT OUT!" I felt like yelling. "None of us are that interested anyway! Say it and be done!" I glared at the paper in my lap.

Her stammering went on some more, and finally I had to look up, so I could give her a glare and maybe get her to sit down. And when I looked up at her, finally looked up, I saw Vanja holding onto the sides of the podium like she had just been flung from the edge of the Titanic. She had a death-grip on the thing, and she was trembling, shaking in an almost seizure-like manner.

And all my pride and selfishness washed away for a second, and I saw that she was scared. That unscripted public speaking scared the snot out of her, even in front of members of her own church, people she had known for years, and missionaries who were bound to try and serve and teach and not judge (except me). She was scared to death of sharing her soul-feelings with us, and yet she was determined to do it anyway. She was shaking from fright, but she was at least holding herself upright, she was so scared her woulds didn't want to come out, but it was so important for her to share her thoughts and feelings with us that she forced them out anyway.

This woman was brave. She had more conviction than I'd ever displayed up to that point. Something scared her and she barrelled through it anyway. I was an actor, an attention-seeker - I loved public speaking, and had never had to comprehend of this aspect of it. That afternoon I saw through her eyes, felt her heart. I wanted to stand up right there and put my arms on her shoulders so she could have some of my public-speaking stength, and say what she wanted to say without any fear at all.

But it wasn't appropriate, not for an elder to touch a woman besides a handshake, not for me when her husband was there. Stengthening Vanja was his job. But oh, how my heart went to her, wished I could give her everything she needed right at that moment.

Instead, I turned on my Slovene ears and listened respectfully to what Vanja was trying to express. I paid her the respect that this very brave, strong woman deserved.

Hobo No Mo'

I did it. I don't know if it's perfect, or how long I'll enjoy myself there, or if that even matters, but I did it. I succeeded in obtaining a job.

*sigh of relief*

I'll keep sending out resumes for a while, beause I need to make sure that I got the best there was to be had, but it seems to be pretty good. Telephone/customer service, but as I've noted, though I don't like it, I'm very good at it. The health plan is exceptional, the benefits are beyond decent, it's close. I was offered more wages than I asked for, due to previous experience. And I'm to be trained as a supervisory sort-of-thing. Which makes me feel like I'm progressing instead of standing still. And the company is growing, which is a detail that was important to me.

I can recoup from this, I can take the opportunity to be what they need, and improve upon it.


Please world, don't hate me for selling halloween costumes.

Choices

So, I just posted this on Playersanonymous - 1. to be funny, and 2. to prevent people from really knowing what's going on in my life.

~~~

Well, after a few weeks of being unemployed I finally have two job offers. When it rains, it pours, eh?

Job Opportunity 1: I've been offered a position as a junior-level hobo on a boxcar train that runs from Texarkana to Milwaukee, via Boston. I won't have my own blanket until I've been with group for 6 months, but they promise that some of the perks include a vagabond whose fillings pick up wi-fi - so as long as he's awake, and in the mood to talk to me, I can keep up with you guys here on PA. Perhaps while I'm even travelling through PA! Since the Hobo King was deposed 25 years ago, the position is open to new-hires, and I'm told that people with my drive can obtain the post without the usual buddy-system that was in place in the past, and since opportunnities for advancement are important to me, this is a major draw.

However, just yesterday I was offered

Job Opportunity 2: A band of wild trannies scouted me out and actually created a brand new position just for me. They spend their time ravaging the wooded areas surrounding Suburbia in the mid-west, from Illinois down to Louisiana, searching for cast off stilettoes and used glitter. Their mission statement is impressive - First Do No Harm, Girl - which is a paradigm I can easily get behind. The president of the group, Miss Tentacula Jones nee Splendiflora-fauna, has promised that perks will be provided, such as a bowl of sequins at each meal, and opportunities to bring more understanding re: the transsexual community to the greater populace. As a non-trannie, but a trannie supporter, my role would be a public one, and quite in the realm of PR, which I have never done before, but don't doubt my own abilities.

These are both very good opportunites at this point. But which should I take? Which should I take? Decisions, decisions!

The hairpin-drop heard 'round the world!

Ok, this is just fun. Varla Jean Merman sings of the history of Stonewall! How appropriate, since today it the 38th anniversary. It plays off the Judy Garland myth, but it's still a kick!



Two years ago I read the book Stonewall, and was mightily impressed with the history, my history, our history. I felt as close to those queens and trannies and dykes as I did to the Mormon pioneers when I was growing up. They are part of me, and my history and what makes me. Respect, that's what it is. Thanks, for getting us to where we are today!

Different is trouble for you only

Here is one of my favorite clips ever found on the internet:



First of all I love it because that was Mama Cass and I adore her golden, glorious voice.

Second, I love the sentiment she sings. I was thinking about this because of my SIL Lisa's recent post about her thoughts in response to a book she just read. Apparently the book has a lot to say on being different, or feeling different. I can get that. I've always felt different. It took me a while to accept it, but it's even become a compliment. While on my mission one elder who was soon to be my new companion asked a sister who had served around me and who was on her way home what I was like - her resonse was, "He's the most differentest person ALIVE!" That makes me feel very good.

But there have been times when it's felt more like a burden than anything. I admit that I'm wont to compare myself to others. I often do it with my brothers and sisters. Years ago, when I was first coming out to myself, it was right around the time my brother and sister were marrying. It hurt more than a little bit to watch them, and wonder why I couldn't have that too. I felt like if I could just be the same as Peter and Abby I wouldn't let my mom and dad down. I pursued (as far as I could...) a relationship with my friend Christy in an attempt to be the "same" as my siblings, as my peers, as society. It didn't work, and I was never happy.

I often wished I could be different, better, handsomer, smarter, more advantaged. Why oh why did I have to fall in love with Linguistics as a major, when I could have done something normal, like accounting, and had a normal job, and a normal income, and a "normal" life. If I could just have been more "normal" would I currently be happier?

I truly believe the answer to that is no.

Yes, I'm different. I may be incomprehensible to some people. I may seem like I make erratic choices. But, and it's relatively recently I've learned this, I'm living MY life, not a life for others. So what if most people don't get me? I do, and maybe a few other people do, and that's great. I am unique. I am special. Maybe (definitely) not to the whole world, like some I know aspire to, but I'm special to me, because I like me, and I know what it took to BECOME me. I please me; I value me.

No mater what kind of different a person is, it can be hard and lonely, as Mama Cass sings. But I echo what she says next: "I'd rather be different than be the same."

Infamous

Today I finally watched Infamous. I haven't gotten around to watching Capote yet, but that will come.

It was so interesting to me to watch the details of a story I knew only marginally, and to learn. I think the movie did justice to the people - the raw humans - it was depicting. It put a face to the killers, as stories are wont to do. But it affected me.

I always have identified with the villains of almost any story. I wonder if it's got anything to do with the fact that I often label myself as wicked or odd or peculiar. At any rate, I seem to have the ability to see things from the baddy's point of view right off. With Little House on the Prairie I always empathized and sympathized with Mrs. Oleson - of COURSE she acted the way she did! She had goals and desires just like everyone, but her methods were unorthodox, and didn't fit in with the rest of Walnut Grove society. She was a business woman - why should she NOT be shrewed, and demanding. She wanted attention and position in a place where no one cared much for that - of course she would seem overblown, and her efforts useless. Yes, she could have just acted the same as the other women, and they would naturally accept her, but that was not HER! Her personality was different! To her, things made utter sense the way she did them. I was always glad that she had a remarkably understanding husband.

Disney movies have been the same. With the exception of Gaston, I've always been able to see and value the goals, methods and motives of the villains. Ursula, Hades, Jafar, Maleficent. I don't say they were right but I understand them.

This applies to all stories, not just film. I guess I'm just unusally empathetic.

And it applied again today, to the story of Truman Capote and the killers he met in jail. The film, the book, perhaps even real life put a human face onto an inhuman act. By the end of the film, when the two men were hung, I burst into tears at their deaths. I know that the characters and their real-life counter parts killed 4 innocent people. I know. But I cried for the two men who were killed in punishment, too. And while I sat there dripping onto the throw pillow, I asked myself what I was crying for - loss? emotional investment? waste? I'm not sure.

The movie did its job. I was moved. I cried for the killers, just like when I cried for Jeffry Dahmer. It's easy to say it's just because I'm wicked too, but I honestly think it's because I've a tender heart, no matter what facade I put up.

Calming down

Feeling much better today, despite still not hearing anything from Berlitz. Had the severance meeting with the Vice President and it turned out better than I previously thought, plus I have stock options I didn't know about. Things will work out... things will work out.

I spent much of the day yesterday with my sister-in-law and my neice and nephew, and that helped at first. As the day went on and I stopped being the outraged victim, I felt worse and worse about everything. I was still willing to take what I deserved, but really realizing how NOT in control of things I was hurt a lot.

It's hard for me to submit to people. It's hard for me to accept that I'm not in control of any situation. I don't know if it's part of being the oldest or what, but not having the power to make things my way, when logically everything SHOULD be my way, is.... scary. I feel like less of a person, and I HATE that feeling with a passion.

Which is why I often put up an aloof front - so that no one can see how they're affecting me, and so I have time to process my responses. It's not fun, but it's less damaging.

help!

My stomach's clutching up. Severance package meetings today. Rumor is that it's not good.

How am I gonna get through this?

Friends

I find myself very drawn to the television show. It was kind of verboten when I was growing up - to risque. But as an adult with a critical eye, I'm interested to note some of the ways they depict relationships. The characters are never too cartoonish - they always have a truth around them. I think this is a mark of good writing.

The character I find myself relating to the most, and wanting to be like and find the most funny is Phoebe. I like that she's independant, I like that she's satisfied with the life she carved out for herself. I like that she's off-kilter, and comes up with random things. And I lOVE the way she says "Oh, no."