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Watching Twilight
Today I blogged over at the All About Romance News & Commentary blog about my delicious experience watching the movie Twilight. Check it out.
I have to say, having read the GQ interview with Robert Pattinson , that he doesn't sound like he's having a heck of a lot of fun at this point in his life. The piece flashed me back to when I was 22, living in another country, supposedly having this great adventure but really just eking it out day after day, alone and miserable.
At that point in my life I was working in Kaliningrad, Russia, teaching a whole spectrum of different aged students English. When I signed up for this gig, it was supposed to be this grand adventure that also proved how fantastically courageous and blithe I was. I was very excited about it. At one point another plan I'd made to go and teach in Moscow fell through, and I was devastated. After four years of college studying Russian and Russia, I wanted to go there and breathe the Russian air and absorb the Russian culture in through my very skin. I thought I was totally up for it. I mean, I'd kicked a$$ in my program at the University of Michigan, finishing Summa Cum Laude and Phi Beta Kappa. Nothing was beyond me, right? The world was my oyster to be slurped up and digested with relish.
Only it didn't quite work out that way.
In reality, the whole thing was terribly overwhelming. I could speak and understand and write Russian if I concentrated, but living in the midst of a foreign language is like hearing a buzzing all of the time. In normal life, if the people behind you in line at the movies start talking politics, you can process and either eavesdrop, participate, or ignore. In Russia, I had to isolate every conversation and concentrate in order to understand it. A phenomenal amount of information was being funneled all around me, but I knew I was missing most of it, at least at first. I felt embarrassed to talk because I had no confidence that I wouldn't make atrocious mistakes all of the time. And, in fact, even though my Russian was pretty good, frequently people wouldn't understand it because they saw me, knew I was foreign from my clothes, the way I stood, or whatever, and would dismiss me as unintelligible before my mouth opened. I'm not kidding. I'd take Russian friends along when I went to stores and when this happened, ask them if I was messing up, and they would assure me that what I'd said was clear and correct. It was the other person who wasn't hearing.
Another kind of freaky thing was the knowledge that we were being monitored by the local KGB. We were told they knew our whereabouts and our activities. This was right after the fall of Communism in 1993, but much of the political apparatus was still in place. I knew I didn't blend in, and sometimes I'd hear the word "American" before I stepped off the bus on my way home in the dark cold and wonder if maybe those guys behind me were the ones talking on the bus. And then I would think, "No, I'm being paranoid." But the fact was that Kaliningrad was a closed city to foreigners until right before our group came in, so the vast majority of people hadn't seen anyone in their lives who wasn't a Soviet citizen. It was just creepy.
At this point, at 23, I really had only a small collection of life skills and making them work in another culture was challenging. Purchasing food was tricky, and preparing it well was often beyond me. I lived on deep fried potatoes and bread. I lost significant weight and got down to 95 pounds. I was alone all the time. I made only one good friend, and, of course, she couldn't babysit me; she had her own life to lead. I read all of the time because my music collection sucked, I didn't have a TV, and the radio was limited. There was no internet then and about half of my mail didn't make it to me from home. My students gave me a stray kitten for a pet, but I had such a strong allergic reaction to it, I had to give it back even though I was starving for company and really could have used some fur therapy.
I looked horrible the whole year. I could only bring with me what luggage I could carry and that included toiletries, books, teaching supplies, anything I'd want for a whole year, so my wardrobe was limited. Everything I wore, I hand washed when it got dirty, and I wasn't exactly adept at that, so I looked layered and rumpled and ugly all of the time. Russian girls my age there made a real effort to look sexy even in the worst weather. My goal was not to die of exposure, and to hell with the rest. I had my mom send over contact lens solution (at great cost - thanks, Mom) so that I could ditch the glasses I'd intended to wear all year because I couldn't stand to look plain, rumpled, and bespectacled all the time, every day. There were so many pretty girls there. I felt like Nanny McFee.
In the end, all these things added to some travel related visa problems made me a nervous wreck. Despite having learned numerous new skills, I felt like a huge failure because I was only surviving, not thriving. The constant isolation only increased my anxiety and paranoia. I left early, came home, stayed with my parents for awhile and dialed it back to near zero. Everyone wanted to hear about my exciting time abroad, and I could barely bring myself to talk about any of it, too shell-shocked and, at the same time, too proud to admit how I'd floundered. The whole experience was humbling in the extreme.
Looking back now, I wish I'd lived with a family instead of on my own. I wanted privacy, but I think having a foster mother type would have helped tremendously, even if I'd had to sleep on someone's couch. I needed a sounding board and more emotional support than I had available, and some decent food would have helped.
I remembered all of that today when I read that interview and wished I could have somehow imparted the handful of wisdom I learned then, or at least been able to ship off a home cooked meal to Robert Pattinson (who would probably only laugh at me for my impertinence). Poor lad, away from home and surrounded by complete lunatics and opportunists. I will never understand fans who mob famous people and faint and scream. I'm not sure I could actually bring myself to introduce myself to someone even semi-famous (such as a favorite author) whom I liked and respected. What would I say? Nothing impressive or of importance, I'm sure. Better I stay at home where if I say something stupid, there's a limited audience for it.