So, with that being said, let me first tell you where I've been. I recently visited Karolyi Castle in Carei, Romania, where inhabitants established a castle back during the Austro-Hungarian empire. The location was quaint, since its quiet geography attracted many visitors regionally. However, I cannot necessarily laud the manor as I would with Peles Castle, in Sinaia, but it was still nevertheless a wonderful. The library conjured romantic and literary sentiments, some of which produced a vehement urge to go through and gaze at the books, wondering what person in which century devoured those stories. The grandiosity of the piano elicited a romantic inclination and momentary sensation of curiosity of what it would have been like to play the piano (or pianoforte) with so many arduous individuals as part of my audience. My propensity to romanticize and capture simple things with grand language revelled at the castle, wondering what must have happened in these rooms that are undocumented, what was exchanged that cannot be recorded in books, and what occurred that history in unaware of, that will only remain in the memory of the inhabitants. A million and one scenarios played in my head before returning to simple enjoy the moment at present.
With the arrival of extremely unpredictable weather, one day it will be -5C and snowing, the next day will be a torrential downpour, and the following day will be a pleasant day with 10C. As a result, dressing accordingly has somewhat grown to be a conundrum. Do I feel like dressing practically or fashionably? Thankfully, perusing through Pinterest has finally given me enough inspiration (and motivation) to document my outfit.
{ top: Zara; pants: H&M; leather boots: Manor; purse: Anne Klein; necklace: H&M; watch: Tissot }
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I will warn you in advance: I'm about to get very real with you. (Well...as real as I'm comfortable sharing on the Internet.) If you prefer not to read this likely long post about my past several months, then, please, I implore you venture elsewhere. You are not obliged to keep reading. (Go on tumblr, watch a music video on YouTube, read a book...) You want to know what I have to say? Alright then, don't say I didn't warn you.
I've contemplated how I wanted to go about this. I really don't want to sound stuffy or regal, so I've decided to address you, dear reader, as a friend. So I'd like to imagine that I'm sitting at the Commons, at my university campus, in my friend's room, talking about the very thing I'm about to share. Before coming to Romania, I had the delusional idea that life here would be grand. I'll be living in Europe now, I have a different palette to choose from, I have a different place to go shopping and buy clothes (I still miss TJ Maxx), and I have new people with whom I converse. And it was fine; it was great during the summer. Everything I ever wanted in a summer chapter happened: I had good friends, things to go, a romantic interest, and places to see. And it continued that way for a short while thereafter. I appeared to be on Cloud Nine. It was fun, it was adventurous, and it was (seemingly) everything I ever wanted.
Then life happened. Things changed. I really cannot recall the hour or the moment when things changed or perhaps my perception altered. All I knew is that it was already happening before I was aware of it. I had entered perhaps the most difficult season of my life, without anything around me the goodness of God. Instead of gaining hope, encouragement, and strength, I was feeling hopeless, discouraged, and plainly all out of faith. I turned left and right, but no matter where I looked or how hard I stared into some obscure oblivion, I did not receive the answers to the questions I was asking, nor a reply to what I was saying. I continued with my routine, slowly withering away yet depleted so severely of any vitality, that I existed as a former version of myself. I so longed to hear words of encouragement, for someone to notice that I was venturing down a dark road, yet people are so caught up with a plasticity that perpetuates the culture of Romania that I didn't find solace or comfort in anything really. Church, people, close friends...I felt a variety of emotions, all of which offered no remedy for the injury that no band-aid can cover. After some time, I found myself distant from God, from the person I can always count on, that I can depend on, and that will love me unconditionally? I was crippled with the question how I got here, how I got to feel so far away from Christ. I've lost sight of who God is for me. I lost the joy, the laughter, the pure childlike wonder I had for my loving Father. Instead, I've listed reasons why He should have nothing to do with me. That's not who He is and that's not what He's like. I haven't heard a preaching that discussed the insurmountable depth of love Christ has for me, that when He looks into my eyes, He doesn't recall all the many mistakes I've made or flaws that I have. Instead, He gazes right at me, looking directly in the eye and whispers that He loves me, that my identity does not rest of what I've done (what I've done, past tense), but rather who I am, to Him. I've missed knowing that I'm called daughter, princess, beloved one, lovely one, beautiful one, instead of phrases linked to servitude that is more or less equated to a service an employee has to his employer. This theology of conditional love is so perpetually concurrent in the culture is absolute bullshit. Why are you painting a portrait of God of something He is not? Listening long enough, messages flooded my heart that consumed my heart. Instead of lauding His grandeur, His merciful embrace, and how sweetly and softly He whispers in your ears, the central message is that God will love me if I meet His conditions (which apparently are not even constructed by Him, but rather religious institutions). God is not vindictive, furious, or conditional; He is gracious, He is kind, and He is loving, forever and ever and ever. The God you're talking about is definitely not the God that I experience.
The best way to describe is that I was a sailor preparing a journey on my boat. I was accustomed to the seas, I adequately prepared for the journey, but then an unprecedented storm came and it shipwrecked me, and I was marooned. All my supplies were lost and I was lost at sea, without something to hang on to. I felt lost, without a hope to hang onto. Lying on a piece of plywood, the only thing keeping me afloat, I eventually ventured on the sea, without the slightest idea of where I was going or where I was. Then, ever so slightly, a light flickered in the distance, and as I would swim towards it, the light would intensify. Eventually, with the brightness of the light ever increasing, I found my way back to the shore, to the place where I originally had ventured. I felt like I knew what I was getting myself into, but I was horribly mistaken. If I take enough time to think of my life here, I'm filled with a thousand questions that I may never have the answer to. (Why can't people drive properly? Why do Romanians talk so much? Why can't you stay in your own (insert expletive) business? Do you feel the need to give your opinion on everything, even though I never asked for it? Why don't you respect people? Why can't you respect my privacy? Why do you judge me because I'm from Canada? What makes you think you're better than me, simply because you're from Romania?) Even from the simple way I act and think, I'm clearly set apart, but that is not necessarily a good thing. Apparently, I cannot think and act for myself without needing the constant validation of the opposite sex. I don't give a shit if the cultural norm is that the woman has to listen to the man as if she's some sort of lesser equal; I am able to think for myself, without needing to subtly put words into my mouth. I am not like you, primed to act like some sort of diva that believes that she deserves all the nice things in life, covering my entire face in tons of makeup, and revealing half my ass in shorts two sizes too small. If I want to wear makeup, I'm not a diva. If I have nice clothes, I am not some sort of spoiled princess from Canada that doesn't have to life a single finger. I so want to embrace this culture, but it often proves very difficult when there are many things I do not want to succumb to.
Though life has wanted to break down, to fail, to fall down, and to give up, I am not going to give that satisfaction. So while moving here proved to indeed be difficult, that's okay. Why? Because this gives me a chance to learn more about myself, about what I'm capable of accomplishing and doing, and more about who God is, in a world that attempts to say something different on the matter. That does not mean I don't feel the pang of nostalgia or absence of Virginia or Canada, because I do. I miss people minding their own business, treating every single individual with respect, driving responsibly (without having to constantly fear that you're going to get into an accident because some douchebag wants to be smart about it and cut you off just so he can advance a foot), and not manipulating people under the umbrella of grace. If I can make it in Romania, I can make it anywhere.
The best way to describe is that I was a sailor preparing a journey on my boat. I was accustomed to the seas, I adequately prepared for the journey, but then an unprecedented storm came and it shipwrecked me, and I was marooned. All my supplies were lost and I was lost at sea, without something to hang on to. I felt lost, without a hope to hang onto. Lying on a piece of plywood, the only thing keeping me afloat, I eventually ventured on the sea, without the slightest idea of where I was going or where I was. Then, ever so slightly, a light flickered in the distance, and as I would swim towards it, the light would intensify. Eventually, with the brightness of the light ever increasing, I found my way back to the shore, to the place where I originally had ventured. I felt like I knew what I was getting myself into, but I was horribly mistaken. If I take enough time to think of my life here, I'm filled with a thousand questions that I may never have the answer to. (Why can't people drive properly? Why do Romanians talk so much? Why can't you stay in your own (insert expletive) business? Do you feel the need to give your opinion on everything, even though I never asked for it? Why don't you respect people? Why can't you respect my privacy? Why do you judge me because I'm from Canada? What makes you think you're better than me, simply because you're from Romania?) Even from the simple way I act and think, I'm clearly set apart, but that is not necessarily a good thing. Apparently, I cannot think and act for myself without needing the constant validation of the opposite sex. I don't give a shit if the cultural norm is that the woman has to listen to the man as if she's some sort of lesser equal; I am able to think for myself, without needing to subtly put words into my mouth. I am not like you, primed to act like some sort of diva that believes that she deserves all the nice things in life, covering my entire face in tons of makeup, and revealing half my ass in shorts two sizes too small. If I want to wear makeup, I'm not a diva. If I have nice clothes, I am not some sort of spoiled princess from Canada that doesn't have to life a single finger. I so want to embrace this culture, but it often proves very difficult when there are many things I do not want to succumb to.
Though life has wanted to break down, to fail, to fall down, and to give up, I am not going to give that satisfaction. So while moving here proved to indeed be difficult, that's okay. Why? Because this gives me a chance to learn more about myself, about what I'm capable of accomplishing and doing, and more about who God is, in a world that attempts to say something different on the matter. That does not mean I don't feel the pang of nostalgia or absence of Virginia or Canada, because I do. I miss people minding their own business, treating every single individual with respect, driving responsibly (without having to constantly fear that you're going to get into an accident because some douchebag wants to be smart about it and cut you off just so he can advance a foot), and not manipulating people under the umbrella of grace. If I can make it in Romania, I can make it anywhere.
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