Goodbye

There are two types of goodbyes. There is a kind of goodbye where you kiss the people you love, find your seat on the train, and look out the window and wave. And you think: “I’ll see you next Tuesday” or “I’ll see you at Christmas.” That kind of goodbye requires the type of waiting when you know something is coming, sooner rather than later. It’s like waiting for a party where you know you’ll see someone you like, or waiting for the evening bus that takes you home. And maybe you are sad, but you look out the window and wave and you feel okay.

But there is another kind of a goodbye, a kind of goodbye that I am all too familiar with at this moment as I sit in the middle of Budapest absolutely alone. There is a kind of goodbye that puts a fist in your heart when you get on the train; there is a kind of goodbye that will elicit tears at any given moment. The moment you think your tears are finished, you will look down at your lap while you’re drinking your coffee and you’ll realize that your eyes are wet. This is the kind of goodbye that makes you unable to do anything but look out the window on the train and play moments over and over again in your head. This is the kind of goodbye that makes you feel as if you are waiting for something, but you are not sure what. This is the kind of goodbye that is the most beautiful and the most terrible.

I said goodbye to Ukraine and got on the train to Budapest. The entire train ride, I imagined my mind was a video camera, and I rewound my mind to play back every moment of my time in Ukraine from the beginning. I remembered meeting Sydney in Budapest and running to each other as if we had known one another for a lifetime, though we had only met once before. I remember getting to Ukraine and feeling absolutely giddy that I was back in Eastern Europe. I remember going to the orphanage for the first time. I remember when Sydney fell down the stairs at a café and I had tears running down my face I was laughing so hard. I remember going on walks alone and being incandescently happy about being in Ukraine. I remember going on runs in the forest with my favorite Ukrainian; I remember every moment. I remember drinking tea in a little kitchen. I remember all of the people; never have I met so many incredibly loving people as I have in the past three months. I remember strong coffee and listening to the Ukrainian language. I remember walking home at nighttime along the river in the cold weather and having the wind bite my cheeks. I remember listening to music in my bed when I couldn’t sleep. I remember singing the ABC’s every day at the orphanage; I remember what the children’s faces look like when they try to focus. I remember Korchi, Zyna, Ivan, Sasha, and every beautiful, orphaned child I had the pleasure of meeting. I remember trying to speak Ukrainian. I remember my favorite coffee guy that sells coffee out of the back of a van. Every moment in Ukraine was worth remembering.

So, Ukraine: I am madly in love with you. Thank you for everything. Thank you for every beautiful, wonderful, sad, happy moment. I am the luckiest girl in the world. Thank you for teaching me the difference between stoicism and strength, between fragility and sensitivity.Thank you for your beautiful people; thank you for him, her and them. Let’s make this a “see you later” rather than a goodbye, shall we?

Love always,

Hannah

Lately

Lately: 

My little family (myself + roommate) gained another member...a puppy named Kira. 

Long train trip to spend a blissful four days with cousins in another city in Ukraine. 

Making Thanksgiving dinner (kind of) in Ukraine and feeling very thankful. 

Waking up to snow. 

Beginning the process of saying goodbye to my Ukrainian life. 

Soon, I will board a train and leave Ukraine behind. But until then, let's enjoy every moment, shall we? 

"Because the girl who reads knows the importance of plot. She can trace out the demarcations of a prologue and the sharp ridges of a climax. She feels them in her skin. The girl who reads will be patient with an intermission and expedite a denouement. But, of all things, the girl who reads knows most the ineluctable significance of an end. She is comfortable with them. She has bid farewell to a thousand heroes with only a twinge of sadness. The girl who reads has spun out the account of her life and it is bursting with meaning. She insists that her narratives are rich, her supporting case colorful, and her typeface bold." 

Today

Pack your bags for a city in Western Ukraine that nobody knows the name of. Pack your books, your black sweaters, and pictures of the ones you love. Kiss your mother and father goodbye; don’t look back when you get past security. Buy yourself a coffee and wait at the gate for your flight. Hold tightly to your passport and re-read your flight itinerary. Look around at the people sitting near you; where are they going? Are they sad? Wonder about them and wonder if they’re wondering about you. Try to distinguish the different languages being spoken. Board the plane and curl up next to the window. Breath in recycled air for ten hours. Listen to your music and read letters from home. Let a few tears escape, then brush them away because this time, you’re going at it alone. Touch down in Amsterdam and stretch your legs. Fight off sleep with books and small coffees. Board another plane and fly to Budapest. Accept a tea from the flight attendant and stumble over your words when she asks where you are from and where you are going. Walk around the city in a tired haze. Eat street market food. Feel your pulse quicken and think: “Tomorrow, I will be in Ukraine.” Go to sleep and wake up and board a train to the Ukrainian city that will be your home for the next few months. Make your home in a little flat. Let your books form a fortress around your bed; tape pictures of your dog and family next to your pillow. Think of yourself as the luckiest girl in the world. Take baths in the small bathtub and fall asleep with wet hair, wrapped in wool blankets. Learn the bus schedules and the idiosyncrasies of the tiny elevator. Train your heart to be gone. Remind yourself that you have chosen to be absent and your solitude is a beautiful thing. Remind yourself that you are young, beautiful, and you are allowed to fall in love with a different country. Walk the dusty, cobblestoned streets and listen to the men play music on the bridge. Sit alone in a café and drink coffee with milk. Pretend you are Ukrainian. Recognize the stray dogs you see every day. Nod a hello to the goat you see every morning. Barter for apples in broken Russian and burst into a charming fit on laughter when the old man gives them to you for free. Drink old red wine with new friends. Write to your mother and father and tell them that you miss them. Stand on the little Soviet balcony when you can’t sleep. Take a weekend train trip to another city; lay back on the tiny bed and feel irrationally happy about being in the middle of nowhere. Let people miss you. Meet new people. Pay attention. Write it all down, only for yourself. Sit down and write in the notebooks you brought from home. Don’t filter your thoughts; write down everything you have seen and everything you have heard. Learn how to teach English through trial and error. Sit on the floor of your bedroom and make crafts for the children. Make pumpkins and spiders out of construction paper. Fall in love with the kids at the orphanage even though you’ll be gone in a matter of months. Adore them even though you will soon be just another goodbye. Daydream about wrapping them in blankets and watching them watch Lion King for the first time. Let yourself be sad because you know that will never happen. Stop worrying about germs and let every kid grab your hand as much as they want. Sing “Head, Shoulders, Knees and Toes” forty thousand times. Wake up on a day that is not specifically special, do your morning routine, and come to the quiet realization that Ukraine feels like home. Think about how your heart will likely always be in two places now; and know that that is both a gift and a burden. Put off thinking about saying goodbye. 

Home (is where the coffee and books are)

Snapshots

PS...all of these pictures were taken by my friends Sydney and Vasya, who are amazing and wonderful.

Saturday Morning

This morning is the first morning in awhile that I've had completely to myself. It is the kind of morning where you open your eyes and stretch your body out and feel your toes crack and feel absolute bliss because you have no where you need to be and nobody you need to see. I woke up to a somewhat dreary morning, put on slippers and an oversized sweater that I keep next to my little bed, walked to the kitchen, and lit the stove with a match to begin brewing my coffee. It's quiet right now; I can look out the window of my flat and see stray dogs padding around the dumpsters and mothers walking to the market for Saturday shopping. I sat down with a small cup of very strong, dark coffee and I was looking back at the notebook I've been keeping throughout my time in Ukraine.

I found this excerpt towards the beginning of the notebook: "I like little lives. I like little apartments and people who go to work and come home to their family. I like good, purposeful work and being around the people I love. I like having my coffee; I like having my books. It's more than enough for me to have good work and a simple life. I think I could be happy forever in a small, Ukrainian town that nobody knows the name of..."

And that's true. I have developed such a deep appreciation for the tiniest things in my daily life, both in Ukraine and my life back in Oregon. People are all that really matter. I love the smallest of details about the people I am so lucky to have in my life. I almost feel spoiled that I have such wonderful people at home and I get to have wonderful people in Ukraine, too. It overwhelms me on a daily basis; how did I ever get so lucky to meet such good people so far away from home?

And though I feel incredibly lucky and blessed, I also feel sad. Because sometime in the not so very distant future, I will have to bid farewell to my life here and return home. But, I've learned that even though goodbyes are on the horizon, investing and loving those around me is STILL worth it. Adoring the children at the orphanage is still worth it, even though soon I'll just be another goodbye. If you're anything like me, whoever you are, you've been told that you're "too sensitive." And I'm here to tell you that whoever said that to you probably didn't notice and appreciate the tiniest, most beautiful details of this amazing life we get to live. Sensitivity is a beautiful thing, perhaps even a rare thing, and you don't need to apologize for it. Keep adoring those around you, keep noticing things, and keep pouring yourself into the cracks of other people. You'll have to say goodbye eventually, you will inevitably get hurt, but it is worth it and it is valuable.

So, here's to the remaining month (or so) of my wonderful, challenging, beautiful Ukrainian life. I plan to suck the marrow out of each and every day.

Midpoint

And so begins November...

Sydney and I had a sleepover last night. We sat at the little kitchen table in my home away from home, sipped wine, and talked about anything, everything, and nothing. Sometime during our conversation, I realized that October was coming to an end and it was time to say hello to November. It's now the midpoint of my Ukrainian adventure; one half of my journey has come to an end.

Being in the middle of something, whether it be a journey or otherwise, naturally brings about some kind of reflective, introspective attitude. I feel that now, especially when I think about how short the time is that I have left in Ukraine.

My mind works in snapshots, moments, and quotes. Every day of my little Ukrainian life, I think to myself: "Remember this, Hannah. Remember this moment." I keep a notebook next to my bed, and every night I write down things that my friends have said, things my students have done, and other little moments that I want to remember. These tiny things make up my life in Ukraine, and I never want to forget them.

I'd like to share some of those moments with you, whoever you are. Maybe it will give you a peek into the wonderful, challenging, beautiful life that I am so lucky to have in Ukraine.

So, here you go:

Sitting in the kitchen and drinking tea with Sydney, surrounded by scraps of paper and cutting out pumpkin after pumpkin after pumpkin for the students that we adore. Listening to the Amelie soundtrack and cracking the window to listen to the rain.

Waking up early and catching a train with my friend Vasya to go trail running outside of the city. Running for twenty miles and ending up in a village stuck in time in the middle of nowhere. Sharing a bar of chocolate while waiting for the bus to take us back to Uzghorod.

Arriving at the orphanage to find Sasha, a student who has a very special place in my heart, waiting to greet me. Swallowing back happy tears as he grabs my hand to lead me into the classroom.

Watching the earnest faces of the students at the orphanage as they repeat the alphabet back to me. Holding back giggles as they scream: "M!!! MICKEY MOUSE!!!"

Listening to Katya, an amazing woman and a graduate of the orphanage, tell her story over a pizza. Listening to Sydney ask her: "What is the one thing you would like to tell kids in America?" Sucking in a deep breath as Katya answered quietly: "Love your parents."

Collapsing into bed every night, feeling tired but content. Waking up each morning, listening to Lord Huron, and making coffee and black bread toast.

These are little moments, but they are things I want to always remember.

Cutting my hair, kissing my parents goodbye, and getting on that plane without looking back was the best decision of my life. There is great value in leaving behind what is familiar for what is true; there is value in greeting each day with open arms even if your arms are bruised and tired. There is great value in investing in others, regardless of whether you see the return for your work or not. There is good work to be done, and I am thankful for every day. So, if you're feeling low, stretch your arms above your head, put on your best jeans, and pull your hair back. There's good work to be done, coffee to drink, runs to go on, and people to meet. This is an amazing world that we live in.

The Island of Misfits

Twice a week, I travel to a beautiful, strange, hidden place on the outskirts of Uzghorod, Ukraine. 

Sydney and I duck into a little convenience store to purchase juice boxes, crackers, cheese, and chocolate before catching an unmarked bus at an unmarked bus stop that will take us to Chaslivitsi Orphanage. Sometimes the bus is purple and sometimes it's green. We eat our food and I silently hand Sydney one of the earbuds to my iPod. We listen to music, look out the window, and watch old men herd their cows on the side of the street. Time stops outside of the city. Grandmothers in head scarves sit outside of their homes on benches; men smoke cigarettes and watch the bus pass by. 

The bus stops outside of a stretch of iron gates. Bright yellow leaves litter the ground. We hop off the bus and Sydney waits patiently as I grab handfuls of leaves to keep in my bag for crafts on a later date. We walk through the gates and up a brick-lined walkway. The children know we are coming; they yell some variation of our names and we are enveloped in a mess of greetings, hugs, and hand pulling. We walk into "our classroom." The ever-faithful Sydney immediately begins writing the alphabet with illustrations upon the chalkboard and I greet the class. We have our English lessons; sometimes it goes smoothly and other times it does not. 

The first time I stepped foot on the grounds of the Chaslivitsi Orphanage, I immediately thought: Island of Misfits. It's from the movie Rudolph, the Red-Nosed Reindeer, if you have been living under a rock for the past few decades. Many of the children have developmental disabilities.  Most of the children have been orphaned. They have little to call their own. They are misfits without a home; they are children that do not fit anywhere. And I love them. I love their little quirks; I love their excitement over remembering the word "apple." I love that I get to be a part of their lives; I hope that they can find some kind of temporary home within the love I have for them in the short period I am here. 

On days like today, Sydney and I walk out of the iron gates and leave the grounds of the orphanage to catch the bus back to the city. On days like today, we are quiet and I am a strange, bizarre mix of sad and thankful. We wait for the bus and we think about how lucky we are to have met these little misfits. Sydney looks at me and we both know that we are sad, but we know we are also deeply, deeply thankful. We get on the bus and it is the end of another day, and we are okay. 

On days like today, I thank God for the misfits. I say, God bless the ones that never fit in; God bless the ones without homes. God bless the marginalized populations, and God bless the ones who are brave enough to look sadness in the face and accept it. 

"Rudolph, I promise. As soon as this storm lets up, I'll find homes for all those misfit toys." 

-Santa Clause 

Little Moments

"So, I cut off my hair 

And I rode straight away 

For the wild, unknown country

Where I could not go wrong"

-B. Dylan

Lviv, Ukraine

I often ask Ukrainians the following question: what is the one thing that I must do while I am in Ukraine? Nearly every person I ask, young or old, replies by telling me that I simply must go to Lviv. They continue by explaining that Lviv is the city of art, coffee, and chocolate. I habitually consume two of those three things, so when my partner in crime and fellow intern, Syndey MacNaughton, announced that her birthday weekend was quickly approaching, we decided that we would go to Lviv and see if it was as amazing as we were imagining. 

It was. 

Lviv is quaint, artistic, and quintessentially Ukrainian. We walked the cobblestoned roads and I felt as if I was in a beautiful, old foreign film. Toothless men played the accordion and winked as we passed, children walked hand in hand with their mothers while eating cotton candy, and couples languidly sipped espresso alongside the cafe lined roads. Sydney and I did nothing but drink lattes, walk, and eat pastries all day. 

We made our way to the train station in the late evening to catch the overnight train back to our little home. We boarded the train after receiving the assistance and direction of some very kind strangers, and found our modestly furnished compartment. The compartment consisted of four tiny leather beds, two on top and two on bottom, and one coffee table. I loved it. We cracked open some waters and a bar of chocolate that I gleefully discovered in my bag, and talked as the train carried us home. Eventually, Sydney fell asleep and I laid on my back in my tiny bed and let the train rock me side to side. I was kept awake by the many coffees I had enjoyed, but I didn't mind a bit. That's what travel is to me. Travel is being rocked from side to side as a train carries you through the Transcarpathian Mountains. Travel is being in the middle of nowhere and feeling strangely content. Travel is reveling in solitude; travel is appreciating the beauty in loneliness. Travel is adjusting, adapting, and learning how to be away from what is familiar. Travel is not always a glamorous, Instagram-worthy moment; it is made up of the seemingly insignificant moments like being on a train at one in the morning.  

I would like to conclude this blogpost with a shout-out to my mother's Junior High girls Bible class. Thank you for reading this, girls! I am honored to have your support. I read each and every one of the notes you gave to me, and I still pull them out from time to time. I was thinking about all of you this evening, and it made me think back to my own experience at your age. I thought of some things that I wish I had heard when I was in Junior High, and I decided I would share them with you...

Always see your own beauty without a mirror and without a compliment. 

Make sure that your backbone is always stronger than your wishbone. 

You're not too young to make plans or to have dreams; I was younger than you when I decided I wanted to travel to Eastern Europe. 

Pay attention to your mom. She'd probably make a great best friend. 

Don't pay attention to boys who aren't nice to you. 

The most attractive girls are the girls who use their hands and minds for the good of others. 

Please email me if you ever want to hang out and get ice cream. 

Good Things

Falling in love with Ukraine more every day: new friends, good coffee, cold walks along the river, challenging and rewarding work, tea in my flat, Gregory Alan Isakov/Feist on repeat, street festivals and food, and upcoming train trips. 

The Beginning

My days in Ukraine go a little bit like this: 

I wake up in the morning in a dining room that doubles as my bedroom, pull on some wool socks, and quietly shuffle into the kitchen. I struggle with the Ukrainian coffee machine for about a minute, muttering under my breath (not really). As the coffee brews, I stand on the balcony of the 14th floor of the small Soviet flat I've been calling home and watch Uzhgorod wake up. People in fur-hooded coats walk to work, taxis beep their horns, and the city slowly comes to life. Autumn is in full swing here in Ukraine and I love it. I eat a breakfast of toast, cheese and sausage. I drink three tiny cups of coffee and get dressed: black turtleneck, jeans, and boots. 

I ride the tiny elevator down, usually squished between two large, intimidating Soviet-looking men. I greet them with a smile and they usually do not return it. I walk along the river and nod a hello to the fishermen and stray dogs. Then, I make my way to one of five organizations: Public School #14, The Rehab Center for disabled children, Chaslivitsi Orphanage, New Family Center, or Pavlovo Farm Home. This week has been a time of visiting my different work sites and attempting to create a work schedule for the next three months. I will also likely be working at the hospital for abandoned babies; I'll be cuddling the little ones and changing their diapers. 

Although I have yet to solidify a consistent work schedule, I've found myself adjusting to living as a Ukrainian quite well. I love it here. I've been attempting to speak Ukrainian even though I butcher it all the time. I have moments of pride when I catch bits of people's conversations in coffee shops or when I can direct a taxi alone. Mostly, I just mimic people under my breath and hope that eventually I will know what it all means. 

Living in a foreign country is both inspiring and isolating. Some moments, I feel inexplicably connected to those around me though we come from vastly different cultures and speak different languages. Other moments, I feel absolutely isolated and lightyears away from home. Some moments I feel overwhelmed by what lies ahead; how can I make these three months truly count? 

In these moments, I compulsively repeat this phrase in my mind: start where you are, use what you have, and do what you can. The perfect moment and the perfect situation is never here, but what is in front of me NOW? What can I do NOW? I can start where I am, I can use what I have, and I can do what I can. It's never perfect, but it's up to me to put one foot in front of the other on both the good days and bad. Sometimes it's wonderful and beautiful, other days it's not. But I'll take both, thank you. 

And thus concludes the first week(ish) of my Ukrainian adventure. In the words of good ol' Vincent Van Gogh: "I am seeking, I am striving, I am in this with all of my heart." 

Welcome and Introductions!

Hello and welcome! Please allow me to introduce myself...

My name is Hannah Janese Bittner. I am twenty one years of age and a student at Oregon State University. I am currently sitting in a corner of the Amsterdam airport, and I realized now was as good as time as any to begin documenting my journey.

I am embarking on a three month adventure to the country of Ukraine. During my time in Ukraine, I will be teaching English in a rural orphanage for disabled children, teaching in a school for Roma children, and doing several other things as well. I have traveled to Ukraine three times before, though this will be my longest stay.

Ukraine was not chosen at random. My love affair with Eastern Europe began at the ripe, young age of ten. I was ten when I picked out a book in the library about World War II; I sat in the corner and read the whole thing cover to cover. I have been drawn to Eastern Europe ever since. In addition to this, my father has traveled to Ukraine countless times, and I suppose I just strangely followed in his footsteps. I love Ukraine, and I am so excited to get to live there for three months. I really, really am.

I would like to take this moment to express my gratitude to those who helped make this opportunity possible. I consider it an absolute honor to have the support of my family and friends; without them, this would not have been possible. I believe that my parents are not only the best parents in the world, but they are also the best people in the whole world. If you do not yet know them, you should get to know them. You will not regret it. My mother and father are selfless, beautiful people. My father is a dreamer; he is the one I go to when I have a crazy idea or adventure in mind. He always looks me straight in the eye and tells me to go. A father that supports his daughter that selflessly is a rare gem. My mother is my rock; she is my best friend and closest companion. If my father is the dreamer, my mother is the glue. She is the one who holds everything together; she is the one who will wait up for me at 2AM when I need to talk and eat popcorn. My parents have taught me that true love does not bind; true love liberates. They always let me go, and that is how I know they truly love me.

In addition to my parents, I have a pretty amazing support system of friends that have been constant sources of encouragement. I am so unbelievably thankful for every one of them and each of the unique relationships they have allowed me to be a part of. I hope that each of them knows that I am honored to have a front row seat in their lives. And shout out to Scotty and Annie, my brother and sister: this summer has been the best. Thanks for sleeping in my van with me.

So, here we go! Thank you for reading this and taking an interest in my adventures in Ukraine. Here's to a great three months in the country I love!

"True love doesn't bind. It liberates. True love says: I love you if you are home. I love you if you are in New York. I love you if you are in Iceland. I would like to be near you, but that's not possible right now. So, I love you. GO."