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."