It is 12:30 P.M. in Agia Paraskevi, the small neighborhood outside of Greece where I am staying. It's only 12:30 and reality has already began to set in. Today I spent the morning by myself while my classmates were on an excursion in downtown Athens.
Since I had some time to myself, I figured I would spend some time at the gym and take care of some errands. My experience at the gym was great-once I was able to find my way inside.
I bet you are wondering what I meant by "reality has already began to sink in." Well, I can explain that statement pretty simply. When I spend time out in Greece on my own, I realize how helpless I am in a foreign country.
I only know some conversational Greek and the Greek alphabet. When it comes to reading Greek, I would put my skills at the preschool level. So when I am looking at signs and labels, desperately searching for what I want, I feel like a 4 year old who needs his mommy's help to find his Cocoa Puffs. Except mommy isn't here. Mommy is 5,000 miles away.
This morning I also tried to find the post office, and because of the deficiencies described above I was thwarted in that endeavor. While I was walking in the punishing Greek sun with sweat accosting seemingly every pore on my body I had a revelation. "This is what it is like to be different." I have felt different before, for many reasons, but being different never cost me the ability to get the things that I needed or wanted.
I get looked at strangely a lot here, too. Having blonde hair and blue in Greece draws peoples eyes quickly and regularly. It's a different type of stare though, not of admiration or inspection-but of evaluation. I feel like I am being sized up. Xeno, they call me: the stranger.
I also went to the local grocery store in search of humus, a middle eastern side that I thought would be easy to locate. Greeted again by the ocular grip of the men watching the front of the store I made my way through in search of my goal. Here's a hint: they didn't have humus in this store. So, as I meandered around, probably looking absolutely ridiculous, I once again felt helpless. One of the store keepers pointed in my direction. said something in Greek, and called for one of his coworker who I knew already spoke English. I was already being singled out. Before she arrived, though, another man approached me and said another phrase in Greek-I think he was asking me what I was looking for. Almost as soon as I opened my mouth in response with "Humus?" He broke eye contact with me, went back to his work, and called "Teffi!" At that moment in time I ceased to be a person-I was a problem that needed dealing with. Teffi was the name of the lady who spoke English. She tried to help me, but couldn't completely understand what I was asking for. I politely said thank you and goodbye.
I don't want you to think that I am complaining. In fact, feeling different is one of the most liberating experiences I can remember. It feels poor at the time, but when I sit back and think about it, understanding how different you are forces you to look at other people differently. There will be people who act and speak differently than me in America, and each of them have feelings and egos just like I do, and I am certain that I treat them just the same as I have been treated in Greece.
The foundation for tolerance is understanding, not ignorance. I am reminded of this in Greece. The people here don't quite understand me and I don't quite understand me. What I do understand, however, is that they are people. People who, just like me, deserve respect. It is from that understanding that I will build.
Since I had some time to myself, I figured I would spend some time at the gym and take care of some errands. My experience at the gym was great-once I was able to find my way inside.
I bet you are wondering what I meant by "reality has already began to sink in." Well, I can explain that statement pretty simply. When I spend time out in Greece on my own, I realize how helpless I am in a foreign country.
I only know some conversational Greek and the Greek alphabet. When it comes to reading Greek, I would put my skills at the preschool level. So when I am looking at signs and labels, desperately searching for what I want, I feel like a 4 year old who needs his mommy's help to find his Cocoa Puffs. Except mommy isn't here. Mommy is 5,000 miles away.
This morning I also tried to find the post office, and because of the deficiencies described above I was thwarted in that endeavor. While I was walking in the punishing Greek sun with sweat accosting seemingly every pore on my body I had a revelation. "This is what it is like to be different." I have felt different before, for many reasons, but being different never cost me the ability to get the things that I needed or wanted.
I get looked at strangely a lot here, too. Having blonde hair and blue in Greece draws peoples eyes quickly and regularly. It's a different type of stare though, not of admiration or inspection-but of evaluation. I feel like I am being sized up. Xeno, they call me: the stranger.
I also went to the local grocery store in search of humus, a middle eastern side that I thought would be easy to locate. Greeted again by the ocular grip of the men watching the front of the store I made my way through in search of my goal. Here's a hint: they didn't have humus in this store. So, as I meandered around, probably looking absolutely ridiculous, I once again felt helpless. One of the store keepers pointed in my direction. said something in Greek, and called for one of his coworker who I knew already spoke English. I was already being singled out. Before she arrived, though, another man approached me and said another phrase in Greek-I think he was asking me what I was looking for. Almost as soon as I opened my mouth in response with "Humus?" He broke eye contact with me, went back to his work, and called "Teffi!" At that moment in time I ceased to be a person-I was a problem that needed dealing with. Teffi was the name of the lady who spoke English. She tried to help me, but couldn't completely understand what I was asking for. I politely said thank you and goodbye.
I don't want you to think that I am complaining. In fact, feeling different is one of the most liberating experiences I can remember. It feels poor at the time, but when I sit back and think about it, understanding how different you are forces you to look at other people differently. There will be people who act and speak differently than me in America, and each of them have feelings and egos just like I do, and I am certain that I treat them just the same as I have been treated in Greece.
The foundation for tolerance is understanding, not ignorance. I am reminded of this in Greece. The people here don't quite understand me and I don't quite understand me. What I do understand, however, is that they are people. People who, just like me, deserve respect. It is from that understanding that I will build.
