Feelings about Honesty

I've been doing a lot of thinking in the past few days. One of the downfalls of this voyage is boredom. I have too much time to think about the future, and not enough time to focus on what I'm doing. I lack certain resources that I used to have, the most important one being friends. I have friends here, but nothing like my friends back home.

It's a strange kind of homesickness. I feel tired from all this missing. I haven't seen a large number of my male friends for literally coming up on two years. I have been away from BYU for so long, I find myself longing for it. Not necessarily all aspects of it, but certainly the clean campus, the world class facilities, and most of all, the people. I miss people.

And then, there's the friend group I had at institute back home; I miss people.

And my family! I miss having a family dinner, sitting around talking about nothing, watching movies, being calm...it has been so long. My parents have started planning a family vacation; I find myself day and night dreaming about reuniting with them on a beach somewhere in Cape Cod, remembering the purple van we named Flloyd, and the many many many family roadtrips we shared...sigh. Sick of this missing. It's boring and empty.

I'm not sure if I made the right choice, but I decided to say yes when my Syrian friend Malek asked me to be his girlfriend. We only see each other on campus, he's more respectful, kind, and interesting than 90% of the guys I've ever dated, we have similar standards and life goals, and I can learn a lot from this experience. Since dating him, my school work has improved and my feelings of loneliness have somewhat subsided.

Somewhere deep within, though, I feel dishonest. I don't want to lead him on; I want to marry in the temple, meaning, I can't marry a Muslim. Even though I made that very clear from the beginning, there is still something unsettling within. Maybe it comes from my ever-present thoughts about the future; I know that I am inevitably going to hurt him.

The worst part is that the hurtee is not the only one who feels pain, but also the hurter. I don't really want to think about these things very much.

The overwhelming feeling of this relationship is not doom and disaster, however. We sit and talk and talk and talk - amazing, considering neither of us speaks the other's language fluently! - about ideas, politics, people, books, religion, feelings, experiences, culture, langauge...it feels great to be his friend.

My other friends are my Arab sisters. I literally consider them sisters to me. I love them. I stayed up until 4:30 am talking with Sanaa the other night. When I told her I plan on coming to all of their weddings (one of the other sisters may get engaged before I leave Jordan! Her wedding would be next summer), she cried.

The other strong relationship I have here is with my Arab mom. She teaches me by example, she is kind, she works hard, and I love her. It will be hard to leave this place, but I am dying to at the same time. It's tiring, living this life. It's not my own, it's like I'm acting. I have this one chance to be a Jordanian, to live the culture, to have a boyfriend Arab-style (no real "dates", lots of SMS/phone contact, little to no physical contact), to follow the customs and traditions of this place, to freaking speak ARABIC all day long! Eat, sleep, breathe, live...is this me? Who am I anyway? And why is Arabic important to me? What will it bring me in the future? Who am I becoming? Is this Arab-Kate Kate? How can I be sure, either way?

Sigh. Heavy thoughts.

World War Three

Actually, this is a little known fact, but it began in the Hammouri house, in Irbid, Jordan. The subject? Only the will to live is more powerful than this...you guessed it, love.

I don't know if I would really classify these relationships as "love". My American friend Adam certainly doesn't. "These people's idea of love is so middle school. It's superficial and fake; they don't know mature love until marriage, if even." And we weren't talking about sex. Just the ability to communicate and love each other.

However, by this definition, I probably...well, I think to myself about all the boys I've dated and not really loved, and the ones I loved but didn't date, and how subjective and un-bordered the whole subject is. I asked my friend Kit if he's ever kissed someone he didn't love, not really expecting him to ask me back. When he did, it made me think. I have no reason to look down on these girls for not having mature love relationships; most of my relationships have been that way. The number of guys I have really loved or still do love I can definitely count on one hand.

I have to remain ambiguous for the sake of my sister's honor, but I would really like to write about the female situation here in Jordan. Let's just say, all of my sisters have boy problems, and none of them would fall under the American category of "dating".

One is young and everybody is afraid that she's going to follow a bad example (although she's the sweetest girl in the whole world, in my opinion). None of us (including me) are allowed to talk about love or boys in front of her.

One has a secret boyfriend but their only interaction is through their cell phones; last week, her brother overheard her talking to him and demanded to know who she was talking with. If he had found out, her reputation could have been ruined forever. She was terrified.

One has two boys who like her; one is in a position where he can afford marriage. He finished his master's, he's 29, has a good job, but doesn't really like her, and isn't really that interested in her. The second one can't get married for at least another two years, he's very mooskeen, or...young? Shy? Little? How do you translate that idea? He loves her a lot, so much that he yelled at her for about two hours on the phone after he saw her talking to another guy while she was at work. What? But they made up, and now she has to decide who she's going to go for.

One doesn't have a boyfriend at all. From what I can tell, she wants one. She doesn't really vocalize thoughts about marriage, but I think she's worrying about it.

Then, there's me. My love problems...yeah, I came here to stay far away from them. I don't know how well I've succeeded.

Ma nuit blanche avec Pierrick

Voilà, maintenant on est en train de passer une nuit blanche chez ma chere famille d'accueil. Il n'y a que moi et 'mon petit père calin' Pierrick qui arrivons à tenir. Nous avons passé toute la soirée ensemble. Tout d'abord, nous avons essayé de trouver une paire de chaussures pour moi (mais il n'y avait qu'une paire qui me plaîsait et je cherchais qqchose de très spécifique - une paire rouge comme celle que j'avais achetée il y a quatre ans). Puis, nous avons chanté sous la pluie. Maintenant, nous sommes dans le bureau d'Etienne en parlant. Il corrige toutes mes erreurs de français, et m'embête de temps en temps. ("Non, je ne suis pas d'accord, c'est tout le temps que je t'embête!"). C'est le paradis.

Nous sommes allés au Musée des Beaux-Arts de Rennes. J'y suis allée au moins vingt fois quand j'habitais ici...je fais tout le temps la comparaison entre maintenant et le passé.

Il existe plusieurs Katrine. Celle du présent, la Katrine française d'il y a quatre ans, la Katrine follement amoureuse de Trevor, celle qui attend patiemment pour un certain missionaire, celle qui l'attend mais pas patiemment du tout, celle qui est gamine - petite, bête, innocente, celle délurée, dévergondée, savante.

Vivons-nous à l'épicurien?