Updates

So, it has been quite a while since I've updated my blog. What has happened since then? Well, I've been teaching for a month now.
Two of my friends died in this month though. Shayne Dube and Mercy Pericles. I knew Mercy from high school, but I really hadn't stayed in touch with her. So it was a surprise when I heard she died. But about a week and a half before that my friend Shayne died. And I knew him very well from college. And I talked with him up to when I left for Mongolia. He stayed with me when he came to visit wabash college. We joined the same groups, hung out in the same places, saw each other often, up to the point where he started smoking too much weed for my comfort. But then when I was still in crawfordsville he stayed with me, him and his fiancee with me and Autumn. And it's irritating that there's no definitive answer on what the hell happened. These friends he has, that have the information aren't giving it out to other friends he had. They are hogging it, giving contradictory stories. Either he killed himself or it was an accident, and they allow both stories to subsist. Why lie? You know what happened. Did he fall out of the car or jump out of the car? Was there even a car? I heard other stories about him being in the hospital before he died. Where did he die? And the questions go on because these idiots don't wanna say. If it's suicide, what friend doesn't ask him or herself if there's something more they could've done? He was in pain, yes. Fiancee left him, maybe because of his drinking problem. Hurting, but did we ignore him? I don't know.
But my students are progressively getting better, both in the class and socially. One of my classes, my Level 1 students, took me out to the Chinggis Khan Monument in the countryside. I have pictures up with that experience.
The countryside was wonderful. The city, here, is like a city everywhere, in some way. You walk down its streets, you see the same people you see in other cities. I don't like to look up when I walk here. I like the children; they look at you, and most smile, you say hi; some just stare. But you know what they're thinking. They're pretty transparent. The girls and women are like women are; you can never tell what they're thinking. The men on the other hand, I know what they think when they see me. It's not happiness. Do they like me? Maybe not. Do they like foreigners? Doesn't seem like it. But especially me. Maybe. You stare at them in the face and they'll get mad. You walk down the street and they try to bump into your shoulders to try and start trouble. I have sidestepped many times, out of courtesy maybe. But I am getting tired of that.
The first time we went out to a club I got into a fight. Some guy didn't like me dancing with any of the Mongolian girls. I tried over and over to shake his hand, be cool with him, etc. But I kept dancing because I really don't care about some guy's tight panties. He kept interrupting, coming right in between us. The girl would move us. He did it over and over; around the tenth time, he put his hands on me, or tried. I really don't like it when people touch me, especially strangers. I got mad, picked him up, slammed him against the DJ booth. Bouncers came, but they let me get back in cause they saw what happened. I've heard Mongolian men don't like foreigners messing with the girls. This will obviously be a problem for me, because I like girls and I like dancing.
On the other hand, I've seen some white folk here. I pass them on the streets at night when I'm walking home. This far, so many miles removed from the West, and these people still look at you the same. There are maybe 20 white folk here, maybe 1 black person. So why do they look scared when they see me? Is it conscious, do they try to make Black people feel uncomfortable or unwanted? Sadly, I don't think so. White folk been lying to themselves so long that I don't think they know what they're doing. So, removed from their surroundings, in which they feel comfortable, they allow themselves to make other people more uncomfortable, so they can seem better by comparison. There isn't much to say for them, nor at this moment do I care to.
But, here I am. The first few weeks were difficult. And it felt like it would be a very long year. Luckily things have changed. I've even hung out with some of my younger students. But, can't help feeling like a novelty some times. Look, see me hanging out with this guy from America, a black guy from America. Cool, huh? It's weird. They stare at you because they've probably never seen you. I can take it for a month. But a year is a long time.
Life is getting better though. There is snow now and it's awfully cold. I've been to a few clubs now and I've seen the people with their vices. The men drink too much vodka, straight. Bottles and bottles. You can see them drunk at 6pm on a Tuesday night, for no reason. The colder it gets the drunker they get. Here we are, playing with our vices. Depositing, depositing, depositing, and the more we deposit into them, the less we become. We don't know who we are, not really. And so we drink all the time, smoke everything, sleep with random strangers, fight, argue, hate for no reason; we feed it because it's the one part that we're sure of. I am this, this bad thing. I know who I am. Why escape? There are two wolves inside every man, one good and one bad. Who wins? The one you feed the most. We feed the bad because we want to ignore the good. The good doesn't say anything. The good doesn't have to. You know exactly what it's thinking. It just looks at you. Waiting. It may disappear eventually, yes. But it doesn't go anywhere. You just stop seeing it. Feeding the bad makes you blind. And here you are, etching an epitaph of misery on your tombstone. And what's dying? Hmm...what isn't dying? When's the last time you felt alive?
I've seen the misery in other people. I tried to move away from it. I've come halfway around the earth and the same misery stands there, staring through dead eyes, like an undeniably majestic statue. A sad statue, made up of obsessions, jealousies, self-pity. And this misery loves company.
That's why I like my apartment. It's here, it's small. It's just me. Left alone to my own vices or virtues. I like people, but I find myself to be in more need of my attentions.
Mongolia is good for many things. I've started picking up the language. It's different, but I'm getting there.

More to come.