Oh, the places Hayley'll go!

Thanks for your patience for these past few months. But I’m here, emerging victoriously from a far-too-long winter hiatus, just in time as the winter chill in the air slowly dissipates and makes room for much needed, very welcomed sunshine…

I’m not great with downtime. I’m a person who thrives on structure, routine- I’d never say monotony- but I do appreciate a color-coded calendar and do my best to follow a datebook diligently. I finished the first semester of teaching here in Eger at the end of December, and spent the majority of January burrowed away in my apartment, fighting off an unknown respiratory illness (not COVID- I don’t think) and enjoying time with my ever-supportive partner who came to visit for an entire month. (Come back, be here, would you?) Leisurely walks by the Eger patak, weekends in Budapest at the Flipper Museum and playing VR games, mad-dashes to Spar and Tesco to fill my kitchen with the joyful sounds and aromas of home-cooked meals, seventeen rounds in a row of the same card game and having to devise new house rules… it wasn’t all bad. It is difficult to travel during a pandemic, and I do regret my immune system and seasonal depression conspiring against my desires to get out into the world and just be. Nevertheless, we are back!

I’ll sheepishly admit that I had no idea when I was supposed to actually start teaching again, and my American-centric brain was adamant that I started at the end of January. The unexpected two weeks of preparation was spent organizing my files, rearranging my calendar, and wondering where the time has gone since my first steps in Hungary back in September.

I took a quick trip to Budapest and Debrecen (the two largest cities in Hungary) before my first day of teaching, so let me lay out a rough sketch of the five days leading up to my heroic return to the whiteboard:

• Drinks at ruin pubs and wine bars full of history and life. Being mistaken for students by fellow Americans enjoying their cocktails. Realizing my stand-up comic voice kicks in after the second glass of sauvignon blanc. Wondering when I became the kind of person who ordered sauvignon blanc.
• Strolling around art museums, taking in the craftsmanship, attention to detail, and intention in every piece. Loving geometric art, seeing the word Gestalt for the first time since undergrad, picking up pieces of Hungarian vocabulary from placards.
• Pure joy at watching ducks skid across icy ponds and sumberging themselves in cool waters for afternoon baths.
• Late night talks (and surprisingly good empanadas) with people who truly get it, letting my American accent roll quickly off my tongue and filling the room with laughter over the most niche vocabulary and statements
• Being deeply moved by the resonance of source recordings of Hungarian folk songs.
• Being deeply embarrassed by my lack of rhythm and skill at the Tánc Ház, where I reckoned with the fact that Transylvanian dancing does not come easily to me.
• Long train rides watching the land roll by, burning orange and pink sunsets pressed behind wisps of clouds effortlessly dangling above the horizon.

I’m back to sitting at my desk in the office, surrounded by piles of handouts and worksheets and a re-found sense of purpose. I feel reinvigorated and excited for the coming months. I’ve gained enough footing here to be able to venture out alone, make plans, and actually keep them. I’m missing New York like crazy, but I’m so determined to make the most of the remainder of my time here because I have a feeling it’ll just fly by.

It’s a packed semester for sure. I’m teaching Upper Intermediate English and Community Organizing again. Each and every one of my students is a rockstar. They come in, introduce themselves, (some with the preferred name “Mr. Perfection”), and admit to being anxious and excited. And I share that eager, yet nervous energy, because I don’t want to fail them.

I’ve changed my perception of the concept of failing dramatically since coming here. I’ve spent most of my life avoiding failure like it’ll kill me, and in doing so, I rarely took risks. I thought this defense mechanism kept me strong and confident, but in reality, it meant I was missing out on some of the richest experiences. I wish I had taken more challenging courses in undergrad and studied disciplines outside of my major. I wish I had put myself out there socially and didn’t give in to the anxiety. I see this in my students, maybe ten-fold, in the way they stick to comfortable vocabulary when speaking to me, even though I know they understand my roundabout ways of getting to the point. I tell my students that we’re creating a “safe space” to fail together, to make mistakes in the classroom and say the wrong word and I mean wow that word is not what you think it means let’s get the laughter out and then move on or be met with a completely clueless blank expression or to reluctantly break out the translation app when we forget how to say shoelace. The space to make mistakes is not enclosed within four walls of a classroom streaming with the sun’s rays, but is limitless as long as we do the hard work of letting ourselves fail.

What else is on the docket this semester? Running Fulbright information sessions, private English classes for coworkers and their children, attending meetings at the Roma Residential College, an upcoming European Union and NATO Conference, supporting International Student Mentors, on the professional side of things. On the personal side of things, I’m hoping to spend a little bit of time exploring the EU on some weekend getaways, continuing to grab coffee and drinks after work with friends, going on hikes once the weather warms up, and improving my Hungarian. 

It’s going to fly by.

To compensate for my lack of an online pulse over the last two months, here’s a glimpse of what I’ve been up to.

Alternative titles: Back To Our Regularly Scheduled Reflections

I’m nearing the end of my first three months in Hungary, and my blog seems to have taken a bit of a hiatus. That seems to take all of the ownership off of me, and onto this inanimate, non-sentient entity, doesn’t it? Okay, I’ll admit- writing took a bit of a backseat in my priority list, but for every second that I’ve been here, I’ve been taking it all in and learning so much in the process.

Today, as I write this at almost 10 o’clock in the evening on November 25, in the US, my friends and family are settling into their places for Thanksgiving dinner, which typically starts at what I have always found to be an irrational dinner time, mid- to late-afternoon. Growing up, Thanksgiving wasn’t much of a holiday in my household- then again, few were- but I do have some fond memories of vegan mashed potatoes, store bought ice cream cakes with turkeys drawn in buttercream frosting, worn out jade green booths at diners in the later years when no one felt like cooking and my vegetarian rebellious adolescent self ordered a stack of chocolate chip pancakes…

The colonial and imperial weight of the day aside, it’s never a bad idea to display gratitude. I’m honored to get to share my experience abroad here with you, whoever you are that’s currently reading this.

I’m grateful for my walk to work every morning, a stroll down the Eger patak, and my pit stop for a kakaós csiga. For every time when I have to get the keys to my classroom to teach, even though I’ve rehearsed how to ask for the right room number in my head a thousand times, a kulcsot kéto száz egyes, kérek, the porters already have the key in hand when they see me walking over, remembering not only me but my room number.

For long talks on bus rides to Slovakia, full of hot political takes, swapping travel stories, and real, genuine laughter. For being able to say thank you for taking a chance on me and changing my life.

For new friends who embrace your differences over a shared love for something sweet after lunch. For friends who kill the ants in your apartment at 2 in the morning, expand your musical horizons, who are always on your team and make you feel less alone and more understood when everything around you is different, scary, exhilarating, and exhausting all at once.

For the random opera singer in the dog park on the last uncharacteristically warm autumn day.

For colleagues who never judge my pronunciation, always have the best snacks, and teach me about the world as they work tirelessly to send students on international adventures of their own.

For the trust of my students that I’ll spend forever working to build and keep, for students who have already taught me more than they’ll ever know. For students who show up in Halloween costumes to bring some of my favorite American cultural traditions here, who gift me with marzipan frogs and Eszterhazy torta, who push themselves and speak out loud even though it’s scary, who work so hard and handle a million different pressures and stressors and still make time for me and my class, who let me into their worlds. For students who feel comfortable enough to ask me about American stereotypes, to fake-laugh at my jokes, who let me say “I don’t know, but let me get back to you next class.”

For the most eccentric, kind-hearted, and brilliant Fulbright family. For walking through the Districts for Korean food, for looking for a bagel in Budapest on a Sunday morning, for air mattresses and turning up the thermostat by one more unbearable degree (Celsius, of course). For never going south of Prospect Park for good reason, and for having someone here who understands. For the Fulbright program bringing us around the country, packing our Fridays full of exciting tours, hearty meals, and community building.

For the sleepless nights when my body rejects Central European Time and begs to be back in New York City, for the loneliness that creeps in and makes me first question why I’m still here, and then reminds me that it’s so much bigger than me. For the friends that pick up the phone when I’m walking home and tell me about their days and everything they ate and the everyday and ordinary and mundane. For the everyday and the ordinary and the mundane that I didn’t think I’d miss.

For a love that has lasted years and will last forever and then some, for a love that supports me endlessly. For a love that you can fall in love with in any city, over and over again. For a love that radiates through texts, video chats, late-night-for-me-but-your-afternoon phone calls, and beams at you from across the airport.

For every person who has supported me on my journey, whether it was the countless essay drafts marked up and down with red pen, the recommendation letters written with intention and belief in me, the pep talks that I still remember years later, the kind smiles, offers to translate and read something for me, invitations to dinner, to the pub, to the grocery store, to a Latin dance class that I still haven’t been to yet but will absolutely go once it’s back on, for all of it.

I’m grateful for it all, and I’m grateful for you all.