prague! tell
That one time I studied abroad. And kept a blog. Spring 2012 — Prague, Czech Republic

Yeah, I just miss it every once in awhile.
Well. I hung out in Europe for a semester and I guess I took a few pictures. Now I just have to put together the scrapbook in the free time I no longer have now that school’s about to start!
You get a strange feeling when you’re about to leave a place. Like you’ll not only miss the people you love but you’ll miss the person you are now at this time and this place, because you’ll never be this way ever again.
— Azar Nafisi

(Source: paradoxicalsentiments, via rainstormmelodies)


About a half hour ago I’m pretty sure it was made official, although it’s been in the works for a week or so now — I’ve moved from the “honeymoon” phase to the “negotiation” phase of culture shock. While Prague is Prague and Prague is beautiful, I have to admit that this whole studying abroad in the Czech Republic is making me a little crazy inside (and probably the outside too, between my perpetual sickness and fried cheese/Kinder consumption). I just returned from the Czech post office for the second time, where I had planned to pick up my package that my mom sent to me nearly two weeks ago. I’m back at my apartment, no package in hand. I was really proud of myself for using the tracking number, figuring out it had gone through customs successfully, and then determining where the post office was relative to me so that I could go and get it. The first time I went today, I quickly realized that I had to take a number as if I was at the DMV, but I wasn’t sure which button to press for “picking up packages” because all of the labels were in Czech. Lucky for me, some kind soul must’ve noticed how incredibly confused and American I looked, and he actually went out of his way to help me because he spoke English. I think this may have been the second or third time I have experienced a random act of kindness while in Prague, and for being here over a month, I honestly would like for that number to be higher. Anyway, I digress… Once my number was called I went up to the counter and I showed them my address. A younger woman went and retrieved my package for me and I instantly spotted my mom’s familiar cursive handwriting. But, alas, they wouldn’t give it to me because I had no formal ID or passport. Fine. That makes sense. Bureaucratic, but standard, so I obliged and said I would return shortly with the appropriate identification. Came back about 30 minutes later, passport in hand. The young woman from before greets me and doesn’t make me wait in line this time. I go up to her and give her my passport, but because my name does not match up with the name on the package, she has a puzzled look on her face. The package is addressed to my Czech roommate Maja, but my mom wrote “ATTN:” with my own name literally right below it. The young woman does not know what to do, so she goes and gets her superior. Her superior, well, he sucks. I keep trying to explain to him that no, I am not Maja, I am the person it says “ATTN:” to right below her name. Imagine me trying to point to my name on a package when a glass window stands between us. It was awkward. He also didn’t speak English very well, but when he did, it became very clear to me that it was with condescension. “You have to understand… you are not this person.” As if I was claiming to be? Literally they’re standing there deliberating in front of me, holding up my passport next to the package. I try to explain she is my roommate, I try to explain that in the U.S. writing “ATTN:” means the package is actually for that person… but to no avail. Because my name is not in their “system” I could not claim the package. I was pretty adamant and as politely aggressive as I could be, because I really did not want to have to come all the way back to the post office for a third time in one day, when I saw the package sitting right in front of me. But I guess third time’s the charm because there’s no way around it and I’m coming back with Maja. If there’s one thing I hate more than bureaucracy, it has to be bureaucracy in a post-communist country. With a language nemluvím (I don’t speak). Nemluvím česky, and honestly sometimes nerozumím (I don’t understand) the culture here. Don’t get me wrong — I’m having a great experience and the pros far outweigh any cons, but it’s the little things that I find get to me. I probably shouldn’t have left out the fact that I was feeling feverish during this whole debacle, so I suppose that didn’t make it much better. Like I said. I’ve entered the “negotiation” phase. Honeymoon’s over. </rant>
Prague never lets you go… this dear little mother has sharp claws.
— Franz Kafka

“Better to be a lion for one day, than to be a sheep your whole life.” Berlin, March 2012
Na shledanou, Praha

It’s been nearly a month now since I left Prague. There have been countless times that this blog has popped into my head since and I’ve felt this itch to write something, to say something, to make up for all the times I didn’t write and give some closure to all the times I did. 

It’s been nearly a month now, and while it remains unfinished business, I still don’t know that I can find the right words to do any of that justice. Last night we celebrated my brother’s high school graduation by having almost a hundred people over to our house. At the grad party I had the opportunity to see several old family friends and relatives, all of whom naturally asked me about my study abroad experience. I found myself oversimplifying for the sake of time, using expressions like, “it was great” or “I met a lot of interesting people, I saw a lot of interesting places” or at best, “it changed my perspective”. If my conversation got more substantial, I talked about how wonderful of a city Prague is, I talked about having to learn Czech, and I commented on the noticeable differences in social customs there. The furthest I could get was remarking on the cold demeanor of Czech people and how in the first few weeks back I most definitely went through reverse culture shock, caught off guard by every smile from a stranger on the street.

But when people ask me, genuinely interested in what I have to say, I find myself frustrated with anything that comes out of my mouth. I feel like anything I can say about being abroad is insufficient, lacking… partially because I want to be polite and not too honest, but also mainly because I haven’t even quite figured it all out yet for myself. It’s been a month now (already!?) and I’m beginning to realize that none of my friends or my family may ever truly understand what I went through. I don’t mean that in a pretentious sense — not at all — it’s just that I can’t really explain what I know to be the most important things. The non-cliché things. I can show pictures and share anecdotes, sure, but can anyone understand that even I’m still trying to comprehend the ways in which this semester changed me? The ways in which I know it made me stronger?

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Bought this Soviet era beauty somewhat impulsively (but actually intentionally) on my last day in Prague. No idea how to use it. There’s a manual online, but if anyone has any tips, I’m more than open to hearing them…
In 1997, a USC student wrote a letter from Prague

I stumbled across it long before coming here, when I was looking at study abroad options last summer. To be completely honest, I didn’t believe it when I read it. The world he describes felt unreal, mystical. I was simply skeptical. I didn’t believe it but I was intrigued by it enough to choose Prague in the end. But now that I reflect on the whole decision-making process… I’m giving myself too much credit. Prague, well, Prague chose me.

I’ve been here for four months and I now return to this letter. This weekend is my last weekend. Now, I can hardly believe that. But I can tell you that the world he describes in this letter is real. It exists, it’s here, and I’m glad I took my first real plunge into darkness to find it.

Because really, this place — Prague, Central Europe, all of it — it’s some kind of magic. Hidden at the heart of the continent, and yet… paradoxically SO off the map. No one really knows Prague where I’m from. To an unsuspecting, ignorant American, for their grandiose ideal of “Europe” it’s about as random and off the beaten path as it gets. But I am convinced that there is no other city with a rhythm this entrancing or with a history and austerity this glaringly beautiful. Hidden in the labyrinth of streets, alleys, passages, staircases, metro escalators, trams, background sounds, cigarette smoke, and drunken voices… you’ll find perspective. You’ll find solitude. You’ll find peace and you’ll find solace. You’ll get lost and you’ll find your way home. You’ll find home.

It’s a dream world, but it’s very much real. Believe me when I say it’s one you can tuck yourself away into late at night in a sleepy stupor.

When I go inside Sagrada Familia

thetimeistudiedabroad:

My thoughts exactly. This life isn’t real life.