There are still so many days that I wish I could write about. Days I wish I had the talent to properly describe to you what I have seen or experienced. I find that I lack the words, no matter what language I am communicating in.
I can tell you that I was sitting enjoying a cup of suytli chai with my student and her mother, nibbling on some gyzgyn chorek made specially for my visit all while admiring the beauty of a spring garden in bloom.
I can tell you that the weather was warm but not hot and that as the sun set the evening seemed only to transition from pleasant to perfect.
I can tell you that I was yet again confused for a Turkmen girl and I felt a refreshing rush go through me as I stumbled through conversations in Turkmen.
I can tell you that prior to this blissful evening, my frustrations with this experience had been at an all time high.
I can tell you that I questioned whether people understood the terminology they used so loosely – support, communication, respect.
I can tell you that three hours with a Turkmen family turned three days of hell around and even still they remain unaware of the gift they gave me. But telling you these small details does not allow you to understand and I don’t know how else to say it.
