The World is Flat

August 9, 2007
Amman, Jordan

Gamze, Meril, and Elif met me at the Istanbul airport for some ciggies and Starbucks, after my last dinner with Noyan. We laughed, they interviewed me, we took pictures, and after a minor emergency, I was on my way through the passport check.

This time, unlike eight months ago, I didn't feel one ounce of sadness; it was different this time. My favorite Café's owners still remember me, the little shop outside of my metro stop welcomed me back, and for two weeks I felt completely peaceful. I feel like I finished what I needed to rid myself of, and at the same time, realized that I have found an incredible second home.

I am thinking of Dayna and desperately trying not to romanticize Turkey just as she (quite poetically, and, therefore, unsuccessfully) tries not to romanticize Robert.

Benan, Aydin, and some of her other friends had spent my last night in Ankara at Benan's flat, so we didn't sleep much and had to catch our respective buses by 8 a.m. By the time of my flight I was completely exhausted (especially after those strenuous 6 hours of lounging over the Bosphorus), and could barely wake myself up to get off the plane in Amman. Partly, I don't feel nervous anymore; nothing feels more standard than packing up and shipping off to another country.

Also, I've found incredible warmth in humanity that, a bit dangerously, lets me put my fate entirely in its hands. As soon as I walked toward passport control at 2 a.m., they security ushered me past everyone since I was alone and in a matter of minutes, I was outside customs waiting for the mysterious person who was going to pick me up. After a minute or two of unsuccessful searching, I stood uncomfortable to the side and every single hired driver waiting for their respective client tried to help me. "Do you have a phone number?" "Can we drop you somewhere?" Never once did it feel uncomfortable or wrong. As I was debating forty minutes later on what my next step should be, I caught sight of a rumpled guy, around my age, and definitely not Jordanian, who was carrying an equally crumpled sign with my name scrawled lazily. Unfortunately, he was holding it at his said and walking around as if he was there to socialize and not find me.

As soon as I caugh a hold of him, and said, "Hi, I think you're looking for me," he screamed, "Thank God I found you!" and enveloped me into a hug. Ew. Seriously, people. I think the sign above my head that says DO NOT TOUCH is pretty obvious. "You've been drinking.""Yeah! Sorry, did you wait long? I convinced the security to let me in to duty free so I could buy some alcohol.""But that's illegal…""

I just kept talking and waving my passport around and finally they got tired of me."

After some unnecessary drunken bickering over fixed taxi pices, he ushered me home where I met the other two flatmates (The more responsible ones who had forced the irresponsible one to pick me up, ahem!).

Yet, I love all three of them; unfortunately, one left Monday, one will leave next week, and the other in two weeks. After that, I will move in to a flat closer to downtown with some other workmates because this one is too nice for any standard of living.

Two living rooms, two balconies, three and a half bedrooms, three bathrooms, and the list could go on forever. We are surrounded by all sides by BMWs, rich Iraqis, and Sri Lankan house maids. It's all too much, and I would just like to feel like I am a part of Jordan, not a foreign spectator disengaging herself so soon from the truth. It's really not that different from any place else. There are rich parts, poor parts, and a few refugee camps. The rich parts of the city look as if they belong in Paris or Santa Monica, while the less than accommodating areas feel like home from any region or city in the world. It's strange; I feel alienated and uncomfortable by the short skirts and sports cars in Abdoun and Sweifiyah. But is that wrong to say? As if I am being too Western and expecting Amman not to be like this? I don't know.

As for work, I am moving up quickly they want me to join the permanent staff. However, I have only been here a week, so we will see how this progresses. I think they see the impatience and stubborn passion in me, and really, I think one year of this kind of resettling and working is the perfect precursor for a job in Amman. Although it's only been a little more than a week since I've arrived, I feel completely at home. It feels like it's already been an eternity; and I am closer to most people than they are with each other. When one of the Danish guys left on Monday, they wanted him to choose a girl so that they could do a Jordanian dance. I sat back comfortably with my eyes closed and listened to the music; no way would he pick me. He had been working for six months with these dozen women. Yet, I hear, "Khushbu?" and I think – Oh, Crap. We had gone for nargile and music the past weekend and I knew I couldn't do anything near that kind of dancing yet.

Yet, it feels nice to blend in and feel a part of things so easily (besides, he's a Casanova – yeah, me-- and I know half the girls were staring daggers into my head to will me to trip and hurt myself –again). This frightens me (not the girls). I think I have mastered the skill of making friends quickly and passionately, but does that make me a smooth politician? I haven't decided if I like these new developments.

……..

Amman's a calm city; some would say boring, but I hate when people label places like that. I want to discover it for myself by walking through the rough streets, the palm trees, the hills covered with beautiful white homes, and humanity. I might lose everything by gambling all of my faith in humanity, but a this point I am ready to take that risk. Everyday it seems less and less like I need to save the world, but really, that the world, in fact, might save me