tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12227862398336649612024-03-22T08:19:04.125+01:00 Pantsuits and Pearls Chronicling the adventures of a Foreign Service Officer traveling the world and serving her country.Pantsuits and Pearlshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07819442430220803693noreply@blogger.comBlogger17125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1222786239833664961.post-35067948745530569132013-12-22T22:29:00.001+01:002013-12-22T22:33:54.503+01:00"We Take Care of Our Own"<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
One of the reasons I bid on Brussels was to feel independent again. To live on my own, outside of a compound, and away from bodyguards, armed vehicles, and the watchful eye of the entire embassy community. I was looking forward to my apartment having a revolving door as I welcomed guest after guest to the heart of Europe. And that's exactly what I've been up to these last few months. Sharing adventures and laughs with friends and family as we explored the vineyards of Champagne, attempted to climb church towers in Flanders, and taste-tested the best Belgian food Brussels has to offer. My first six months here have really been one for the memory books.<br />
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When I bid on Western Europe, people said that the posts wouldn't have a strong sense of community, that it would be just like going to work in any office building in DC. That people would not look out for one another. And, sure, settling into life in Brussels has had its challenges and its somber moments of anonymity, but saying that this embassy doesn't band together when one of its colleagues is struggling couldn't be further from the truth.<br />
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While I was home in Arizona for Thanksgiving, I awoke one morning to a message that most of us dread receiving while away from home. The voicemail said they were calling from our security office and I was to contact the embassy immediately. My stomach was in my throat...what could possibly have happened? Had there been a fire? Were the cats hurt? There was no way the person was calling me while on leave to offer some good news. After a few minutes that seemed like hours, I learned that my apartment had been broken into and robbed over the weekend. The perpetrators had seemingly scaled my balcony, shattered the glass door, and rifled through the whole apartment. I was speechless. It was Monday and I wasn't scheduled to go back to Belgium until the following Sunday. Who would care for Mish Mish and Sprinkles? Was the apartment secure? I was simultaneously sick to my stomach imagining my vandalized place and traumatized cats, and thankful that I hadn't been home that night to encounter the intruders.<br />
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As I was feeling utterly helpless at my mom's house in Tucson, an army of colleagues came to my rescue and took charge. The co-worker who had discovered the break-in didn't give a second thought to taking Mish and Sprinks home with her, despite owning a very large dog herself. Since my living floor was covered in glass, her paramount concern was ensuring they stayed safe. The burglars had left my front door open and she found Mish three floors below, huddled on a stair crying. Sprinks had predictably hidden herself under my bed. She rounded them up and for the next two weeks graciously kept them in her guest room. Another colleague tirelessly liaised with the police, escorting the CSI team as they meticulously dusted for fingerprints and processed the crime scene. Others worked hard to secure my balcony, boarding up the shattered door, and ensuring the landlord agreed to tighter security measures. <br />
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After nearly a week of anxiety-ridden anticipation, I headed back to Brussels. The same co-worker who took the cats in also agreed to take me in, as my apartment wasn't ready for me to move back in. Bleary-eyed from the overnight flight, we dropped my bags at her apartment and headed downtown to face the wreckage. At a post where people supposedly didn't care for one another, this colleague refused to let me go back into the apartment alone. She wanted somebody to be by my side as I surveyed the damaged. Walking slowly from room to room, I took in the destroyed balcony door, the open drawers, the rifled papers. But it wasn't until I got to the bedroom that I really lost it. Seeing my clothes, purses, and jewelry strewn across the bed is an image I won't soon forget. The closet doors were still open, the fingerprint dust still coated the furniture, illuminating hand prints all over the room, touching my most personal possessions. I can still feel the chill that ran down my spine as I imagined the people standing in my bedroom, upending my stuff, stealing heirloom jewelry given to me by my late grandmother.<br />
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This last month has been somewhat of a blur, an emotional roller coaster I never thought I would experience. Anger, frustration, loneliness, fear. An overwhelming sense of violation. But through it all, the embassy has been there for me. Offering comforting words, emails, phone calls, dinner invitations. Helping me move into temporary quarters. Always available when I needed to talk or just wasn't comfortable being alone. I've gone back to the apartment several times since I returned to Brussels, but I still can't shake the eerie feeling of the burglars' presence. Every little noise makes me jump, wondering-no matter how improbable-if somebody else is trying to climb the balcony. Every time I enter my bedroom, I see my clothes and jewelry ransacked. No matter how secure the apartment is made, I know I won't be comfortable there again.<br />
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The decision to move wasn't an easy one, but in the end it was the right one. The little downtown apartment that I loved so much and that had finally started to feel like home was now a constant reminder of vulnerability and loss. The tiny balcony, with its spectacular view of the cathedral and where my brother got engaged this summer, now served as a reminder of people scaling wrought iron and shattering glass doors. The home that had welcomed so many visitors, that had been filled with so much laughter and love, was now filled with discomfort and unease. But again, the embassy community rallied around me in support, urging me to move forward and get a fresh start. Nobody wanted this to ruin the next year and a half in Brussels. Neither did I.<br />
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So tonight I'm packing my up my temp quarters, taking down my little Christmas tree, and tomorrow afternoon I'm moving into the new apartment. Although the walls will still be bare and the bookshelves will still be empty, this new apartment will welcome a house full of visitors for the holidays and new memories will be made. My home will once again be filled with laughter and love, a new chapter of my time in Brussels ready to be written. I am so grateful for my embassy colleagues, my Foreign Service family, my home away from home. The mantra that they each echoed time and time again, and was evident in everything they did, was "we take care of our own." I appreciate, more than I can ever express, their kindness, generosity, patience, and fortitude. Thank you for making one of the worst experiences of my life more bearable, and for proving that valuing a sense of community is still at the core of the Foreign Service. No matter where in the world we might be. <br />
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Pantsuits and Pearlshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07819442430220803693noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1222786239833664961.post-24795912037108742652013-08-01T23:57:00.003+02:002013-08-01T23:57:44.204+02:00The King of the Belgians<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Since arriving in Brussels, most Sunday mornings have been spent sleeping in, drinking coffee, and maybe milling around a farmer's market if I feel like leaving the comfort of my balcony. But on July 21st-also known as Belgian National Day-I added a few additional items to my usually lazy routine: wishing King Phillipe and Queen Mathilde congratulations as they assume their new roles as King and Queen of the Belgians. <div>
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I happen to live almost across the street from the <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/St._Michael_and_St._Gudula_Cathedral" target="_blank">Cathedral of St. Michael and St. Gudula</a>, which is where the Belgian family holds weddings, funerals, and for the first time in their monarchy's history, an abdication. Well, the technical abdication took place later in the day with signing official paperwork and taking the oath of office at parliament, but the cathedral bore witness to the Te Deum mass that blessed King Phillipe's upcoming reign. I figured instead of watching the ceremony from the tv, I'd cross the street to see if I could catch a glimpse of the action. What I didn't expect was to be able to walk right up to the front of the line and watch the royal family pull up to the church. </div>
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In total contrast to the US, there was hardly any security at all. No metal detectors, very few security guards, and the king and queen seemed to roam as they pleased. The small size of the crowd was also a bit mystifying. You would think that the very first abdication of a Belgian king, the inauguration of his son, all coinciding with Belgian Independence Day, would generate a bit of interest. Not so much. The few people who were there were really passionate, as in wearing Belgian flags as capes and shouting "Long Live the King" in French and Flemish, but for the most part it seemed the country wasn't that interested. The southern Francophone province of Wallonia demonstrated much more interest than the northern Flemish-speaking province of Flanders. Traditionally, the monarchy has been seen as much more closely affiliated with the Francophone community, and there are strong Flemish political parties that want to see the end of the royal family and the creation of a republic. They don't really feel much loyalty to their king, and the pomp and circumstance surrounding the monarchy is on a much smaller scale than in the UK for example. It's kind of hard to comprehend the seeming lack of nationalism and split identity between the regions, and King Philippe has his work cut out for him to help unite the country. He isn't called King of the Belgians for nothing though. </div>
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And of course, it wouldn't be a holiday without the Manneken Pis dressed up in another costume. This time in a Belgian military uniform in honor of Independence Day.<br />
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Pantsuits and Pearlshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07819442430220803693noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1222786239833664961.post-31752438314035124622013-07-19T01:40:00.004+02:002013-07-19T01:40:52.229+02:00Christmas in July<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<i>Reunited and it feels so good....</i><br />
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After nearly 11 months of living in temporary housing, last week I finally moved into the apartment I'll call home for the next two years. It's adorably charming, cozy with a flair of Old Europe charm...and right now a complete disaster. On Friday morning my HHE from Beirut was delivered, and since I packed it out nearly a year ago, I forgot exactly how much stuff I actually own. Let's just say it's way too much. And on top of the HHE, my UAB out of DC was also dropped off, so my foyer looked a bit like a loading dock...2,200 lbs of memories shoved into 47 boxes sat piled in various corners. And suddenly what had felt like cavernous rooms with too much space for just one person was teeming with cardboard and paper. I was at risk of being buried alive by falling boxes and I'm pretty sure I lost the cats a time or two.<br />
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Against my better judgement, I decided to do the bulk of the unpacking myself. I let the movers handle the really heavy and bulky items, but I figured it wouldn't be that big of a deal to go through the rest at my own pace. Plus it would be fun to rediscover stuff I had forgotten I even had. And there were some fun highlights-my handmade Syrian furniture made it without a scratch; the Persian rugs aren't moth eaten; and possibly most importantly, my heated foot bath is ready for at-home pedicures! With pedis starting around 40 Euros-without nail polish included-I have a feeling that bath will be getting a lot of mileage...<br />
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There were also some rather astonishing discoveries. Three boxes of shoes? A couple boxes worth of purses? I seriously own more than 50 scarves? Pretty sure this qualifies as an accessory addiction. There were also a few items that made me question my packing strategy back in Lebanon. Did I really need to bring a gold tambourine or glitter mask from NYE? How did all this cat hair get on my (supposedly) clean sweaters? Why is there a random almond at the bottom of this bag?<br />
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But what really got me was the packing paper. Apparently anything that appeared even the slightest bit breakable required four sheets of paper. Now this wound up being a great tactic as everything made it in one piece, but the aftermath translated into piles and piles of what amounted to a small forest in my entry way.<br />
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I've spent this past week clearing pathways, filling closets, and attempting to sort through years of souvenirs and memories. Even though I'm still surrounded by boxes, it's starting to feel like home. Books are on the shelves, art is ready to be hung, and my dresser is filled with scarves. It might take me a little while to get everything arranged just the way it should be, but at least I'm here to stay. Until the next packout anyway. </div>
Pantsuits and Pearlshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07819442430220803693noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1222786239833664961.post-2387967366335376652013-07-08T00:27:00.002+02:002013-07-08T00:27:40.287+02:00Let Freedom Ring<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
It's that time of year again. Pool parties, hot dogs, extravagant displays of pyrotechnics. Singing along off-key to every patriotic song imaginable. Celebrating the 4th of July overseas, however, can look a little different than it does at home. While the long weekend might not be full of neighborhood BBQs and baseball games, toasting America's independence with fellow expats and explaining its significance to foreigners has become one of the highlights of life abroad for me. This year, though, will be one for the memory books. <div>
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A strong appreciation for liberty, freedom, and independence is deeply-rooted within Belgians, and never is it demonstrated more than during this time of year. In honor of the Fourth of July, the <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Manneken_Pis" target="_blank">Manneken Pis</a> statue in downtown Brussels was dressed up like Uncle Sam. Belgium is a free country today, in part, because of our brave, and Belgians aren't shy about expressing their gratitude for the sacrifices made by the American military on their soil. </div>
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This country is a history buff's dream. Battle memorials dot the countryside from Waterloo to Bastogne to Ypres, and many more towns in between. I'm embarrassed to say I'm not as well-versed in World War I and World War II history as I should be, but that's something I plan to change during my stint here. When I was offered the opportunity to serve as the Embassy representative at a commemoration ceremony for a Belgian town's liberation by American GIs, I jumped at the chance. Getting to venture outside of Brussels and learn a little bit of history at the same time sounded like the perfect way to spend an afternoon. What I wasn't expecting was just how moving the day would be. </div>
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The charming village of Remicourt, located on the outskirts of Liege, hosts an annual wreath-laying ceremony in homage to soldiers who lost their lives while liberating Belgium and reconstructs a military camp with authentic material used by the US Army during WWII. Standing in the town square, flanked by older gentlemen bearing Belgian and American flags, I felt as if I had been transported back in time. A contingent of young men were dressed in American and Allied WWII military uniforms. US military jeeps and cargo trucks filled the background. The stars on the American flag dancing in the breeze only numbered 48. </div>
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In a town official's speech to kick-off the ceremony, he offered profuse thanks to the young soldiers "who should have been dancing, playing, living life" but instead came to Belgium to fight the German occupation. He expressed deep gratitude for all the Americans had done for Remicourt and Belgium, and reiterated what was inscribed on the memorial : "to those who gave their lives for peace and liberty, we will never forget."</div>
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After we paid our respects at the monuments for American and Allied forces, followed by the Belgian resistance, we made our final stop at the monument for the liberation of Remicourt. On September 6, 1944, the German army invaded the small town and rounded up all of the townspeople, who were then taken hostage and locked in a church. One of the flag-bearers recounted the incident, saying the Germans intended to burn the church down with all the residents still inside. At this point of the story the gentleman began to get choked up, as he described how the American GIs came to their rescue on September 7, riding into town, defeating the Germans, and liberating Remicourt. He stood up straight, looked me square in the eye, and thanked the American armed forces for saving his home and family. Excuse me while I go get a tissue. </div>
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It was in the shadow of this same church where Remicourt's monument was built. As the flag bearers stood at attention and the crowd looked on, I climbed the stairs and placed a wreath at the base of the memorial. As the official US representative, and sole American in attendance, the town wanted me to have the honor of paying tribute to what my countrymen had done for them. They reiterated how grateful they are to Americans, and repeatedly thanked me for all the United States has done for Belgium. I had never encountered such sincere and earnest pro-American sentiments abroad before. I realized that I was much more accustomed to images of American flags being burned or anti-U.S. messages being broadcast, and was a little taken aback by the overflowing love and support being expressed. </div>
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Bowing my head in prayer, taking a moment to honor the sacrifices made, I was embraced by the silence that had befallen the gatherers. A moment later, the haunting notes of a trumpet pierced the air, as a lone musician played the Star Spangled Banner. I placed my hand over my heart and softly mouthed the words, while the rest of the group stood in respectful silence. Gazing at that church, with the notes of the anthem ringing in the background, chills ran down my spine and tears filled my eyes. Standing on that hallowed ground, I felt like I was truly experiencing what freedom really means. Remicourt and its residents exist today because of American servicemen, doing what they have always done and will continue to do, coming to the aid of those searching for liberty and independence. This town is grateful everyday for the opportunity to live freely, the memories of occupation still sharp in its collective memory. </div>
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As the breeze carried away the trumpet's final tune and I descended the stairs, several people emerged from the crowd, asking for a moment of my time to introduces themselves and share their personal stories. One man, dressed in an American flag button-down shirt, said his father was an American GI who had returned to the States after the war. After decades of searching, this gentlemen discovered he had brothers and sisters in Ohio and proudly displayed family photos taken during his recent trip to meet them. Another man described how his mother had taken in wounded American soldiers and secretly nursed them back to health so they wouldn't be captured by the Germans. One of the soldiers located his mom 50 years later and traveled back to Belgium to thank her. There were several stories likes these, each one offering a unique glimpse into the narrative that has helped build such strong ties between our two countries. </div>
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I don't think I'll ever look at the 4th of July the same way again after this weekend. When you are blessed to grow up in a country where life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness are boldly proclaimed in its Declaration of Independence, it can be easy to take such freedoms for granted. And while I have lived in and visited many places where such freedoms aren't permitted, much less enjoyed, I had never really set foot on liberated land before or met people who remembered what occupation was like. Stories of hard-won independence had always taken place somewhere else, far from home, and, I'm embarrassed to admit, had had minimal personal impact on my life. But now that's changed. I will never forget the people I met in Remicourt, the faces of the children I saw who would not be alive today had their grandparents not been liberated from that church. Whenever I hear our anthem, I will remember that trumpet belting the Star Spangled Banner for all the world to hear. An enduring declaration. Let freedom ring. </div>
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Pantsuits and Pearlshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07819442430220803693noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1222786239833664961.post-83399307399655863982013-07-02T23:48:00.001+02:002013-07-03T00:24:29.531+02:00Remembering One of Our Own <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">It's hard to believe I arrived in Brussels almost three weeks ago. Three weeks <i>already</i>? Only <i>three weeks</i>? I'm not sure how it's possible to feel like I've been here for both an eternity and just a blink of an eye, but it does and I do. I've spent these couple of weeks wandering around wide-eyed and in awe of the history and grandeur that surround me. At times, the sheer freedom to go where I choose, when I choose, without body guards or armored vehicles, has been almost suffocating. I've thrown myself into work, pouring over files and cables, eager to learn as much as I can in order to become a productive and contributing member of the team as quickly as possible. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">The rigorous nine months spent slogging through French training in DC have started drifting into the background, slowly fading into nostalgic memories of a time spent in the States getting paid to learn a beautiful language. Constant reminders of the amazing friendships and bonds forged with colleagues over our struggles with French grammar (I still detest subjunctive) and pronunciation (why can't I distinguish between <i>vin</i> and <i>vent?) </i>have become less frequent. Not because I no longer care, but because adjusting to this new life has taken nearly all the energy and enthusiasm I can muster. I assumed this was the same for the other "Frenchies" too, as we all start to drift to our remote (or not) corners of the globe, making it on our own yet inextricably bound by all those months pacing the halls of FSI. I thought so, that is, until this weekend. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">On Saturday, June 29, our tight-knit group of pseudo-Francophile FSOs lost a member. Not even two months after her arrival in Haiti, Antoinette was tragically killed in a car accident. Even writing this down doesn't make it feel real. News of her passing traveled around the globe at lightening speed, from the Congo to Guinea, Mauritania to DC. Even colleagues here in Brussels, who hadn't been in French or even had the pleasure of knowing her personally, had heard the crushing news and were lamenting her death come Monday morning. Despite the horrifying circumstances, this was a comforting reminder of what the Foreign Service family really means. In times of happiness or sorrow, abundance or need, celebration or mourning, it comes together. We come together. No matter where we are or what we're doing. Emails go flying, phone calls are made. Who can do what for whom? Checking on each other, leaning on each other. No matter how much time has passed, this is how it's always done. For whatever irrational reason, I've maintained the naive notion that when tragedy strikes it won't be close to home, won't hurt anyone I know. But it always hurts somebody's home, hurts somebody's loved one. And this time, it could happen to us. It did happen to us. Antoinette was one of us, part of our family. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">I'm afraid whatever I could say here won't do her memory justice, but I want to try anyway. I want her husband and two sweet little babies to know that we are heartbroken over her loss, shocked by a life taken far too soon, made raw by the thought of the agony her loved ones are now enduring. Spunky and funny, with a quick smile and an infectious laugh, Antoinette always brightened my day with a witty line or sarcastic remark. Her passion for development work and excitement over her assignment to Haiti was evident after just minutes of chatting with her. She was a committed public servant, caring, generous, and thoughtful. She was also a marathon runner and proud mama. I am honored to call her a member of our family, and am humbled by the ultimate sacrifice she and her family have made. Thank you, Antoinette, for serving our country with grace and dignity. Your kind spirit shall never be forgotten. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Please click <a href="http://www.usaid.gov/news-information/press-releases/statement-administrator-shah-death-foreign-service-officer" target="_blank">here</a> to read the condolence statement issued yesterday by USAID Administrator Rajiv Shah.</span></div>
Pantsuits and Pearlshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07819442430220803693noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1222786239833664961.post-74235936671355412442013-06-24T00:45:00.000+02:002013-07-07T19:16:10.488+02:00Three Years and Counting<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
When I started this blog just before joining the Foreign Service in 2010, I was eager to join the throngs of FSO and FS family bloggers chronicling their adventures around the globe. I wanted to create a platform to not only recount my own stories to family and friends, but to also highlight the challenges of FS life, especially for those navigating the system with Members of Household (MOHs) or traveling with pets. Well, as you can see, that clearly didn't happen. Work got busy, life got messy, and keeping this updated became less and less of a priority.<br />
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Fast forward a couple of years and I'm ready to give it another shot, this time from Belgium as I start my second tour. I thought about deleting my earlier posts, wiping the slate clean, and coming up with a new blog to kick off my new assignment. But I decided that would be unfair to the person I was writing those early entries, so anxious about moving abroad and leaving loved ones behind, yet so full of hope and enthusiasm for the opportunities and experiences to come. Those early posts serve as a reminder to me about how far I've come, both personally and professionally, and also about why I joined in the first place.<br />
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I think any officer will tell you there are plenty of moments in your career-even as a green FSO in a first or second tour-that make you second guess your decision to uproot your life to serve your country far away from home. However, rereading some of those entries I can almost feel the butterflies in my stomach while taking the oath, or the swell of pride on Flag Day when I learned I'd be doing human rights work in Lebanon. It's moments like those that will help me get through the early days in my new city, as I teeter on the fine line between tourist and resident, impatiently expecting to have carved out a life in a place I've only called home for a week.<br />
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Such is the strange reality that is FS life. Moving every few years; adapting to new customs, cultures, and languages; being given opportunities and facing obstacles beyond compare. These are the thrills and adventures I was seeking when I joined, and they are still what gets my blood pumping today. What I wasn't prepared for, though, was how this job would make me throw my well-crafted life plan out the window. The clearly-scripted goals, objectives, and milestones my Type-A personality had carefully outlined quickly succumbed to the unofficial "it depends" mantra of our line of work. I have been pushed, tested, and challenged, and I am a better person for it.<br />
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When I started this blog three years ago, I could never have imagined the many things to come...that I would live through the Arab Spring, interview Syrian refugees fleeing a bloody civil war, or end a nearly five-year-long relationship. I never thought I would study French and pack my bags to spend a couple years in the heart of Europe. Sometimes life goes as planned and sometimes it doesn't. Sometimes you end up where you intend and sometimes you don't. And sometimes you realize that all the zigzagging life has made actually led you to the exact place you should be. I could never have imagined Brussels was in my future, but here it is and here I am. Ready to see what this crazy and amazing way of life has in store. </div>
Pantsuits and Pearlshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07819442430220803693noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1222786239833664961.post-89204603947177241492010-10-17T23:14:00.000+02:002010-10-17T23:14:17.920+02:00Better Late Than Never<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I'm going to skip the drawn out explanation about how I've been meaning to update the blog for weeks and weeks now and just say I made it safely to Beirut and am having the absolute time of my life! After months of training, packing, stressing, goodbyes, and more freaking out, the cats and I arrived in Beirut in mid-September. One month in and I'm slowly developing a routine, though I'm quickly learning that life in Lebanon can't be lived by following a predictable schedule!</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Life in Beirut is fantastic, though it's much different than most of our other Embassies as all employees live on the Embassy compound. Apparently compared to other Foreign Service housing ours is very small, but I live in a charming two-story bungalow with a balcony off my bedroom that overlooks the Mediterranean. This might be a hardship post, but I'll take a sweeping sea view any day of the week! </span><br />
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</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Work has definitely been a whirlwind. My colleagues are so smart and helpful, and they've really made this transition much smoother than it could have been. One of the most heartbreaking things I've done so far is tour Palestinian refugee camps. I was part of a group observing UN-funded schools in action, and I will never forget the conditions under which the children have to study. The cramped classrooms, extreme heat, and lack of a playground don't encourage scholarship, but the students were so attentive and eager to learn. The kids-especially the girls-were eager to describe what they wanted to be when they grow up and knew how important education would be in achieving their dreams. I was so inspired by their determination-I'm not sure I would be as dedicated in similar circumstances. </span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Life outside of work is also busy and lots of fun. I've played on the Embassy softball team, sampled many of Beirut's tasty restaurants, and attended my first representational event: the Harley-Davidson Dealership Grand Opening. Oh yes, there's quite the Harley following here though the clientèle isn't exactly what you'd see in DC over Veteran's Day...I also attended the Spanish National Day party, and the wine and paella convinced me that Madrid needs to be at the top of my list for my second post! Yep, one month in and I'm already thinking about the next place. I need to work on this whole living in the moment thing. One way to do so is head to the spa-this is definitely a great place to pamper yourself! I indulged in a manicure, pedicure, and facial for a grand total of $65-mango mimosa included! And that's considered a bit pricey for Beirut. I plan on getting extremely spoiled while I'm here. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Well, that's the first month in a nutshell! Here's hoping that updating the blog becomes a regular occurrence =)</span></div>Pantsuits and Pearlshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07819442430220803693noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1222786239833664961.post-51031911323720011562010-07-23T02:39:00.000+02:002010-07-23T02:39:18.035+02:00Bueller? Bueller?So apparently I'm not as good at maintaining a blog as I thought I would be. Being busy shouldn't mean that I automatically fall off the face of the Earth, but I've mastered the art of being incommunicado....A lot of the past month really wouldn't have made for interesting posts anyway, so I'll save you all the pain of reading, and myself of writing, a detailed account of life after A-100. <br />
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I knew that I would be busy, but I wasn't quite as prepared for juggling all of the little details involved in an overseas move while also learning the ins and outs of US visa laws. I will be spending one of my two years in Beirut as a consular officer, so right now I'm taking a course fondly called "ConGen". I had no idea how complicated the whole process is, but it's been fascinating to learn about processes that have directly affected my family (the naturalization process, registering a birth abroad, tourist visas, etc). <br />
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Here's a rundown of some of the other superfun logistics I've been wrangling with, and if anyone has tips on moving overseas I would love to hear them! <br />
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1. Set my travel itinerary<br />
2. Decided to take the cats with me<br />
3. Changed my travel itinerary<br />
4. Decided the cats should stay in DC<br />
5. Donated multiple bags of stuff to Goodwill<br />
6. Had a freakout<br />
7. Learned about passports and visas<br />
8. Decided to take the cats with me<br />
9. Had another freakout<br />
10. Destressed with a Sex and the City marathon with one of my best friends<br />
11. Repeatedly taking deep breaths<br />
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At this point, all of my travel plans are book and the kitties have plane reservations. Now it's time to focus on organizing all of my stuff, as well as making list after list of just about everything. In the meantime, I'm trying to come up with a DC Bucket List and actually stay on top of this blog. Stay tuned!Pantsuits and Pearlshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07819442430220803693noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1222786239833664961.post-90424557815263311402010-06-15T22:34:00.000+02:002010-06-15T22:34:37.714+02:00Flag Day!The Friday before Flag Day I found out I received a 3/3 on my Arabic exam! Most government agencies assess language skills based on the Interagency Language Roundtable scale, and a 3/3 translates as "general professional proficiency." While that sounds like a pretty inflated assessment of my skills, I'll take the compliment-especially because it gets me off language probation and one step closer to meeting tenure requirements!<br />
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Fast forward to Monday, June 7th: Flag Day. I don't think I've been that anxious in a looong time. It was all I could do to stay focused during the morning sessions. Never before had one moment in time had such an impact on my life and future, and I have absolutely no control over it! Where will I live? When will I leave? Can Gene come with me? Will he be able to find a job? Will we get engaged? Can the cats come with me? All of my "what if" questions would finally come to an end once the name of my post was announced. No more hypotheticals. I would finally be able to plan my life again.<br />
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Two of my best friends accompanied Gene to Flag Day. I was so glad to have friendly faces in the audience, yet my nervousness couldn't be assuaged. When it was finally time to take our seats, I grabbed a spot in the front row with a few friends. Armed with a copy of the bid list, I first crossed off the names of posts that wouldn't be filled by our class. One by one, city names were read and happy colleagues made their way to the front to claim their flag. Several of my "high" posts were called, including Cairo. I was really starting to wonder where I was going to go....my guess was between Jeddah and Jerusalem. After Sana'a was called, then Jeddah, I was pretty sure Jerusalem was it. Then a flag came up for a post I had ranked high, but really didn't think I had a chance to get. Not only would it use my language skills, but it would fulfill my one year Consular requirement as well as provide a year of in-cone Political training. It also had fabulous weather and food, plus a high differential and plenty of R&Rs. I looked back at my class, trying to guess who would get this exciting post. Then, all of a sudden, I heard my name....<br />
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I'm going to Beirut!!!<br />
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I spent the rest of the ceremony tracking my colleagues' posts, but once the event was over it was all I could do not to jump for joy and cheer. I'm off to Lebanon in September!!! Wahooooo!Pantsuits and Pearlshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07819442430220803693noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1222786239833664961.post-74912025917594546012010-06-15T22:06:00.000+02:002010-06-15T22:06:00.689+02:00I've Got SkillsAfter we turned in our bid lists, the next week and a half was spent honing a variety of skills needed to be a successful FSO. We had an overnight retreat out in Wild and Wonderful West Virginia that consisted of a plethora of team building exercises. I was very disappointed not to spend two days doing trust falls and ropes courses, we had a lot of fun getting to know one another and hanging out outside of the office setting!<br />
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The following week we worked on "core skills": public speaking, speech writing, and fielding questions in a variety of settings. I wish I could say I handled all of this with grace, but man public speaking makes me nervous! I did my best to be confident, and I definitely think I did better answering questions from the public, but I really need to work on delivering speeches. If I do say so myself, I think I wrote a decent speech. However standing behind that lectern, all confidence, eye contact, and a steady voice went out the window. Not really sure how long it will take, but I see plenty of sessions in front of the mirror in my future.... Pantsuits and Pearlshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07819442430220803693noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1222786239833664961.post-43012180745972000052010-06-15T21:45:00.000+02:002010-06-15T21:45:58.272+02:00Three Weeks LaterWell, I thought I would be much better about updating this blog. So much has transpired since my last entry that instead of writing one long posting, I'm going to break it up into topics. Flag Day, Swearing-In, getting ready for my first post...but let's back up to The Woods.Pantsuits and Pearlshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07819442430220803693noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1222786239833664961.post-69061961002772726392010-05-26T04:41:00.000+02:002010-05-26T04:41:20.548+02:00Calling All Box Checkers!<i>Hi, my name is Laila, and I am a Box Checker. Hi Laila.</i><br />
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Like many people in the Foreign Service, I am a Type A overachiever. I'm always been a compulsive list maker, but apparently now I'm a box checker as well. For this to make sense, I guess I need to back up a bit. In order to make tenure, every FSO must be off language probation, serve one year in a Consular position, and for those of us with Critical Needs Language (CNL) points, must serve one of the first two tours in a country that uses the CNL.<br />
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Last week I had a meeting with my advisor to discuss my preferences and how I ranked the bid list. One of the first things he said to me after I sat down was that I was quite the Box Checker. I didn't know how to take that at first, especially since I've been trying to internalize the unofficial Foreign Service mantra "It Depends" and am making an honest attempt to be flexible. The last thing I wanted to do was appear rigid to the person who holds the direction of the next two years of my life in his hands. My most important preference showed my true nature though: use CNL points and/or take a Consular position. I'm lucky enough to already be off language probation, so I figured if I could get the other two requirements out of the way in the first tour then I would be free to choose what I wanted for the second tour. I guess that doesn't sound quite as flexible as I had hoped....<br />
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After our meeting, I considered my advisor's suggestions and spent a good portion of the weekend researching countries and ranking, rearranging, then re-ranking the bid list. Last night I submitted my final list of preferences and the ranked bid list, so now it's out of my hands and the chips will fall where they may. I plan on spending the next 13 days trying to be flexible, but for now I'll be answering most questions with "It Depends".Pantsuits and Pearlshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07819442430220803693noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1222786239833664961.post-66718940786628022402010-05-18T06:23:00.000+02:002010-05-18T06:23:17.780+02:00What a Week!I was totally unprepared for how exhausting A-100 was going to be, but I also had no idea how much I was going to love it! This last week has been a complete whirlwind, and as family and friends can attest, I've pretty much fallen off the radar. We officially started the 153rd A-100 class (Orientation for Junior <span class="goog-spellcheck-word">FSOs</span>) on Tuesday, and have since been listening to high-ranking speakers, learning the ins and outs of State, and receiving the highly anticipated bid list.<br />
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Oh, the bid list. I have spent the last five days excitedly researching cities all over the world, including googling many to find out where they were even located! We aren't allowed to publish the list, but I can say that it's pretty fantastic. I've done my initial ranking of the posts, but don't have to submit the list until next week so I'm sure it will change several more times...My biggest hope is that I'll go somewhere where I can use my Arabic, preferably in a large city. Of course it would be also nice if Gene had some employment opportunities, or at the very least a reliable <span class="goog-spellcheck-word">internet</span> connection for telecommuting purposes. I happily signed several forms indicating that I'm World Wide Available so we'll have to wait and see what happens!<br />
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Now I just have to wait three more weeks till Flag Day!!Pantsuits and Pearlshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07819442430220803693noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1222786239833664961.post-64658753217963932952010-05-11T05:39:00.000+02:002010-05-11T23:24:55.926+02:00Every MOH has a HOH!I am officially a Foreign Service Officer! That still sounds so weird to say. So many years prepping for this moment, so many months wading through the application process, and now here I am, a State Department employee! Don't mind me while I sit here and do my happy dance.<br />
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To overuse my school analogy, today was like class registration. Except for the part where we swore to uphold the Constitution. I feel very lucky to have already held two jobs in my life that require me to pledge allegiance to this country. Even though this wasn't my first time saying the oath, it still gave me goose bumps!<br />
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<span style="color: #351c75; font-family: inherit;">“I, Super Happy Brand New FSO, do solemnly swear that I will support and defend the Constitution of the United States against all enemies, foreign and domestic; that I will bear true faith and allegiance to the same; that I take this obligation freely, without any mental reservation or purpose of evasion, and I will well and faithfully discharge the duties of the office on which I am about to enter. So help me God.”</span><br />
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<span style="color: black; font-family: inherit;">We spent the rest of the day listening to fascinating power point presentations about health insurance, retirement benefits, and various other administrivia. My favorite speaker dropped by at the end of the day to discuss traveling for State. During the Q&A portion, the subject of marriage while at post came up. In no uncertain terms, the speaker informed us that there's no problem "acquiring" a husband when you're abroad. Glad to know it's no more complicated than picking up a piece of antique furniture or a handwoven rug! </span><br />
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Now of course he was teasing, but this made me think about my own situation and two of my favorite Foreign Service acronyms: MOHs and HOHs. Since Gene and I aren't married, in the eyes of the government he's my Member of Household [MOH] and I'm the Head of Household [HOH]. I'll wait for the jokes to stop. <br />
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Still waiting.<br />
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Ok. Whether or not we'll get married has to be one of the most frequently questions we get asked, right after "where are you going?" and "what will he do?" So here's a quick explanation for those of you who haven't heard our decision: we aren't rushing to the alter. Neither of us wants to get married before we're ready just because it's convenient and we'd get more money, although the extra money sure would be nice...I'm unbelievable lucky to have a boyfriend who is so supportive of me taking this job that I want to make sure I'm equally supportive for him. It will take some time to figure out what he can do abroad and if this lifestyle really is for him. I'm pretty certain it is for me, but this is my dream, and I don't see the need in putting any undue pressure on him or our relationship. Plus, there's no reason to hurry down the aisle towards yet another acronym: EFM [Eligible Family Member]. Although it does beat the slightly pejorative "trailing husband."<br />
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Now the paperwork is done, my freshly printed badge is in hand, and A-100 training begins tomorrow!Pantsuits and Pearlshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07819442430220803693noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1222786239833664961.post-5749964056436581182010-05-10T04:53:00.000+02:002010-05-10T04:53:41.673+02:00Back to SchoolSo tomorrow is the big day! This moment has been months in the making, and yet it seems like it just snuck up on me. I've spent the last week closing one chapter of my life, saying goodbyes to friends and colleagues, and spending several evenings celebrating the transition from one job to another. Somewhere in there I've managed to shop far too often, buy a few too many suits and pairs of dress shoes, and host a meet-and greet for a group of my A-100 colleagues. (The goverment is full of fun acronyms, which I will outline more thoroughly in a future post, but A-100 is the orientation program for Junior Foreign Service Officers.)<br />
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Growing up, I was always the kid who couldn't wait for the new school year to start. I looked forward to the back-to-school trip to Staples to buy new colored pencils, notebooks, and pretty much any other office supply you could imagine. I got my first planner in the sixth grade, and every year since then I've had a bit too much fun picking out the perfect organizer. Now five years after college graduation, I feel like tomorrow is the first day of school all over again. And just like elementary school, I have a new notebook and pen ready to go, albeit in a more professional looking bag instead of my old Jansport backpack. I have butterflies in the pit of my stomach, but it's mixed with excitement, and just like the old days, I can't wait to get the schedule for the next five weeks. Nothing like a syllabus on the first day to get me out of bed in the morning. Yes, I'm just that cool. <br />
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Tonight the 151st A-100 class hosted a reception to welcome my class, the 153rd A-100, into the Foreign Service. It was great meeting so many of my classmates, and seeing familiar friendly faces from my party last night. At least this will make the first day a bit less nervewracking. Now all that's left is obsessing over the perfect outfit.Pantsuits and Pearlshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07819442430220803693noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1222786239833664961.post-70365617914075154292010-04-29T07:35:00.000+02:002010-04-29T07:35:03.122+02:00Welcome to the FutureBefore I can write about where I'm going, I need to take a moment and reflect on where I've been. Maybe it was the fact that I got my first passport when I was five weeks old. Or maybe it was because I had moved five times and visited three continents by the time I was nine. Maybe it was because I was so frustrated that I couldn't communicate with my Urdu-speaking grandmother. Whatever caused it, I have known since I was little that my life would include frequent international travel and exposure to new languages and cultures.And for the past 15 years, I have aspired to join the Foreign Service. <br />
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In middle school, I idolized Madeleine Albright as she became the first female Secretary of State. I couldn't imagine a cooler job than flying around the globe and meeting with foreign dignitaries, and my inner feminist was thrilled that a woman represented America abroad. While my teenage understanding of the intricacies of international diplomacy was minimal and a bit simplistic, I knew that I wanted to be involved in solving the world's problems and bringing people closer together. I read what I could about Secretary Albright, and when I learned she received a degree in International Relations I decided I would do the same. I lobbied my parents extensively in an effort to convince them that I must attend college in Washington, DC, and after much debate, they agreed and off I went to The George Washington University. When I received my BA from the Elliott School of International Affairs, I felt one step closer to living my dream.<br />
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Fast forward five years, and I'm sitting here in disbelief. I began the application process for the Foreign Service in December 2008, and now I'm less than two weeks away from being sworn in as a United States Diplomat. What began nearly two decades ago as a dream to travel the world, learn new languages, and explore other cultures, will become my reality in just 12 days. Although I have always wanted this, I'm not sure I ever thought it would actually happen. Thank you to everyone who believed in me and helped me to get where I am today. Without your enduring love and support, none of this would have been possible. <br />
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I don't want to sound like I'm accepting some award and I won't rattle off a list of people to thank, but I can't ignore how my story wouldn't be possible anywhere else. The fact that the daughter of a small-town Kentucky mom and a Pakistani immigrant dad could be appointed to the United States Diplomatic Corps, due solely to hard work, determination, and support, amazes me. I am so proud to have the opportunity to represent our nation and to show how anything is possible here if you just put your mind to it. I am so proud of the US for welcoming immigrants from all over the world so they can take a chance at living their dreams and providing their children with better lives (my home state's new immigration bill excluded). I think I've devoted more than enough space to this, but I want everyone to know how grateful I am to begin this new career, how humbled I am by my future responsibilities, and how I'll do my best to make everyone back home proud.Pantsuits and Pearlshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07819442430220803693noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1222786239833664961.post-22167540532556714832010-04-28T06:50:00.000+02:002010-04-28T07:08:23.960+02:00There's a First Time for EverythingWelcome to my blog! Never thought I would actually say that, but here I am anyway. This is my attempt to keep in touch with family and friends as I settle into my new role of American Diplomat. That still sounds weird to say! I don't start at the State Department until May 10th, so stay tuned as the adventure unfolds. Enjoy!Pantsuits and Pearlshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07819442430220803693noreply@blogger.com2