A Special Sunday

As I write this, it's Sunday in Thailand. A typical Sunday it'd be, most any other day, except today marks the beginning of the end of my teaching contract in Thailand, for I have one week left. Friends back at home have been asking me how I'm doing, and I'll answer honestly: I feel weird. I feel funky.

I haven't kept up with my blog as much as I'd have liked, mainly because I had, and still have, so many feelings, observations, and reflections to express. These emotions are so enormous that rather than tackle them head-on and journal about them, I've run away from them to avoid confronting my impending departure.

It sounds like I'm about to break up with someone.

//

Now, in the early hours on this Sunday, I will write candidly.

On leaving the classrooms: I feel glad for not having to face the deafening, wildly uncontrollable classes in the future. Though the students were often rowdy because my class was an intermission from having to sit for long school hours under the reign of strict Thai teachers, that is no justification for pretending to enjoy it. In the beginning, I used to be hard on myself and attribute their unwillingness to learn on my boringness as a teacher, but after speaking to many teachers, that surely is not the case. Really, these students sit for hours and many Thai teachers are like dictators in the classroom. For me to waltz in with games to play, a sing-song voice, and a huge smile is like adding rays of sunshine and a bowl of sugar-coated Frosted Flakes to their day. Nonetheless, my ears and voice will be most grateful upon my exit. Last Friday, for example, I just stared in stumped silence at my 2nd grade class, as one boy sat in the corner by his lonesome, playing the harmonica; as three pugnacious boys and a girl were chasing and wrestling with each other in the back of the class with realistic toy guns; as two girls argued and consequently cried; as three (adorable) girls choreographed a dance near the whiteboard; as the "big girl" in the class gave piggy back rides to the boys; as the other students colored; and as students asked me if they could go to the toilet every other minute or so. Only a few, albeit an eager few, wanted to learn about animals with me. I actually ended up laughing about it...what a wild scene!

On leaving my students: But though I worked in a circus, I will miss my students so very much. So very much so that my heart aches right now just thinking about them. When I first started teaching, I was overwhelmed by the large classes: a sea of uniforms, black hair, tan skin, eager eyes, and smiles. I'm Asian myself and had major problems memorizing their faces. But personalities emerged, my favorites were picked, my attachment grew. I feel like a parent who has raised an adoptive child and has to give him/her up: I wonder what my students will look like when they're older, what they will do, if they will still be the good children they are, if they will remember me.

Many of my students have expressed that they don't want me to leave. It's pretty cute in their broken English:

"Teacher, no go."
"Teacher. America, no."
"Teacherrrrrrrrrrr! *Clinging hug, pleading eyes*"
"Teacher, you, Amnuayvidhya School, 2011. No 2010."
"Teacher, I sad. You go America, oh no!"

To which I respond: "I know. Teacher sad." Perhaps I will be a weeping mess on Friday, who knows.

On leaving my friends: It's impossible not to form a special bond with people you've relied on for support, friendship, advice, and comradeship in a foreign country. Linnea and I will forever have a very special relationship because of all the adventures we've been on together. We were just two strangers brought together by fate, but now we have Thailand (and all its mis/adventures), and soon-to-be Burma, Cambodia, and Vietnam to share, between the memories, laughs, and shocks. She and I , along with my other Bangkok friends, Jenny and Jo, would always meet up in the city to catch up over a classy Sizzler salad bar dinner (go wild). We met tonight on Khao San, and it hit me how much I will miss the regularity of these outings. It will be surreal for me to settle back at home and see their pictures halfway across the world, knowing that I was there merely weeks, months ago. I sincerely will miss them, as well as my other CIEE friends. It's never been more clear to me than now that people are truly, strategically placed in our lives for a reason. With each path I've crossed, I take a little bit of that person with me and weave him/her into my own life. If meeting these people were all I got from CIEE, then paying that program fee would have been worth it.

On leaving this environment: Hallelujah. I can't stand this pollution anymore. I also think I will go through reverse culture shock when I go home to America and see clean streets devoid of stray dogs and their living/non-living counterparts & offsets (elaboration not needed). I can't wait!

On lessons learned: So many that I will devote a post to it. But an overarching lesson would be that many things in life do not go as planned, and yet you will seriously be okay. I knew this before Thailand but truly experienced it here in the littlest mishaps that can be applied to life in general. Buses will run late; taxi drivers will rip you off; you will wander and get lost; heck, you might not be able to communicate; but make a few U-turns, wait patiently, communicate with conviction and honesty, and keep your cool, for life is still good amidst the petty problems.

Because at the end of this, I know I am fortunate to be here and experience the ups and downs of this Thai life. As Jo reminded me the other day, when thinking about the downs of our lives in Thailand, think instead about this: Haiti. Enough said.

I am very, very blessed.