"Palagis are the potatoes of the world but Samoans are the taro." - Josh F.; Earth and Space Science Period 6
(palagi is the word used by Samoans to refer to white people; taro is a root Samoans use similarly to potatoes, you can do anything to them: mash em, bake em, fry em)
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Since I’ve written something here it’s been a few months. I’d like to say I was busy, but I was really just living island life – without a watch and without an agenda. The idea that my time here is almost up (LESS than one month left), is frightening. With still so much to do – so many things to see, mountains to climb, beaches to visit, lessons to teach my students, I don’t like thinking about the fact that in a month my ‘home’ here won’t be mine anymore. On the other hand, I am ridiculously excited that in a month I will be able to step into a grocery store and afford a box of strawberries, that I’ll be able to step into a mall with AC and immediately connect to wifi, and that ‘cocowifi’ will be a thing of the past.
With my time here ending, it seems important to talk about what I’ve learned and what this experience has meant to me, so here it is in a nutshell:
In the lives of a Worldteacher in American Samoa, this quote essentially explains what life is like. Signing up for a volunteer position meant voluntarily accepting minimal pay to cover only bare living expenses. Before arriving, this figure looked manageable, but being on the island, we realized the care it would take to maintain our income and expenses evenly. We weren’t covered for AC, wifi, hot water, or unlimited cheese purchase (my biggest issue). What it’s come down is living and growing richer through experiences, rather than our cash (and making our bus fare worthwhile). Over the past 5 months, the memories I recount best are not expensive dinners, extravagant nights out, lavish beach massages, or indulgent shopping sprees. Instead, I remember the days spent charming our way onto a Starkist tuna boat and climbing the mast, leaving with a giant tuna that would make us dinner for a week, hiking to the top of a mountain to overlook the country that had become my home, riding in the back of the pickup that offered to drive me home from school, watching the most amazing sunsets on the village rocks, the thrill of cliff jumping into unknown waves, and camping on an abandoned beach with only my hammock. These memories I’ve made don’t involve my stipend, but rather the people that have become my family and the magical beauty of this new home of mine. When they told us we’d be living off a stipend, I was hopeful, coming here and realizing the reality, I was nervous, but now coming to terms with how life on the island works, I’m optimistic. Maybe I’ll run out of my stipend quickly because I’ll buy one too many puletasis, but I also know I can count on the man at the fruit stand at the corner gives us an extra coconut because of our smiles :) Wild - B-iva ma I-sefulu-tasi, B-iva ma I-sefulu-tasi
I have been trying to learn Samoan numbers since I arrived here in American Samoa. Luckily, it only took me one full day, 7 months later, of playing bingo to make me proficient in counting, especially when the numbers are prefaced with B-I-N-G or O. I have also never been good at bingo - any random player at a VFW hall could beat me, blindfolded; so playing in American Samoa, was interesting and defeating. In a country where gambling is illegal, bingo is the biggest form of entertainment. On my way home each day, I see lines of cars along the street outside of churches, where a diversity of Samoan people sit stamping away at the 9 bingo sheets in front of them with the monotonous voice of the bingo caller holding the players' destinies. Playing bingo was not going to go well - but as a large part of the culture in the country that is my current home, I was stoked to get a shot at it. Rather than joining bingo down the street in downtown Leone, my Samoan best friend, Joey, and his badass mom brought us to the far away village of Aoa to play in a game his church was organizing. Aoa is a village all the way on the east side of the island, and so we spent an hour and 15 minutes in the back of a pick up on Monday morning driving to Aoa, soaking in the sunrise and blasting music out of our speaker. Eventually, after driving over the mountains and down a cement road that only services 200 people, we arrived at a small church in Aoa. We were too tired to even begin to think about winning a game of bingo, but we were quickly thrown in to learn the rules of the trade with Joey’s mom’s friend, as she and Joey left us to set up the venue. They walked away in their vibrant blue matching shirts, which they had gotten made earlier that week just for the event, and we were left with our bingo ‘dabbers’, a schedule of the day, and an experienced bingo-er (?) by our side. She explained that the schedule explained the different sequences that would win the prize for each bingo game – not the simple straight line, but things like ‘kites’, ‘corner stamps’, and more that went right over my head. I focused instead, on the fact that my dabber was my favorite color, orange, and on the 10-year old girl next to me who was silently mouthing to me asking about Johannah’s nose ring. Eventually, the game began. We were handed stacks and stacks of complicated bingo cards and a stick of glue – we watched as our neighbor glued 4 bingo sheets at a time to the table in front of her and followed suit. How were we going to stamp 4 2x2 bingo sheets at the same time? I had no idea, but for some reason it didn’t seem too daunting in the moment. The way the paper filled with color as I stamped away with my orange dabber and Johannah’s pink one made the effort worthwhile. At the end of each game, instead of being left with bingo sheets that smelled of old newspaper, we created masterpieces. Johannah and I looked at each other and knew immediately what we had to do – use them as wallpaper. We were thought of as a crazy as we piled up dozens of cards instead of throwing them in the multiple trashcans set up around us, but it will be beautiful it, I’m sure. Because we were the only ‘palagis’ there, the numbers began in Samoan. It was okay, because immediately our large table of welcoming Samoan women shouted out the translations for numbers as they were announced, and applauded us when we knew them without their help. My stamping skills allowed me to stamp 5 boxes per minute while my neighbor stamped at least 50. When wild numbers were announced, she would finish her own and go stamping away at mine before I got the chance to check for mistakes. At a break, we asked Tina how often she plays bingo…”everyday since I was 25” she replied…”and how often do you win?”… “maybe twice a month?” Woah. Now that is dedication. As bingos were called behind, in front, and all around us, with none coming from our table, she did not even look defeated. She laughed with the rest of us when the counter spoke too quickly and we yelled at him, or when we made joke about our dabber (let’s take a moment to realize how awesome it is that it’s called a ‘dab’ber and our favorite thing to do is dab). The game went on for hours, 4 to be exact, with only short breaks for the callers to rest their voices. At jackpot and bonus rounds, which we knew we had no chance in winning, we took a break as well and scrounged around for bottles of water. Although we were in the middle of a jungle at a beautiful Samoan church, we were also under a tent in the hellishly hot sun. A breeze that would come every 10 minutes caused everyone to breathe a sigh of relief, and then left us begging for more. Dehydration hit hard, as a result, and I chugged as much water as I could get my hands on. When I ran to the bathroom, my new 10-year old friend followed me and stood in the stall with me asking who my mom is (a weird question to start with, I think). When I got back for a snack break, our new table friends offered me a guava, after I shared that I’d never eaten a fresh one. As a fruit fanatic, it was my favorite part of the day. FRESH GUAVA, how cool. Once we got to the final few rounds, it was clear we were hopeless and no rewards were coming our way, so I started trying to give myself intense motivational speeches in my head and Johannah began helping her neighbor. The last 20 minutes felt like ages and when the final number was called followed by a victorious player yelling ‘BINGO!’ (not us), we sighed again in relief. Samoan Bingo was over and we were losers. Still we smiled at those around us and shared our losses. On the ride back it began raining, proving mother nature’s bipolar qualities, which have been showing themselves a lot in the past month, and we cuddled up in the comforting AC of Joey’s mom’s car and fell asleep, dreaming about those orange and pink dots that were almost permanently etched in my mind. Another one off the bucket list! When I arrived in American Samoa on August 7th, 2016, I had no expectations for my experience as a high school science teacher at Tafuna High School or as a resident of the new country, and I didn’t comprehend how quickly the time would pass. The halfway mark of my time here has officially come and gone, and time is speeding up more than ever. The things I’ve learned in the past 5 months have been invaluable. I have developed as a leader, both in the classroom and outside of the classroom. I have grown to adapt to foreign conditions more than ever before. I have studied an unfamiliar culture and analyzed its successes and drawbacks. Most importantly, I have learned things about myself that will help me wherever life takes me next.
To me, the most encouraging aspect of Samoan culture is its caring nature. It was almost immediate when we arrived, the feeling of appreciation from local people for our service, but even more so the integration into a place where every person cares for one another. In the classroom, my students are often fighting each other (in playful ways that sometimes turn into more), but at the end of the day, if one student opens up a soda can, it will inevitably be passed to anyone in class who is thirsty. If I take one student’s phone as a punishment, the whole class will yell in defense to make sure they get it back. I’ve never walked down a road for longer than 10 minutes – eventually a pick up truck will pull aside and offer a ride to the nearest bus stop or to my next location. Spend more than 20 minutes with a Samoan and they won’t let you turn down food – a snack from the convenience store, or part of their McAiga meal from McDonalds. The chill atmosphere that many people describe as ‘island life’ stems from the feeling of togetherness and looking out for your own people. The island is small, life is simple, and enjoyment is found in friendship and family. On this note, it’s important to explain the most distinct sound that comes to my mind when thinking of American Samoa – laughter. I realized this most when I was traveling for Christmas. Immediately when I arrived at the gate that would put me on the plane to bring me back home, to Pago Pago, I heard the laughter that became commonplace in the fall. Such joy and happiness in such an audible tone. It’ll bring a smile to your face just being around it, and so, most of the time, life is full of laughter and smiles. In the classroom, the simplest jokes bring laughter – misplacing an ‘e’ in a name, or giving a confused look. At first, I got frustrated, always feeling as if I had done something wrong, but with understanding, it’s become something to enjoy. On the other hand, the most frustrating aspect of this experience (besides the insane heat at a time when I'm used to feet and feet of snow) has been understanding that, in this culture, education does not come first. Through traveling, I’ve learned that perspectives are different everywhere, but its difficult to come to terms with a differing view to a perspective that I am deep-rooted in. I was raised in a household that pushed me to put my academics above all else. Even throughout school, my community pushed my education to the forefront, and everything else came secondary. I could easily get out of chores, sports practices or church activities by excusing myself to do homework. That is not the case here. Education is not the first, the second, or even the third point of focus. My students receive their homework, only 10 questions per week, with appalled looks on their faces as if they’ve never seen anything like it. They look at their ‘D’ grades as signs of success. Half of them can’t speak English in a way that I can communicate what they should be learning. Critical thinking and creativity in the classroom are foreign concepts. As a result, there is a low graduation rate, a low rate of students who move on to pursue higher educations and a low rate of qualified professionals, especially teachers, in the system. The implications this has on the future of American Samoa are worrisome – with a widely uneducated community, how will the beautiful culture and country stay alive and achieve success? The things that come before education should not be disregarded – they include family obligations (and families come in BIG sizes), chores, and church duties – all of which craft prosperous individuals, but without education, these qualities cannot be fully harnessed. Being at the halfway point is weird – I’ve become so comfortable where I am, familiar with customs and accepting of the relaxed lifestyle. My students truly bring me joy, no matter how much they drive me nut-so some days…understanding their personalities, watching them mature, seeing them learn, and following the growth of their relationships is surprisingly motivating. If I can walk away from this experience knowing one student thought deeper about things than before my class, even if those things don’t involve volcanoes or the moon, I’ll be content. As for island explorations, I’ve been slacking a bit. There is so much to see in this beautiful place, and though I’ve been captivated by adventures, I’m compelled to have more and make more memories this year. Though I’ve camped on beautiful beaches, been scratched painfully by coral, eaten as much palusami (coconut cream in taro leaves) as is humanly possible, drank endless niu (young coconut), and made amazing friends, I won’t leave this country without climbing every mountain, swimming in every cove, and especially jumping off every (semi-safe) cliff. It should be a law of the universe to always follow exciting vacations with more vacations as a means of recovering from your first vacation. Does that make sense? The New Year has started at Tafuna High School, and it sure is slow moving. Over the holidays, I had the amazing opportunity to travel to Australia to spend Christmas with family and New Years with a close friend. Those who have studied abroad before call this 'The Grand Return' (I spent half of my junior year in Sydney, Aus), and I'm stoked to say it lived up to that name. This trip was different than my experience studying there, though, since joining family and friends made it feel more as if I was visiting home - a truly comforting feeling after a few months without that in American Samoa. During the first week, I kept my cousin and her family comfort in Perth, a city in Western Australia. It seems more fitting to call my cousin a sister; since we look alike and when we’re together we get along so well. The times we are together, though, are limited, since we share the trait of wanting to travel the world. Paulina grew up in Poland and moved to Australia when she met her husband in Germany (only after living in Singapore and other places). Her mom still lives in Poland and my mom, her mom’s sister, is in Boston. This is how my family has been my whole life…spread out. From Poland to Boston to Australia and now to American Samoa, there’s nowhere that the wind doesn’t seem to blow us. As cool as it has been growing up, being away from such close family has many drawbacks, and so spending time with each other when we can is priceless. Christmas felt so natural; baking cookies and cakes like our moms would, making pierogi (which were a necessity in all Polish households at Christmas), and relaxing with family. It was the first warm Christmas I spent, but it didn’t feel too different after all. Paulina made sure I would have the opportunity to explore Perth and Western Australia as well. We travelled to Fremantle by bike, Cottlesloe beach, the Lancelin Sand Dunes, Perth CBD, and the Margaret River Valley. Each place was beautiful in its own way, and it was amazing to see the variation in beauty. Driving through Margaret River felt like driving through the bush. The wineries were magical and the beach was secluded and peaceful; no waves, no crowds (only a million flies to bother us). Lancelin Sand Dunes were vast and gave the feeling of being on another planet. Driving through them in a car was exhilarating and terrifying (only once when we were at a 90˚ angle facing downward), and sand boarding on them fulfilled my yearning for snowboarding, sort of. Fremantle was cute and comforting, and it felt nice to be in a city with air-conditioned stores for once. Spending time with my niece and nephew, Nina and Jan, was priceless as well. Being part of their lives while their young is important and an honor, and as they grow up I hope they remember their cool aunt from the states! After Perth I travelled to Brisbane, where I met up with a great dude named Graham. Graham studied abroad at UConn when I was working with the study abroad team, and because his Yankees hat made me furious right away and he owned the Ikea carrot to my Ikea broccoli, we hit it off. Since then, it’s become a small world! It’s refreshing to find people who enjoy traveling for the same reasons that you do and find adventure in the same ways, and it’s even more awesome to see their own country through their eyes. I was a Brisbane skeptic when I arrived, since I studied in Sydney, but I was quickly convinced that Brissy is where it’s at. A super chill vibe with good weather, cool people, great things nearby, and great ice cream places, it passed the test. Taking advantage of summer and festival season, we went to music festival called the Woodford Folk Festival, a hippy festival in the forest a little bit outside of Brisbane. It was my first festival and it was everything I imagined and more. Picture a hippy festival and you probably envision hula-hoops and butterfly wings and that was EXACTLY what this festival was. Throw in some henna tattoos, vegan food, a giant bamboo tree house and ukuleles and you have Woodford Folk Fest. Some of the musical acts included a full brass band that played some bumpin tunes guaranteed to get everyone off their feet and dancing at the end of a long day, and a Bosnian rock band that inspired everyone to hug and sway together. My favorite, though, was the band who called up the great-grandparents in the crowd, and mostly the great-grandparents who went up and busted a move on stage. Fittingly, the night ended asleep under the stars (mostly because our tent was broken, but I’m happy it was). Later we travelled to Graham’s avocado farm (omg right?!) to spend the night before hiking Mt. Warning for sunrise. Hiking for the sunrise is not something that someone who is afraid of the dark (like me) is always okay with, but for some reason, this time I was calm conquering my fear, not even flinching at the snake that blocked our path half way through. The view from the top was unbeatable – stretches of lush green grass, rolling hills, ending with a crashing waves of the Pacific Ocean. On the other side, the mountains were covered in clouds, making it look like they were covered in snow, while in the distance; we saw the tall buildings of Gold Coast. We waited as the sun rose and blinded our vision, and then headed back down, with our legs feeling like Jell-O. We made it to the bottom tired, hungry, and having made a new friend…success! After breakfast, naturally we went swimming, in a creek and in the largest waves I’ve ever been in (though to locals, they weren’t too bad). Luckily, the only casualty during the bodysurfing session was my bathing suit, at times. A little bit of readjustment fixed that and the final feeling was exhilarating. The rest of the trip consisted of good times with new friends, meeting Graham’s dad, the owner of the avocado farm and the most passionate man of them all, showing some Aussies Samoan Palusami (coconut cream in taro leaves), eating one single avocado (blasphemy, I know), picking and eating dozens of passionfruit, and throwing tomatoes at street signs. On New Years Eve, after eating the best meat pie ever (and meeting the next best comedian) at Yatlah Pies, we made it to Brisbane to pick up Johannah…we could never be apart for too long. We rang in the New Year with some delicious passion pop and dancing (as usual) and just like that it was 2017, and Johannah was off, back to Samoa. I spent one last day basking in the glory of Australia – not wearing shoes, eating eggs benedict, swimming in Brisbane, and buying gummy snakes. By the afternoon, it was my turn to say goodbye and like clockwork, the tears came. Vacation had flown by and I was devastated about leaving, back to the island, back to school, and (the biggest sigh of them all) back to the heat. I’m not too worried though…I’ve learned to not say goodbye to Australia and see ya later instead. No matter what, I’ll always find an excuse to come back. Fortunately, our vacation was extended a few days while we waited for our flight from Samoa to American Samoa, and we enjoyed one more day of air conditioned rooms and continental breakfast. That gave me time to get positive, and I left excited for what the year has offer. 2017 is going to be good. My students will learn at least something from me, I’ll learn even more about myself, and the year will bring more adventures than 2016 did (bring it on). The 2016 school year has come to a close, and how it flew by! On Friday, we celebrated the last day of school before Christmas. With barely a third of the student body and not even one full class period, it was quite a fun day. To end the holiday season in the best way, Tafuna High School held another of it's infamous pep rallies; this one was Christmas themed (my favorite). When usually I'd say no to represent the junior class on stage (in fear of embarrassing myself and dancing in public), this time, when asked to be Mrs. Clause, my 'yes' came without hesitation. With each class having an island as its theme, that meant the junior class had to incorporate New Zealand into their skit. My outfit was a Maori inspired but contemporary Mrs. Clause. My hair was tied as tight as it goes in a bun, with a present topper placed on top, tinsel everywhere, and my own ta moko chin tattoo, as is worn my many of the Maori people. My only job was to be confident on stage and do the New Zealand Maori face - stick my tongue out and open my eyes wide (Miley Cyrus-esque?) - easy. Other classes displayed their christmas spirit in traditional Samoan wear, Tongan style, and Manoan design, but our interpretation was the obvious winner. As soon as I got on stage, next to Maori santa, the kids went wild, obsessed with our facial expressions and outfits, and proud to have us represent the junior class. For the first time this year, we earned first place. When the pep rally was over, school was officially out and vacation began! The week was pretty pointless anyway...everyone in vacation mode from Monday. I watched as my students dwindled and by Thursday each class had only 10 teenagers each. Although this made it tough to teach, it brought me closer with them since we just spent our time talking about their daily struggles and trying to pass class time. You could feel the need for a break in everyone's attitudes and when the final bell finally rang, it was so sweet! That night, it was time to leave for the land of the Kangaroos, I COULD NOT BE MORE EXCITED. With our night in Samoa not planned at all, and a butt load of Christmas candy in our carry on, Johannah and I were off. Just as it usually happens, Johannah and I got up to adventure in Samoa without planning. An innocent walk to a creepy abandoned warehouse turned bar for dinner turned into finding a place to stay and becoming the body guards for the place for the night. We made Polish friends, shared pizza with the owner, and locked up the place as if we were part owners too. In the blink of an eye (okay, not really, the flight was endless), we were in Sydney and tears were rushing down my face! The last time I saw that place was balling my eyes out EXACTLY 2 years ago when I left the city behind, and coming back, though there were changes everywhere, I felt at home. Luckily, a close friend came to be our uber around the city and take us to spots of utmost importance - Gelato Messina. My signature scoop of white chocolate salted caramel tasted better than ever and memories rushed back in every lick. Driving through the city, past the dorm I lived in, past the beach I ran by each day, and past the bars we were regulars at was bittersweet. It was the best time of my life, and one I can never recreate! With that realization, it was time to leave Sydney behind, hopefully Australia can offer me new sorts of adventures in the future...now it's off the Perth and Brisbane! Life is exciting (also kind of overwhelming). It's crazy to think it's already December, since the heat is rising and the sun seems to only be getting stronger. Whenever I close my eyes, I try to imagine myself on the snowy streets of Boston wearing gloves, a scarf, and a hat, or shredding some snow in Vermont...but I'm not. I guess there have to be some trade-offs for moving to a tropical island. Last weekend was a memorable one. We impulsively hiked one of the National Park hikes here in American Samoa, Mt Alava (and it was 100% worth it). We've been told the hike is temperamental - that we had to make sure to start at the right time (really early), that we could not do it if it rained (because it would be too slippery), that it was hard to get to the trail head (only a powerful car could get there), but obviously we tried anyways. ure, we ran into some trouble - with sun since we started a bit late, as I'm still feeling the effects of my sunburn, with rain since it was just a tad slippery - we only had one fall and a few close calls, and with getting to the trail head but WE MADE IT! The hike was long - 5 hours in total - but the view from the top was the best I've seen on island. At the top is a rusty abandoned tower, where we sat and watched the town below - looking for places we knew, and thinking of how we can get to the places we didn't. After hundreds of pictures (obviously...we're girls obsessed with instragram), we made our way down. In a true samoan fashion, as we were walking down the road towards the town, we were picked up in the back of a pick up truck and hitchhiked our way home. That night, we celebrated the holidays with our World Teach Christmas party. It felt weird to be singing christmas carols and decorating cookies while I was profusely sweating (my sunburn from that day was no help)...but it was comforting nonetheless. What's a christmas party without a gift exchange? The answer is nothing...especially when you walk away with a pint of homemade ice cream from Samu's like I did! Later on, we met a group of fishermen who work on boat that brings in tuna for starkist. Johannah and I charmed our way into a free giant tuna (that's in the freezer now if anyone wants some), and a giant hunk of marlin, freshly caught. For the next few weeks, we'll be eating poke, ceviche, tartare, and tuna steaks for breakfast, lunch, and dinner..nom. Sunday was relaxing, as it should be, and filled with lesson planning. It's hard for me to get myself to do much of anything regarding school when the weeks are so tiring and days are endless, but getting most of the nitty-gritty out of the way on sunday helps immensely. On these nights, I always get a little sad that another weekend has ended and another school week will fly by in the blink of an eye, but I guess that means more adventures to look forward to! 1 more month till Christmas!! What's a typical day like in American Samoa? It's a question that I ask myself often. How is life on a teeny island in the middle of the Pacific ever normal? Somehow, though, I've fallen into a routine and I'm finally at home, here's what it looks like...
My typical weekday morning starts at 6. I wake up to my alarm clock, typically still exhausted because still, after finishing college, I don't know how to force myself to go to sleep at a reasonable hour. I'm usually drenched in sweat because my house is an oven, and I probably have at least 4 new bug bites starting to tickle. Before most other things, I check my phone for updates by going out to the front step (it's the only place to get wifi). The facebook notifications and snapchats give me a sense of home and morning texts from my mom make me smile and remember my cheer squad on the other side of the world. Next, I quickly decide on the skirt I'll wear and pack my clothes for after school. For breakfast, I eat a smoothie with papaya and bananas, or a spoonful of peanut butter and a cup of the dunkin donuts coffee my parents keep sending from home. Once my bags are packed, I step out the door, crossing my fingers that someone will ask me if I want a ride. Most times, I get lucky. Someone stops by the mart in front of my house and ask if I'd like to ride in the bed of their truck. They know I'm a world-teacher, and have been close with teachers from the past, and they want to help us out in any way they can. If I can't hitchhike, I'll wait for a bus...one of those crazy reggae buses with fuzzy boas lining the dashboard. This morning, I was on a bus at 7am, the bass was blaring so much my sunglasses were falling off and we were going almost 50 mph (the speed limit is only 25)...it was QUITE the way to start off a day. When I get to school, I sign in at the office, pick up the daily bulletin and get ready to start the day. Students come in as soon as they see my door open, most to leave their backpacks in a safe spot, or just to sit and escape the various 'turfs' around campus, as my room is a neutral zone. At 820, the bell rings and all the students start rushing in. They make their typical teenage jokes and I'm reminded of what I'm doing and who I'm working with. Sometimes, it's hard to feel like an adult with these kids - we listen to the same music, they talk about their girl/boy drama, they comment on each other's eyebrows, and they wear clothes under their uniforms that aren't so different than my own. I try to snap into teacher mode and keep stern, so when 830 rolls around, a student begins the day with a Samoan song and prayer. Announcements are made and we jump into a lesson. This week we talked about plate tectonics and boundaries connecting earth's puzzle pieces. They love the incorporation of music and sounds, and drawing and art. Before lunch my students complain about the heat and ask if I'm okay because I'm getting red and wonder if I'll make it to the bell. By lunch I'm usually pooped and sweating more than I can handle. That's when I think about the snow and cold I could be in if I was home (sigh). At lunch, I try to escape my room and students, but most of the time they catch me first, looking over my shoulder at my facebook or asking for bites of my papaya. This is when we bond though, so I'm only half frustrated (and half-delighted). The bell signalling the end of lunch rings 15 minutes early because a fight has broken out and that's the only way to control it. With this extra 15 minutes of class, I find myself flustered and making up for time. Usually we laugh about something or discuss why fighting won't get them anywhere (most of them hear nothing when I say this). Two more periods fly by and the day finally ends. After school, the kids disappear to McDonalds and Carls Jr. (probably for another fight) and the campus is eerily empty. I use this time to skype and facetime people back home (let me know if you want your slot!) or catch up on school work and grading. After asking my mom to show me the fridge and my closet and the stuff I left at home, I sneak out to catch a bus to the gym, which always takes longer than I expect. The bus ride is bumpin again and I show up just on time to the gym at 430 with a warm welcome from the owner of the gym, and my current girl crush, Paula. She pushes Johannah and I through the workout: adding in extra burpees, testing us for faster sprints, and occasionally interrupts to tell us about the cheese and wine she just bought, her upcoming vacation, or her annoyances with her husband. She also runs the rowing team and is training for an Australian race in Sydney. I plan to be her prodigy, but I haven't been able to convince her yet (it'll come with time). When I eventually catch the last bus of the night from the gym to Leone, it takes every detour possible. Luckily, I pass a beautiful ocean stretch just as the sun starts to set and get home as the brightness goes below the mountains. Finally, I'm home and I lay down on the couch already prepared for sleep. I make myself some coconut rice or avocado toast, eat some ice cream, and sit by my laptop to try to get through some school work. It's really hot, though, so most of the time I just go sit in my hammock on the porch and fall asleep to Harry Potter, or lie right in front of the fan in my room to try to cool off. Somehow the time between when dinner I and bed time passes in the blink of an eye and I get ready for bed and to do the same thing all over again. Though this is the normal outline of a day, each day has it's plot twists...maybe the person who picks me up in the morning is a friend of a friend who will now get me involved in something I've been really excited to try, or maybe my students decide that today they'll have a sketching competition with me as the judge. It's pretty crazy to think that this is what is 'normal' now, but this is, after all, why I chose this experience. Every day is different, but every day is awesome. |
AuthorThe only way to find yourself is to get lost (and eat a lot of ice cream). Archives
January 2017
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