The Coteacher
I want to tell you about Oh.
Well, Pi Oh, as I call her.
I have mentioned Pi Oh in my blog posts before, but only in passing. And considering what I want to share with you now, that fact is ridiculous.
Pi Oh is my coteacher. She has been working at Ban HuayMongkol for 6 years, where she teaches English and Art. She grew up in a neighboring town called Sam Roi Yot, where the mountains were her backyard. Together, we go and visit often, since the only thing she is more passionate about than teaching is her family. She loves drawing, playing with her 4 adorable nieces, and walking her dogs.
At the extremely young age of 31, Pi Oh was recently promoted to Head of Teaching staff at our school. To-poorly- summarize, the Head of Teaching staff is responsible for ensuring teacher’s paperwork is completed on time and correctly, and relays to teachers any information that the Principal or Supervisor gives her. Needless to say, the job is exhausting, and the job is thankless.
Almost every evening, I lock my office door and pass hers to wave goodbye, fully knowing while I do that she will stay and work until 9 or 10 at night. And she won’t just be doing paperwork or grading. She’ll let students whose parents have not picked them up yet draw pictures, do homework, or listen to them read aloud for extra credit. She knows all 350 students’ names, their parents' names, where they live, what they like, and so on.
The minute Pi Oh wakes up at 5 in the morning, to the moment she goes to bed (my guess is somewhere around midnight), she is working. She’s having meetings, tutoring students at lunch, filling out paperwork. And not even once, not once, have I heard her complain.
Of course, there is one more thing on Pi Oh’s never ending task list that’s important to mention: putting up with my bullshit.
I want to be honest here: I have been feeling increasingly disconnected from home for a few weeks now. I worry that friends and family are telling me less because they don’t want to burden me with details. Or maybe I, too, am telling them less in fear that they won’t understand. None of it is intentional; the only thing to blame is the passing of time. Things are moving forward as I knew they would when I signed up for this job. Regardless, the window to home is getting foggier, and I feel myself starting to panic.
What Pi Oh has done in attempts to alleviate that panic goes above and beyond the job description of “Peace Corps coteacher.” Oh brings dinner to my house simply because she wants to. Oh gives up an entire weekend to take me and my visiting friends around Hua Hin so we can see the sights. Oh watches me rip my hair out while still trying to learn the ropes of my job, and tries to re-attach those hairs by telling me “we’ll figure this out together.” When my family is sick, Oh asks me how they’re doing. When I’m angry, Oh lets me rant and rave.
In other words, Oh makes the window to home clearer by giving me a home here.
Today, I wasn’t feeling well. After our day at the mall, I told her I was going home to take a nap, but instead what I did was lie in bed and think about things that I’m missing that I so deeply wish I was not. I was sad, and I think she knew that. An hour later she knocked on my door. “Ba. Let’s go eat.”
We went to a noodle shop just down the road. We talked about vegetarians, unlucky Thai numbers, and wishing we could visit India.
We got back to my house, and somewhat out of the blue, but also somewhat not, she said “they understand what you’re doing here. They’re alright.”
I now want to quote a letter I recently opened from my friend, Nathan, whose words I really needed and truly appreciated.
Well, Pi Oh, as I call her.
I have mentioned Pi Oh in my blog posts before, but only in passing. And considering what I want to share with you now, that fact is ridiculous.
Pi Oh is my coteacher. She has been working at Ban HuayMongkol for 6 years, where she teaches English and Art. She grew up in a neighboring town called Sam Roi Yot, where the mountains were her backyard. Together, we go and visit often, since the only thing she is more passionate about than teaching is her family. She loves drawing, playing with her 4 adorable nieces, and walking her dogs.
At the extremely young age of 31, Pi Oh was recently promoted to Head of Teaching staff at our school. To-poorly- summarize, the Head of Teaching staff is responsible for ensuring teacher’s paperwork is completed on time and correctly, and relays to teachers any information that the Principal or Supervisor gives her. Needless to say, the job is exhausting, and the job is thankless.
Almost every evening, I lock my office door and pass hers to wave goodbye, fully knowing while I do that she will stay and work until 9 or 10 at night. And she won’t just be doing paperwork or grading. She’ll let students whose parents have not picked them up yet draw pictures, do homework, or listen to them read aloud for extra credit. She knows all 350 students’ names, their parents' names, where they live, what they like, and so on.
The minute Pi Oh wakes up at 5 in the morning, to the moment she goes to bed (my guess is somewhere around midnight), she is working. She’s having meetings, tutoring students at lunch, filling out paperwork. And not even once, not once, have I heard her complain.
Of course, there is one more thing on Pi Oh’s never ending task list that’s important to mention: putting up with my bullshit.
I want to be honest here: I have been feeling increasingly disconnected from home for a few weeks now. I worry that friends and family are telling me less because they don’t want to burden me with details. Or maybe I, too, am telling them less in fear that they won’t understand. None of it is intentional; the only thing to blame is the passing of time. Things are moving forward as I knew they would when I signed up for this job. Regardless, the window to home is getting foggier, and I feel myself starting to panic.
What Pi Oh has done in attempts to alleviate that panic goes above and beyond the job description of “Peace Corps coteacher.” Oh brings dinner to my house simply because she wants to. Oh gives up an entire weekend to take me and my visiting friends around Hua Hin so we can see the sights. Oh watches me rip my hair out while still trying to learn the ropes of my job, and tries to re-attach those hairs by telling me “we’ll figure this out together.” When my family is sick, Oh asks me how they’re doing. When I’m angry, Oh lets me rant and rave.
In other words, Oh makes the window to home clearer by giving me a home here.
Today, I wasn’t feeling well. After our day at the mall, I told her I was going home to take a nap, but instead what I did was lie in bed and think about things that I’m missing that I so deeply wish I was not. I was sad, and I think she knew that. An hour later she knocked on my door. “Ba. Let’s go eat.”
We went to a noodle shop just down the road. We talked about vegetarians, unlucky Thai numbers, and wishing we could visit India.
We got back to my house, and somewhat out of the blue, but also somewhat not, she said “they understand what you’re doing here. They’re alright.”
I now want to quote a letter I recently opened from my friend, Nathan, whose words I really needed and truly appreciated.
“Quick! Close your eyes and push your energy as far out as it can reach. Course across the oceans, back home. Pause, hold all those places in your head and heart. Stretch there and feel the weight. Now quickly! Pull your energy back...What do you feel? What do you see? Be honest with yourself. Shh, you are safe.” -Nathan Rennich
To any Peace Corps volunteer reading, I highly recommend this exercise. When I did it, I gave Di a kiss on the cheek and told her how much I loved her. I took my dog for a walk around the lake that she loves so much. I did a shot in Julia’s living room with all of my best friends.
And then I came back, to what is my new home. There is the puttering of motorbikes heard from outside. The comforting smells from the market still permeate the air. I check my phone to see a text from Oh. It says “You are my sister. Good night.”
You are my sister, too, Pi Oh. And thank goodness for that
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