Emily Takes On Thailand

After next week, my first semester at Ban Huaymongkol will officially come to a close. The constant fury of lesson planning, staff meetings, and school events are going to come to a halt (mostly) for the month of October. My students will take their English final exam, then be on their way to ride their bikes or play soccer from sun up to sun down. I wrote the letter you are about to read knowing that they would probably never see it, and even if they did they probably would not know what it meant. But it still felt important to put into words. I think it encompasses my experiences of my first semester fairly well so I wanted to share it on this blog: Dear Students,  I am writing you from my living room couch the night before your final exams begin. You're almost done! Another semester has come and gone. I know you're relieved and ready for a break, just as much as your teachers are.  I will confess something to all of you: when I first started thinking about you...

If you regularly check up on this blog, you know this experience has been a lot of things for me: overwhelming, exciting, inspiring, exhausting. These past (almost) 8 months have shaped me in ways I could not have imagined, and have done so in the most surprising ways. But there is one aspect of my time here that I have not put into words yet, and I would like to do so now: "Emily, our meeting is cancelled today. We have to practice for the staff potato sack race." These exact words were spoken to me not but four hours ago, with the utmost sincerity and no smile to accompany it. My counterpart could see I was headed to her office to set up for our usual afternoon co-planning session and thought she would spare me the walk. Nice of her, really, considering the absurd amount of flashcards sprawled in my hands and sweat trickling down into my butt crack. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see it had already begun. Teachers, most of whom I have never seen without a ful...

I sit across the table from my two counterparts, both waiting for me to begin. I close my eyes to organize my thoughts. This is the first meeting the three of us have had since the Reconnect conference, where we sharpened our skills as volunteers and gained new ideas to use in the classroom. My toolbelt had been completely refurbished, and now was the time to show it to my fellow builders. After being with other farangs for the past two and a half weeks, my instinct was to talk about all the new adjustments to be made at 90 mph English. I knew- or was pretty sure I knew- what we as a team should begin focusing on. I wanted to get it all out in one breath while I still had the guts to say it at all. But as I sat across from them, I hesitated, pressing my thumb into my palm. I needed to reset myself. I wasn't shooting the shit with peers over beers anymore. I was home. It was time to get back to work. As I briefly summarized in my last post, most of Reconnect in Prathum Than...

Tomorrow I will return back to site after a two week conference with my cohort. For so many reasons, it was what I needed. I was given so much useful information about my job, my counterpart and I bonded even more than we already have, and my friends gave me the "American getaway" that truly re-energized me.  This conference was also challenging for me. I started asking myself questions about what it means to be here, if I'm really meant for this job, and how I will cope with the overwhelming responsibilities that await me when I arrive back at site.  I think all moments, the rejuvenating and the difficult, were moments that I needed for perspective. I don't have to be here. I heard that thought more times than I ever have this week, both in my head and spoken to me. It cuts me deep, that thought, because it's true.  But it's also something I refuse to give into. Regardless of the hardships, this is what I am meant to be doing. There are pea...

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 thankles...

Ban Huaymongkol School opened in the rural outskirts of Hua Hin in 2514 (1971 in farang years). It is roughly 4 acres large, and on them sit bright red academic buildings, quiet teacher dormitories, and a large soccer field with real, plush grass. From it you can see the Huaymongkol temple, where   Luang Paw Tuad's black marbled, tired body sits criss-cross and smirks at tourists walking by. The school is home to 350 students, donned in red and black uniforms (the school colors) with brown tennis shoes that you can usually find kicked off and splayed , somewhat chaotically, outside a busy classroom. It is home to 22 teachers, 7 of whom stay on campus during the semester. It is home to a passionate, driven, young principal ( Paw Aw).  It is home to three cats, Fried Egg, Black Egg, and Egg Boy, and roughly 7 stray dogs, whose names are unknown. And as of about three weeks ago, it is home to me: Emily, aka Kru Chunpoo, aaka Kru Emily, aaaka Teacher, aaaaka Kru Emiloosh (...

I'm sitting on the floor of my new house, next to an empty box of ritz crackers, a bottle of Chang, and a pink fan. There it is, right above me. I'm sure you needed proof. I've been struggling to find the words to write lately, mostly because every day is a different emotional experience. Tonight, it's momentary relief. I'm alone (apart from the toad in my bathroom, but we've already talked out an agreement), I'm not-really-sweating, and I feel like today, I accomplished something. Do you ever just need that feeling sometimes? Like for the past couple of weeks you've just gotten out of bed, gone to the office, stared at your computer mindlessly, and gone back home, knowing you're going to do the same exact thing the next day. It becomes this monotonous routine until suddenly something inside you wakes up and says GET IT TOGETHER, and you do. I suppose my lack of motivation is due to fear. The kids come back to school next week, and I don...