I have this thing where I get sick. It happens with some regularity.
I either ate something bad, or simply got the stomach flu.
It really hit Monday night into the early hours of Tuesday morning. I made it through about 20 minutes of my first class on Tuesday and then quite literally hit the floor. Woke up to around 25 first graders staring at me, all gathered around. RIGHT in the middle of my "5 Little Ducks" bit too. Ruined that, I guess.
I spent the next two-ish days curled up around my own body, just kinda rocking back and forth. Interrupted by running to the bathroom with more than normal frequency. I had some lovely comfort in the middle of all of this though, and was helped to set a new personal record.
I'm a lot better now and perfectly able to drink liquids. I'm still a little bit afraid to eat.
We'll see where this goes.
And reading back through my post, I realize that the lack of food over the past few days has left me unable to write in a decent manner. Sorry.
Thursday, September 30, 2010
Monday, September 27, 2010
Cold Feet
I really have nothing to say here at the moment.
So I will say this. My feet, right now, are cold.
Slippers, where are you?
So I will say this. My feet, right now, are cold.
Slippers, where are you?
Saturday, September 25, 2010
"And He Shall Smite the Wicked"
I got beat by a gypsy today.
Maybe it was my shorts. Or the fact that I refused to buy one of her nasty yellow peppers. Or perhaps it was because I had to step about a foot closer to her to avoid getting run over on the sidewalk.
I passed her and felt a sting across the back of my legs almost immediately. I look back down behind me and there is an ancient woman brandishing a cane at me. She had no teeth and her lower jaw almost touched her nose as she scrunched up her face in disapproval. I look down farther and saw a red welt forming on both of my calf muscles.
And then I ran. To avoid the curses.
Maybe it was my shorts. Or the fact that I refused to buy one of her nasty yellow peppers. Or perhaps it was because I had to step about a foot closer to her to avoid getting run over on the sidewalk.
I passed her and felt a sting across the back of my legs almost immediately. I look back down behind me and there is an ancient woman brandishing a cane at me. She had no teeth and her lower jaw almost touched her nose as she scrunched up her face in disapproval. I look down farther and saw a red welt forming on both of my calf muscles.
And then I ran. To avoid the curses.
Thursday, September 23, 2010
Grammar
I've discovered a love for writing in the last three or so months, and with this comes a love for (yes... here it comes) grammar. I don't really enjoy the specifics of everything, but I do love knowing that a sentence is well-constructed and organized in a way to just ooze meaning. (And yes to all the other grammar freaks out there... I do realize that sometimes I write poorly. Get your own blog.)
English teaching works quite well then, right? One of the things I worked on with my seventh and eighth grade classes this week was superlatives. For a nice and easy introduction, and to see how well they work in groups, I had them create a top-10 list. They were responsible for coming up with 10 tips on "Learning English" (seventh grade) or "Being a Good Friend" (eighth grade). A firm believer in the fact that I should never ask a student to do something I haven't done myself, I created a top-10 list for being a good teacher. I wrote them down and put them in order from least to greatest.
You had better keep reading, because there is an AMAZING story at the end of this posting, relating rather specifically to number 10 on the list.
1. Like your students.
2. Know the material.
3. Be prepared for class.
4. Stay flexible.
5. Be a fun person.
6. Show students you care.
7. Be creative.
8. Be a good listener.
9. Answer all questions.
10. Know how to laugh.
I was in class 5B yesterday, and we were hitting the adjectives pretty strongly. One of the activities towards the end of class was to make a sentence more interesting. Remember, these are 5th grade students, age 10.
The sentence was: "The dog jumped far."
"V~, would you like to read your sentence for number three to the class?"
"Yes, Teacher Stephanie. The fu**ing dog jumped far."
"WHAT?"
"The fu**ing dog jumped far. My brother speaks English and he says a lot and it describes dog."
(Pause as "Teacher Stephanie" turns toward the board and shakes with silent laughter for approximately 60 seconds. Because friends, he used the word correctly. Also, if you are so inclined, drop the f-bomb aloud with a Romanian accent. It'll blow your mind.)
"Well, friends. That really isn't a very nice word in English. So I don't want it in my classroom, okay?"
"But what it mean?"
And then I broke my own rule number nine.
English teaching works quite well then, right? One of the things I worked on with my seventh and eighth grade classes this week was superlatives. For a nice and easy introduction, and to see how well they work in groups, I had them create a top-10 list. They were responsible for coming up with 10 tips on "Learning English" (seventh grade) or "Being a Good Friend" (eighth grade). A firm believer in the fact that I should never ask a student to do something I haven't done myself, I created a top-10 list for being a good teacher. I wrote them down and put them in order from least to greatest.
You had better keep reading, because there is an AMAZING story at the end of this posting, relating rather specifically to number 10 on the list.
1. Like your students.
2. Know the material.
3. Be prepared for class.
4. Stay flexible.
5. Be a fun person.
6. Show students you care.
7. Be creative.
8. Be a good listener.
9. Answer all questions.
10. Know how to laugh.
I was in class 5B yesterday, and we were hitting the adjectives pretty strongly. One of the activities towards the end of class was to make a sentence more interesting. Remember, these are 5th grade students, age 10.
The sentence was: "The dog jumped far."
"V~, would you like to read your sentence for number three to the class?"
"Yes, Teacher Stephanie. The fu**ing dog jumped far."
"WHAT?"
"The fu**ing dog jumped far. My brother speaks English and he says a lot and it describes dog."
(Pause as "Teacher Stephanie" turns toward the board and shakes with silent laughter for approximately 60 seconds. Because friends, he used the word correctly. Also, if you are so inclined, drop the f-bomb aloud with a Romanian accent. It'll blow your mind.)
"Well, friends. That really isn't a very nice word in English. So I don't want it in my classroom, okay?"
"But what it mean?"
And then I broke my own rule number nine.
Tuesday, September 21, 2010
Dripping
This morning I had to literally flop out of bed in order to wake up. I sleep on the futon in the apartment that folds lengthwise (read: hotdog style), so it just looks like a couch. I could pull it out at night- this would be relatively easy to do, but I honestly don't want to get lonely in a big bed all by myself. So, I snuggle up with the back of the couch every night and usually wake up rested and ready to start the day.
This morning was absolutely ridiculous. I had these mornings a lot last year, and I knew it would come eventually. I knew that there would come the time when I would have to pep-talk in the morning again. "Stephanie. You love your job. You will feel better after a shower. You love your job. Think of all those cute kids. You have GOT this. No worries. Only a few hours and then you can come home for a nap. Go. Go. Get in the shower. You can do this. You are loved. You are useful. You will be AWESOME." I think I went through this twice this morning, and then in my semi-stupor I literally hit the floor when I threw off the cover and rolled over. I'm only about 18 inches off the ground, but still. Banging my head on the leg of the desk chair didn't help any.
Feeling a bit more fresh but still a little traumatized from the rather harsh start to the morning, I proceeded to turn on my music and walk to school. I got to the bottom of the staircase and saw wet. Looking out the front doors of the building, I could see that the ground was covered in wet. Apparently it rained last night, and it was threatening to do so again. Running back up the stairs to get my umbrella, I finally made it out the door to head for school.
The only word I could think of the whole way was "dripping." Romania is just a drippy place, even when it hasn't just rained. There is dripping paint that has dried and dripping spirits in people and dripping ceilings and a dripping economy. (Yes, I'm aware that this doesn't make a HUGE amount of sense, but bear with me). And I was getting dripped on this morning for sure, both literally and figuratively.
I got to school and "turned on the silly" and started with the first class. About 10 minutes into the lesson, we were singing and dancing and clapping and bouncing and tapping our heads and wiggling our fingers. I looked over at Victor, a boy of unbelievable adorability (not a word, but let's run with it) and his eyes get wide and then he just sneezes. Everywhere. And as he literally spews gunk everywhere, he leaves a trail of DRIPPING snot hanging from his nose, almost touching his chest. I run to him with a kleenex, and nearly collapse on the floor with laughter. Because, friends, Romania is a drippy place.
And I've GOT this.
This morning was absolutely ridiculous. I had these mornings a lot last year, and I knew it would come eventually. I knew that there would come the time when I would have to pep-talk in the morning again. "Stephanie. You love your job. You will feel better after a shower. You love your job. Think of all those cute kids. You have GOT this. No worries. Only a few hours and then you can come home for a nap. Go. Go. Get in the shower. You can do this. You are loved. You are useful. You will be AWESOME." I think I went through this twice this morning, and then in my semi-stupor I literally hit the floor when I threw off the cover and rolled over. I'm only about 18 inches off the ground, but still. Banging my head on the leg of the desk chair didn't help any.
Feeling a bit more fresh but still a little traumatized from the rather harsh start to the morning, I proceeded to turn on my music and walk to school. I got to the bottom of the staircase and saw wet. Looking out the front doors of the building, I could see that the ground was covered in wet. Apparently it rained last night, and it was threatening to do so again. Running back up the stairs to get my umbrella, I finally made it out the door to head for school.
The only word I could think of the whole way was "dripping." Romania is just a drippy place, even when it hasn't just rained. There is dripping paint that has dried and dripping spirits in people and dripping ceilings and a dripping economy. (Yes, I'm aware that this doesn't make a HUGE amount of sense, but bear with me). And I was getting dripped on this morning for sure, both literally and figuratively.
I got to school and "turned on the silly" and started with the first class. About 10 minutes into the lesson, we were singing and dancing and clapping and bouncing and tapping our heads and wiggling our fingers. I looked over at Victor, a boy of unbelievable adorability (not a word, but let's run with it) and his eyes get wide and then he just sneezes. Everywhere. And as he literally spews gunk everywhere, he leaves a trail of DRIPPING snot hanging from his nose, almost touching his chest. I run to him with a kleenex, and nearly collapse on the floor with laughter. Because, friends, Romania is a drippy place.
And I've GOT this.
Monday, September 20, 2010
Scheduling
Today was a bit of an odd day. I went to school three separate times. The first was to look through materials a bit, with plans to return in the afternoon for my two classes.
So I returned to school at 2:30 for my 2:45 class, and I venture upstairs to the teacher's lounge. I want to get the register filled in before classes so that I can leave right away after I finish. I cannot seem to find my name recorded anywhere. 14:45- 7B... my name should be RIGHT there. Nope. Nowhere.
Friends, apparently it is perfectly okay and normal to change the schedule without ANYONE telling you. Hmm... alright. I guess I should just be happy that they didn't move my classes earlier.
So I now have my 6B and 7B classes on Monday evenings at 5:00 and 5:45. Hmm... alright.
On a side note, these guys were WONDERFUL. Sixth grade was a little chatty, but very managable. And 7th grade was a DREAM. I have a feeling that we are going to have a very very good year.
So I returned to school at 2:30 for my 2:45 class, and I venture upstairs to the teacher's lounge. I want to get the register filled in before classes so that I can leave right away after I finish. I cannot seem to find my name recorded anywhere. 14:45- 7B... my name should be RIGHT there. Nope. Nowhere.
Friends, apparently it is perfectly okay and normal to change the schedule without ANYONE telling you. Hmm... alright. I guess I should just be happy that they didn't move my classes earlier.
So I now have my 6B and 7B classes on Monday evenings at 5:00 and 5:45. Hmm... alright.
On a side note, these guys were WONDERFUL. Sixth grade was a little chatty, but very managable. And 7th grade was a DREAM. I have a feeling that we are going to have a very very good year.
Saturday, September 18, 2010
Fireworks
Tonight as I made dinner with my new cookware (please take a moment and sing the Hallelujah! chorus with me), I happened to look out the kitchen window when I thought I heard thunder. To my incredible surprise, I saw fireworks just to the north of my apartment. I just stood in wonder at the window, staring at the display that ran on for about five minutes.
Now, I have absolutely no idea why there were fireworks in Bucharest tonight. I have no idea where they were shot off from. But in a really tiny way, they were made for me tonight. I feel like my life has been a series of fireworks lately. Big and bold and beautiful and incredibly personal, in a sense.
I got to experience the fireworks involved in the first week of school. The crazy noise and the tiny sense of danger and the passion with which we begin the year.
I got to experience the fireworks involved in meeting someone new. The overwhelming beauty and the sense of something greater and the risk involved in every word and action.
My my heart is so completely filled with the fireworks of joy and new experiences and love. I am blessed beyond measure.
Now, I have absolutely no idea why there were fireworks in Bucharest tonight. I have no idea where they were shot off from. But in a really tiny way, they were made for me tonight. I feel like my life has been a series of fireworks lately. Big and bold and beautiful and incredibly personal, in a sense.
I got to experience the fireworks involved in the first week of school. The crazy noise and the tiny sense of danger and the passion with which we begin the year.
I got to experience the fireworks involved in meeting someone new. The overwhelming beauty and the sense of something greater and the risk involved in every word and action.
My my heart is so completely filled with the fireworks of joy and new experiences and love. I am blessed beyond measure.
Friday, September 17, 2010
Food
One of the obstacles I am running into with surprising frequency is eating. I don't yet have pots or pans (absolutely on the to-do list for tomorrow), and so my meals consist of whatever I can kind of manage to put together from my groceries, or Romanian street food. I am pretty poor, so I eat at home as much as I can. Nearly all the time, actually. However, sometimes my peanut butter and cornflake sandwiches get a little boring and I want to venture out. It really doesn't cost TOO much money, either- street food here is pretty cheap.
In particular, I am discussing a delectible item called shawormas or kebabs. I cannot fully describe the goodness of this food, perhaps simply because it is not a peanut butter and cornflake sandwich. A pita with meat from a spit (I go with the pui, or chicken), with sauce and lettuce and cabbage and tomatos and onions and usually pickles. They are AMAZING.
And so, friends, I find myself at the kebab/shaworma stand with enough regularity that this happened yesterday as I walked up:
"Kebab small for Step-an-ie? Hey America! Chee-ca-go!"
(I was then cajoled into giving him my number for what I can assume is private English lessons... something I probably won't do on the off-chance that he was asking how much I rent my body out for hourly. In which case, I WAY undersold myself.)
Yeah, I need to get some pots and pans tomorrow.
In particular, I am discussing a delectible item called shawormas or kebabs. I cannot fully describe the goodness of this food, perhaps simply because it is not a peanut butter and cornflake sandwich. A pita with meat from a spit (I go with the pui, or chicken), with sauce and lettuce and cabbage and tomatos and onions and usually pickles. They are AMAZING.
And so, friends, I find myself at the kebab/shaworma stand with enough regularity that this happened yesterday as I walked up:
"Kebab small for Step-an-ie? Hey America! Chee-ca-go!"
(I was then cajoled into giving him my number for what I can assume is private English lessons... something I probably won't do on the off-chance that he was asking how much I rent my body out for hourly. In which case, I WAY undersold myself.)
Yeah, I need to get some pots and pans tomorrow.
Thursday, September 16, 2010
Welp (2)...
Nevermind. You can go ahead and scratch what you read in the last post, if you did in fact read it at all.
I began this morning with three second grade classes. (If you remember from two posts ago... I was VERY nervous) First one was good, second mediocre, and third was awful. I don't know what it is exactly. It is always easiest to blame the situation, sure. But in this case, I'm going to fall back pretty heavily on that, not desiring to do any more reflection about my own flaws at this moment in time. Construction. Hunger. Very non-engaging classroom environments. Desks in stright rows. Overcrowding. No ability to move around. And THAT is all I'll say about second grade for the moment.
My eighth grade class was next. I almost cried with joy. They were smart and sweet and serious and engaging and just... WONDERFUL. I literally jumped up and down at the end of my lesson, and did a little happy dance. And they didn't stare at me, they laughed too. Beauty. This friends, was matched (even topped) by the next class of fifth grade students. WOW- two in a row!! Then another fifth grade room (I'd rate it "good" but not "amazing" like class number one). Following a break, I headed into the dreaded room of terror: 6A. Sixth grade, the insurmountable classroom level of doom.
And it was glorious.
I know there will be plenty more days like yesterday. But guys, on this busiest of days, I love my job.
I began this morning with three second grade classes. (If you remember from two posts ago... I was VERY nervous) First one was good, second mediocre, and third was awful. I don't know what it is exactly. It is always easiest to blame the situation, sure. But in this case, I'm going to fall back pretty heavily on that, not desiring to do any more reflection about my own flaws at this moment in time. Construction. Hunger. Very non-engaging classroom environments. Desks in stright rows. Overcrowding. No ability to move around. And THAT is all I'll say about second grade for the moment.
My eighth grade class was next. I almost cried with joy. They were smart and sweet and serious and engaging and just... WONDERFUL. I literally jumped up and down at the end of my lesson, and did a little happy dance. And they didn't stare at me, they laughed too. Beauty. This friends, was matched (even topped) by the next class of fifth grade students. WOW- two in a row!! Then another fifth grade room (I'd rate it "good" but not "amazing" like class number one). Following a break, I headed into the dreaded room of terror: 6A. Sixth grade, the insurmountable classroom level of doom.
And it was glorious.
I know there will be plenty more days like yesterday. But guys, on this busiest of days, I love my job.
Wednesday, September 15, 2010
Welp...
I hit the wall today. Two classes. Two classes in this entire day, and one of them was absolutely, unbelievably, ridiculously out of control.
Seventh grade was an absolute dream. I love love love loved it. My sixth grade class... I'm not sure I can do that again. I just withered away up there and kept smiling, but just crumbled to bits.
For the first time (okay, fine... not the very first time...) I wish I was teaching in the States. I almost said in a "normal classroom," but I am really working on shifting my view of what is normal. Regardless, I would understand rules and customs and traditions and be able to set up my own room and feel confident and develop a classroom atmosphere and see kids more than once a week.
That's all, I'm done complaining. Share your wisdom, please?
Seventh grade was an absolute dream. I love love love loved it. My sixth grade class... I'm not sure I can do that again. I just withered away up there and kept smiling, but just crumbled to bits.
For the first time (okay, fine... not the very first time...) I wish I was teaching in the States. I almost said in a "normal classroom," but I am really working on shifting my view of what is normal. Regardless, I would understand rules and customs and traditions and be able to set up my own room and feel confident and develop a classroom atmosphere and see kids more than once a week.
That's all, I'm done complaining. Share your wisdom, please?
Tuesday, September 14, 2010
Lessons
Yesterday was rather anti-climatic in terms of teaching. In other ways it was incredibly exciting, sure- the 37 bouquets of flowers and feeling my heart fall out of my chest after being asked to speak in front of so many people. But as far as actual teaching goes, there was none of it. And so I said that I began my life as a teacher yesterday- but I didn't really.
That realization came last night. I had prepped an opening lesson for the little guys, having NO idea if they had any background with English, or the alphabet- and also, not knowing if they knew everything already. (In this sense, I miss the States. I miss knowing what is standard and normal and can be expected in each grade...) Regardless, I was laying in bed after talking to someone and it just HIT me.
I was happy and bright and fresh this morning when I arrived at school. I found the rooms for all of my classes and watched the little people swarm into the building with their parents. This is one thing that just crosses cultures the world over. The excitement and chaos of the school year, regardless of classroom set up or language or subject or age. I could stand in the office and know EXACTLY what was going on without speaking even a bit of the language. And I learned three things this morning.
1. First graders will always have the ability to caputre my heart. My first little bunch of the morning, and these kids were adorable. Like, totally beautiful and wonderful and simply fantastic. We started with introductions: "My name is Stephanie. What is your name?" "MY NAME IS ERVIN!" "Hi, Ervin!" "HI, STEPHANIE." (He is going to be one of my favorites, I can tell already. It was like the reverse of the stereotypical "speak loud and slow to someone who doesn't know the language" thing. Ervin speaks louder when he DOESN'T know the language, and it is utterly adorable.) Moving on, we did a lot of different alphabet activities, and I was really pleased that many of them had a grasp on the alphabet already. We sang the song and danced a dance (okay, a lot of dances!) and did a letter hunt and alphabet tracking to find letters... it was ridiculous how awesome it was. They responded well and I just turned ON the silly and we giggled and learned and it was beautiful. Skip ahead two classes and I'm in another first grade room. Same thing, friends. I walked away from the day feeling just wonderfully blessed to have the opportunity to teach SIX of these classes each week.
2. Second grade might be my downfall. I KNOW that it could have been just two crazy classes, but it was rough. It didn't help that these kids knew kind of a lot. I mean, I changed the activity up right away when I saw how much they knew. I guess I was just expecting to be able to charm them a whole lot better, but they weren't having it. Man, oh man... it was rough. I kept reminding myself that I would have had that classroom in SHAPE, if only I could speak the language. It just isn't as effective when you bend down low to a kid and get in their face and you can't just say "CUT IT OUT." However, I never got to the point where it just felt completely out of control, but they were talkers, for sure. I'm going to need to come up with a LOT for this age group- it will help when the textbooks arrive in like, you know, 3 months. The one highlight was during the introduction part of the third class (the second group of second graders)... one boy opened his mouth and in a perfect English accent said "I am Matt." My heart literally leaped in my chest, and I leaned in close and whispered to him "You are I are going to be very good friends." And no joke- he responded "You're going to need it." Sweet!
3. Teachers must supply their own toilet paper. I'll spare you all of the, ahem, details. Let me just say that there is a very lovely teacher's toilet on the first floor, which happened to be the location of my last class for the day. And I will also let you know this: something here in Romania (I suspect the water, because this is the only thing I consume on a regular basis) is having a bit of a battle with my digestive system. Thank goodness I brought a pack of kleenex in my bag this morning, but it really was too bad that I left it outside the stall.
I'll leave you, my friends, with THAT mental image.
That realization came last night. I had prepped an opening lesson for the little guys, having NO idea if they had any background with English, or the alphabet- and also, not knowing if they knew everything already. (In this sense, I miss the States. I miss knowing what is standard and normal and can be expected in each grade...) Regardless, I was laying in bed after talking to someone and it just HIT me.
I was happy and bright and fresh this morning when I arrived at school. I found the rooms for all of my classes and watched the little people swarm into the building with their parents. This is one thing that just crosses cultures the world over. The excitement and chaos of the school year, regardless of classroom set up or language or subject or age. I could stand in the office and know EXACTLY what was going on without speaking even a bit of the language. And I learned three things this morning.
1. First graders will always have the ability to caputre my heart. My first little bunch of the morning, and these kids were adorable. Like, totally beautiful and wonderful and simply fantastic. We started with introductions: "My name is Stephanie. What is your name?" "MY NAME IS ERVIN!" "Hi, Ervin!" "HI, STEPHANIE." (He is going to be one of my favorites, I can tell already. It was like the reverse of the stereotypical "speak loud and slow to someone who doesn't know the language" thing. Ervin speaks louder when he DOESN'T know the language, and it is utterly adorable.) Moving on, we did a lot of different alphabet activities, and I was really pleased that many of them had a grasp on the alphabet already. We sang the song and danced a dance (okay, a lot of dances!) and did a letter hunt and alphabet tracking to find letters... it was ridiculous how awesome it was. They responded well and I just turned ON the silly and we giggled and learned and it was beautiful. Skip ahead two classes and I'm in another first grade room. Same thing, friends. I walked away from the day feeling just wonderfully blessed to have the opportunity to teach SIX of these classes each week.
2. Second grade might be my downfall. I KNOW that it could have been just two crazy classes, but it was rough. It didn't help that these kids knew kind of a lot. I mean, I changed the activity up right away when I saw how much they knew. I guess I was just expecting to be able to charm them a whole lot better, but they weren't having it. Man, oh man... it was rough. I kept reminding myself that I would have had that classroom in SHAPE, if only I could speak the language. It just isn't as effective when you bend down low to a kid and get in their face and you can't just say "CUT IT OUT." However, I never got to the point where it just felt completely out of control, but they were talkers, for sure. I'm going to need to come up with a LOT for this age group- it will help when the textbooks arrive in like, you know, 3 months. The one highlight was during the introduction part of the third class (the second group of second graders)... one boy opened his mouth and in a perfect English accent said "I am Matt." My heart literally leaped in my chest, and I leaned in close and whispered to him "You are I are going to be very good friends." And no joke- he responded "You're going to need it." Sweet!
3. Teachers must supply their own toilet paper. I'll spare you all of the, ahem, details. Let me just say that there is a very lovely teacher's toilet on the first floor, which happened to be the location of my last class for the day. And I will also let you know this: something here in Romania (I suspect the water, because this is the only thing I consume on a regular basis) is having a bit of a battle with my digestive system. Thank goodness I brought a pack of kleenex in my bag this morning, but it really was too bad that I left it outside the stall.
I'll leave you, my friends, with THAT mental image.
Monday, September 13, 2010
First Day Reactions
For years I have been living for the first day of school. The anticipation, the excitement, the anxiety. Not knowing exactly what to expect but looking forward to the amazing potential the year holds.
I couldn't stop smiling this morning as I got ready in my apartment. I slept really well last night for the first time since arriving in Romania (aside from the jet lag sleep-off) and woke up with the sun shining in the window and the birds chirping and the beauty of the day just... surrounding me. I got ready really early, not needing to be at school until 2:00 in the afternoon. I sat on my futon and replied to some emails and tried to distract myself, finally just going to school to hang out at around 12:00.
Overwhelmed. That seems to be my new word lately. My "catch-phrase," if you will. Students everywhere. EVERYWHERE. An opening assembly of sorts and then kids running to different classrooms and smiling and laughing and pointing and giggling. I was introduced to everyone and then met with a few different classrooms, finally making my way to the staff room to get my timetable. Whoa, buddy. This is so different. So new. So... wonderful. I got 37 bouquets of flowers today. Ooh, man. I would gladly take a salary cut in the US for 37 bouquets of flowers from students who don't even know me. I feel unbelievably appreciated. (And it took me three trips to get home with all of them)
Here is my schedule:
Monday
2:45- 7B
3:30- 6B
Tuesday
7:45- 1A
8:30- 2C
9:15- 2B
10:00- 1B
Wednesday
5:00- 7A
5:45- 6C
Thursday
8:30- 2E
9:15- 2A
10:00- 2D
10:55- 8A
11:40- 5A
12:25- 5B
1:55- 6A
Friday
7:45- 1C
8:30- 1D
9:15- 1F
10:00- 1E
10:55- 8B
11:40- 5C
No wonder Romanian teachers get paid so little. We BARELY work. There are no requirements to be at school for any longer than these hours, seriously. It is a lot like university, actually. I'm going to need to find something extra to do with my time, because even planning for 12 different levels each week will not fill up the empty spaces. Travel? Volunteering? Exploration? Extra-curricular clubs? Sure things, all.
I couldn't stop smiling this morning as I got ready in my apartment. I slept really well last night for the first time since arriving in Romania (aside from the jet lag sleep-off) and woke up with the sun shining in the window and the birds chirping and the beauty of the day just... surrounding me. I got ready really early, not needing to be at school until 2:00 in the afternoon. I sat on my futon and replied to some emails and tried to distract myself, finally just going to school to hang out at around 12:00.
Overwhelmed. That seems to be my new word lately. My "catch-phrase," if you will. Students everywhere. EVERYWHERE. An opening assembly of sorts and then kids running to different classrooms and smiling and laughing and pointing and giggling. I was introduced to everyone and then met with a few different classrooms, finally making my way to the staff room to get my timetable. Whoa, buddy. This is so different. So new. So... wonderful. I got 37 bouquets of flowers today. Ooh, man. I would gladly take a salary cut in the US for 37 bouquets of flowers from students who don't even know me. I feel unbelievably appreciated. (And it took me three trips to get home with all of them)
Here is my schedule:
Monday
2:45- 7B
3:30- 6B
Tuesday
7:45- 1A
8:30- 2C
9:15- 2B
10:00- 1B
Wednesday
5:00- 7A
5:45- 6C
Thursday
8:30- 2E
9:15- 2A
10:00- 2D
10:55- 8A
11:40- 5A
12:25- 5B
1:55- 6A
Friday
7:45- 1C
8:30- 1D
9:15- 1F
10:00- 1E
10:55- 8B
11:40- 5C
No wonder Romanian teachers get paid so little. We BARELY work. There are no requirements to be at school for any longer than these hours, seriously. It is a lot like university, actually. I'm going to need to find something extra to do with my time, because even planning for 12 different levels each week will not fill up the empty spaces. Travel? Volunteering? Exploration? Extra-curricular clubs? Sure things, all.
Saturday, September 11, 2010
Delicate
Every once in a while, the delicate and fragile nature of life strikes me.
During part of my time in Chicago, I had the adventure/pleasure of living with seven other people in one apartment. We shared a five bedroom, three bathroom apartment in a great location in Hyde Park, and it was certainly a journey. I was touched in many ways by each of my roommates, and walked away from the experience with friends I consider dear.
One of my roommates was a man named K~ who was, in the best of ways, an incredible amount of fun. He taught me about letting go and putting stress away and having fun. We had a great semester of talking sports and watching television and learning how to consume drink.
K~ was admitted to the hospital on Wednesday after being diagnosed with a brain tumor. He had surgery that evening. Apparently things are looking good (it was not cancerous, etc...) but still ridiculously frightening.
How precious, and precarious, our place on this earth is. Sometimes I just need a reminder to live every moment with the aim of finding grace and creating love and making peace.
During part of my time in Chicago, I had the adventure/pleasure of living with seven other people in one apartment. We shared a five bedroom, three bathroom apartment in a great location in Hyde Park, and it was certainly a journey. I was touched in many ways by each of my roommates, and walked away from the experience with friends I consider dear.
One of my roommates was a man named K~ who was, in the best of ways, an incredible amount of fun. He taught me about letting go and putting stress away and having fun. We had a great semester of talking sports and watching television and learning how to consume drink.
K~ was admitted to the hospital on Wednesday after being diagnosed with a brain tumor. He had surgery that evening. Apparently things are looking good (it was not cancerous, etc...) but still ridiculously frightening.
How precious, and precarious, our place on this earth is. Sometimes I just need a reminder to live every moment with the aim of finding grace and creating love and making peace.
Friday, September 10, 2010
Connection
Like a flower craves sunlight and even bends itself toward it, I crave human connection. I live for the people around me- the everyday interactions, the shared moments, the passing of wisdom, and the lightening of burdens. And in the past few days, I have been blessed on a level beyond the physical, the mental, or the emotional. My soul has been touched in a way I can not even put into words.
I assumed that moving here would result in some kind of restrictions on the amount of connection I felt to others. I was looking forward to learning about myself and discovering more about my teaching practice, sure. But I was dreading the lack of contact I would have with people.
Life has a funny way of working out sometimes. People walk into your life when you aren't even looking, and your entire being fills with the joy of knowing someone, and feeling cherished, and sleeping once more in the night.
I assumed that moving here would result in some kind of restrictions on the amount of connection I felt to others. I was looking forward to learning about myself and discovering more about my teaching practice, sure. But I was dreading the lack of contact I would have with people.
Life has a funny way of working out sometimes. People walk into your life when you aren't even looking, and your entire being fills with the joy of knowing someone, and feeling cherished, and sleeping once more in the night.
Thursday, September 9, 2010
I Resign
One of the more interesting things in my little flat is the television. It opens up a world to me, a Romanian world, that you really couldn't see otherwise. Some of the channels are in English with Romanian subtitles, and I get things like CNN, MTV, and the ever popular Discovery. (NOTE: Bear Grylls is a local celebrity here. You know, that "Man vs. Wild" idiot? He is everywhere.)
Regardless, some of the channels showcase some ridiculous television shows. One such show is titled "Being Erica" or something equally insipid, a show about a quirky, beautiful 30 year old woman and her (mis)adventures in the big city. There's a twist though- in the middle of each episode, a God-like man shows up (I thought at first he was just her much-older boyfriend, but... whatever) and shows her the error of her ways. This happens with a flashback of some sort, and she goes back in time and changes her behavior and learns about herself. Pretty... predictable.
This posting IS going somewhere, I promise.
I had the television on for background noise the other night as I was working, and God was speaking. And like a zinger through the room, I listened to this quote. I don't know where the writer for the show got this particular bit of wisdom, but I liked it.
"Learn to be what you are. And learn to resign, with good grace, all that you are not."
I'm resigning today, with GOOD GRACE, all that I am not. Because there is so so much. And bearing the weight of it is getting a little ridiculous.
Regardless, some of the channels showcase some ridiculous television shows. One such show is titled "Being Erica" or something equally insipid, a show about a quirky, beautiful 30 year old woman and her (mis)adventures in the big city. There's a twist though- in the middle of each episode, a God-like man shows up (I thought at first he was just her much-older boyfriend, but... whatever) and shows her the error of her ways. This happens with a flashback of some sort, and she goes back in time and changes her behavior and learns about herself. Pretty... predictable.
This posting IS going somewhere, I promise.
I had the television on for background noise the other night as I was working, and God was speaking. And like a zinger through the room, I listened to this quote. I don't know where the writer for the show got this particular bit of wisdom, but I liked it.
"Learn to be what you are. And learn to resign, with good grace, all that you are not."
I'm resigning today, with GOOD GRACE, all that I am not. Because there is so so much. And bearing the weight of it is getting a little ridiculous.
Wednesday, September 8, 2010
Touching
In an effort to calm down a little bit about school and the ridiculous schedule that is about to descend on me, I am not going to write about it. I'll save that for when I actually have something productive to do like work on the scope of my curriculum for- uh, 12 different levels or put 600 little friends into my record book. And that I cannot do until Friday or sometime next week, because that is just how it works here. I decide whether or not I want textbooks for the little guys on... Friday before school starts. No biggie.
(I will say this. I am debating a lot about the textbook thing for these little friends. I would like a curriculum, but the kids here buy all of the books. And if they buy it, I really am obligated to use it. And I don't want to get 9 weeks into the year and want to change it up, and feel stuck with the books. Regardless... the thought of planning curriculum and preparing materials for like 300 kids is a little daunting. I know how I will be spending MY weekends and train trips. We'll see how everything looks on Friday.)
I wanted to make a comment on the personal space- or lack thereof- that has been an adjustment for me here in Romania. I consider myself to be a pretty affectionate person, often holding myself back from touching someone to avoid making them uncomfortable- rubbing their back, for instance, or touching their arm. But Romanians, they take it to a whole new level. There are no such inhibitions here. I was touched more in the three hours I was at school than in the last three months. Held and stroked and kissed and rubbed and patted. No hugs, really- just a whole lot of other stuff. It was uncomfortable at first, but I really do enjoy physical affection- I think it is going to work out just fine.
There are many guesses about why this culture is so touchy-feely, but I prefer the hybrid theory. To begin, these are a Latin people. ROMANIAN... what other word can you find in there? Right- these guys decend from the Romans. Their language is (of the Romance languages) most similar to Latin, and their culture is actually very similar to Italian. And we all know Italians like the touching.
Secondly, (and you may laugh, but I am absolutely being serious) these people spent decades waiting in bread lines. Getting close to eachother was a necessity both to keep out the cold and people trying to cut in line. They are used to touching others, and extend this warm manner to foreigners. It was kind of nice.
(I will say this. I am debating a lot about the textbook thing for these little friends. I would like a curriculum, but the kids here buy all of the books. And if they buy it, I really am obligated to use it. And I don't want to get 9 weeks into the year and want to change it up, and feel stuck with the books. Regardless... the thought of planning curriculum and preparing materials for like 300 kids is a little daunting. I know how I will be spending MY weekends and train trips. We'll see how everything looks on Friday.)
I wanted to make a comment on the personal space- or lack thereof- that has been an adjustment for me here in Romania. I consider myself to be a pretty affectionate person, often holding myself back from touching someone to avoid making them uncomfortable- rubbing their back, for instance, or touching their arm. But Romanians, they take it to a whole new level. There are no such inhibitions here. I was touched more in the three hours I was at school than in the last three months. Held and stroked and kissed and rubbed and patted. No hugs, really- just a whole lot of other stuff. It was uncomfortable at first, but I really do enjoy physical affection- I think it is going to work out just fine.
There are many guesses about why this culture is so touchy-feely, but I prefer the hybrid theory. To begin, these are a Latin people. ROMANIAN... what other word can you find in there? Right- these guys decend from the Romans. Their language is (of the Romance languages) most similar to Latin, and their culture is actually very similar to Italian. And we all know Italians like the touching.
Secondly, (and you may laugh, but I am absolutely being serious) these people spent decades waiting in bread lines. Getting close to eachother was a necessity both to keep out the cold and people trying to cut in line. They are used to touching others, and extend this warm manner to foreigners. It was kind of nice.
Tuesday, September 7, 2010
Daily Account
It seems there has been some kind of curse placed on me, that renders me sleepless during the nighttime hours. For four days, I have been like a walking zombie, incapable of complex thought and brevity of emotion. This wasn't a huge problem until this morning, when I was due to meet V~, my school contact at 9:30 for a visit to school. So when I went to bed at approximately 7:00 in the morning, it was as the sunlight shone in my window, and I was less than pleased.
Nevertheless, I woke up excited. Because today, friends, today was the DAY that I was going to school. I met V~ right at 9:30 and we walked to school, a surprisingly easy route filled with stray dogs and tiny kittens and Dacia vehicles parked all over the sidewalk. I had no idea how my day was about to be filled with awkward moments. Names I don't remember and people who kissed me and rubbed my hand and brought me coffee and said "ahh! dis is Stephanie?" Students who rubbed my arms and held my hands. English testing that left kids downtrodden and humiliated. But through it all, I could not stop smiling.
I couldn't stop smiling for the possibilities of this year. The connections I will make, the beauty of the people around me. The incredible pressure I feel, and the immense care I will need to give my work and my students.
I'm going to list the details that I know right now, and I am sure more will follow in the next few days. More HAVE to follow in the next few days.
I will be teaching twenty classes a week. Half of them will be English for beginners (which I am ridiculously excited about). AND I just realized that I will actually be teaching 21 classes. Oops. Anywho. Six first grade classes, and five second grade classes. The little ones- and Romanian little ones at THAT. The other part of my job is teaching intensive English classes to three classes of fifth grade, three classes of sixth grade, two classes of seventh grade, and two classes of eighth grade.
In Romania, they call these classes "optional," but they don't really mean that. What they DO mean is that each of the classes has a theme of sorts. First grade is "A, B, C." Second grade is "More Steps." Fifth grade is "My World," sixth is "Environmental Awareness," seventh is "Famous People and Places," and eighth is "British and American Life and Civilization."
The school runs in three shifts. First through third grades attend from 7:45 am through 11:35 am. Fourth, fifth, and eighth grade students attend from 10:55 am until 3:35 pm. Sixth and seventh grade students attend from 2:45 pm until 7:10 pm. So it looks as if I'll be working pretty much all... day... long.
That's all I know for now.
Nevertheless, I woke up excited. Because today, friends, today was the DAY that I was going to school. I met V~ right at 9:30 and we walked to school, a surprisingly easy route filled with stray dogs and tiny kittens and Dacia vehicles parked all over the sidewalk. I had no idea how my day was about to be filled with awkward moments. Names I don't remember and people who kissed me and rubbed my hand and brought me coffee and said "ahh! dis is Stephanie?" Students who rubbed my arms and held my hands. English testing that left kids downtrodden and humiliated. But through it all, I could not stop smiling.
I couldn't stop smiling for the possibilities of this year. The connections I will make, the beauty of the people around me. The incredible pressure I feel, and the immense care I will need to give my work and my students.
I'm going to list the details that I know right now, and I am sure more will follow in the next few days. More HAVE to follow in the next few days.
I will be teaching twenty classes a week. Half of them will be English for beginners (which I am ridiculously excited about). AND I just realized that I will actually be teaching 21 classes. Oops. Anywho. Six first grade classes, and five second grade classes. The little ones- and Romanian little ones at THAT. The other part of my job is teaching intensive English classes to three classes of fifth grade, three classes of sixth grade, two classes of seventh grade, and two classes of eighth grade.
In Romania, they call these classes "optional," but they don't really mean that. What they DO mean is that each of the classes has a theme of sorts. First grade is "A, B, C." Second grade is "More Steps." Fifth grade is "My World," sixth is "Environmental Awareness," seventh is "Famous People and Places," and eighth is "British and American Life and Civilization."
The school runs in three shifts. First through third grades attend from 7:45 am through 11:35 am. Fourth, fifth, and eighth grade students attend from 10:55 am until 3:35 pm. Sixth and seventh grade students attend from 2:45 pm until 7:10 pm. So it looks as if I'll be working pretty much all... day... long.
That's all I know for now.
Monday, September 6, 2010
Catch-Up
After my little misadventure yesterday, I continues to wander. It was a day of exploration.
Buildings here are plastered with advertisements and obnoxiously colored banners; as if to boldly declare (20 years after the fact) that the country is proud to be done with communism. These do serve to cover up the drab, boring bloc-style buildings that are everywhere here, but it seems this society is trying too hard to Westernize. Of course, this is easy to say from the perspective of a Westerner- we don’t need advertisements all over our buildings to remind us that we live in a free and greedy society. Perhaps Romanians do.
Regardless, I found a part of the city that I am sure I will grow to love dearly in the months ahead. If I walk out of my apartment building, and turn right and then right again, I find myself on the main commercial strip of the sector (which I finally discovered is Sector 4). People run about and cars drive everywhere, and this young American girl finds herself feigning confidence while crossing the street and shopping at the market and going to the bank. If I cross the main street (with a fair amount of trepidation) there is an expanse of concrete that at first appears to be just that- an expanse of concrete. But with further exploration, I discovered that it is actually a park. Like many other European cities and parks, there is a “boulevard” of sorts down the middle, and grass and trees on either side. The sides are pretty hilly, and you can climb to the top by way of neglected stairways every so often. There was a horse and a playground and trails everywhere. I ventured about halfway into the park (walking south) before I decided to turn around and explore another time. There were fountains everywhere, a great many children riding bikes, and couples in every corner of every glance.
The thing I was most struck by, though, is the tragedy of this place- the history that is everywhere. Because despite the beauty, it still seems that this is a country trying to make progress at any rate possible. I wish I could have seen this place before the war and the oppression and the hardship. I can imagine that it was quite beautiful. Once the “Paris of the East,” Bucuresti is now just a city playing catch-up, and I’m afraid it might never make it.
Buildings here are plastered with advertisements and obnoxiously colored banners; as if to boldly declare (20 years after the fact) that the country is proud to be done with communism. These do serve to cover up the drab, boring bloc-style buildings that are everywhere here, but it seems this society is trying too hard to Westernize. Of course, this is easy to say from the perspective of a Westerner- we don’t need advertisements all over our buildings to remind us that we live in a free and greedy society. Perhaps Romanians do.
Regardless, I found a part of the city that I am sure I will grow to love dearly in the months ahead. If I walk out of my apartment building, and turn right and then right again, I find myself on the main commercial strip of the sector (which I finally discovered is Sector 4). People run about and cars drive everywhere, and this young American girl finds herself feigning confidence while crossing the street and shopping at the market and going to the bank. If I cross the main street (with a fair amount of trepidation) there is an expanse of concrete that at first appears to be just that- an expanse of concrete. But with further exploration, I discovered that it is actually a park. Like many other European cities and parks, there is a “boulevard” of sorts down the middle, and grass and trees on either side. The sides are pretty hilly, and you can climb to the top by way of neglected stairways every so often. There was a horse and a playground and trails everywhere. I ventured about halfway into the park (walking south) before I decided to turn around and explore another time. There were fountains everywhere, a great many children riding bikes, and couples in every corner of every glance.
The thing I was most struck by, though, is the tragedy of this place- the history that is everywhere. Because despite the beauty, it still seems that this is a country trying to make progress at any rate possible. I wish I could have seen this place before the war and the oppression and the hardship. I can imagine that it was quite beautiful. Once the “Paris of the East,” Bucuresti is now just a city playing catch-up, and I’m afraid it might never make it.
Sunday, September 5, 2010
Misadventure
This morning, I got up relatively early and left my apartment in search of community and fellowship. Not being the type of person to be comfortable with going alone into a bar or club to meet someone, I decided to go the opposite route: church. I did some searching online yesterday, and found the Bucharest International Church- with a service in English and one following in Romanian. The perfect way to meet ex-pats and English-speaking Romanians, right? So I planned out my trip to the church, leaving at around 8:50 for the 10:00 service. I figured that I could just wait somewhere if I was too early, or maybe even go in to meet some people.
Here is the time frame for the next three and a half hours:
8:50: Leave apartment, lock doors, and ride the lift down to the main floor
8:51: Accidently open the interior doors too early and can’t open the elevator door. Ride up to the first floor and then back down again.
8:52: Leave the apartment building; walk to the metro station and down the stairs
8:59: Buy a 2-ride ticket for the metro, enter station, and walk down to platform
9:05: Get onto the metro and sit down, listening intently for stop
9:07: Approached by man in official looking uniform, holding hand out for something
9:09: Repeat the phrase “I don’t speak Romanian” (in Romanian) approximately 23201 times
9:11: Kindly interrupted by kind English-speaking native of Bucharest, who says that without proof of the ticket, a fine is owed
9:12: Show officer wallet with fewer lei that the fine required, watches as kind citizen and officer argue
9:13: Tell kind citizen it is my third time on the metro and I didn’t know the rule
9:15: Watch as officer walks away, scowling
9:19: Listen for stop, and get off at the next station, which happens to sound exactly like the intended destination
9:20: Walk up stairs to street level, try desperately to orient to location, and head west towards church
9:30: Realize that church should be right about… HERE
9:31: Wander back to metro station and try again
9:45: Realize that church should be right about… HERE
9:47: Wander back to metro station and realize that I got off three stops too late in all the confusion with the ticket officer
9:48: Walk down the stairs to the platform, KEEP MY TICKET
9:50: Board metro going back south
9:54: Get off of metro, ascend stairs, reorient myself to location, and head west towards church
10:00: Realize that church should be right about… HERE
10:05: Back at metro station, decides to attempt ONE MORE street.
10:07: Caught in swell of old and fragrant Romanian people, pushed up stairs towards old looking church
10:10: Seated in Romanian Orthodox Church, surrounded by elderly Romanian women
12:15: Stumble back to metro, buy one ticket, and descend to platform
12:20: Disembark at the correct metro stop, ascend stairs, and walk towards apartment
12:25: Arrive at home, get on shaky lift, ascend to fourth floor
12:26: Unlock apartment, walk inside, and collapse on the futon
12:27: Begin to process
Everything here is more exhausting. The THOUGHT of doing that again is more exhausting than I can even describe. Every once in a while, though, the effort is really worth it.
Here is the time frame for the next three and a half hours:
8:50: Leave apartment, lock doors, and ride the lift down to the main floor
8:51: Accidently open the interior doors too early and can’t open the elevator door. Ride up to the first floor and then back down again.
8:52: Leave the apartment building; walk to the metro station and down the stairs
8:59: Buy a 2-ride ticket for the metro, enter station, and walk down to platform
9:05: Get onto the metro and sit down, listening intently for stop
9:07: Approached by man in official looking uniform, holding hand out for something
9:09: Repeat the phrase “I don’t speak Romanian” (in Romanian) approximately 23201 times
9:11: Kindly interrupted by kind English-speaking native of Bucharest, who says that without proof of the ticket, a fine is owed
9:12: Show officer wallet with fewer lei that the fine required, watches as kind citizen and officer argue
9:13: Tell kind citizen it is my third time on the metro and I didn’t know the rule
9:15: Watch as officer walks away, scowling
9:19: Listen for stop, and get off at the next station, which happens to sound exactly like the intended destination
9:20: Walk up stairs to street level, try desperately to orient to location, and head west towards church
9:30: Realize that church should be right about… HERE
9:31: Wander back to metro station and try again
9:45: Realize that church should be right about… HERE
9:47: Wander back to metro station and realize that I got off three stops too late in all the confusion with the ticket officer
9:48: Walk down the stairs to the platform, KEEP MY TICKET
9:50: Board metro going back south
9:54: Get off of metro, ascend stairs, reorient myself to location, and head west towards church
10:00: Realize that church should be right about… HERE
10:05: Back at metro station, decides to attempt ONE MORE street.
10:07: Caught in swell of old and fragrant Romanian people, pushed up stairs towards old looking church
10:10: Seated in Romanian Orthodox Church, surrounded by elderly Romanian women
12:15: Stumble back to metro, buy one ticket, and descend to platform
12:20: Disembark at the correct metro stop, ascend stairs, and walk towards apartment
12:25: Arrive at home, get on shaky lift, ascend to fourth floor
12:26: Unlock apartment, walk inside, and collapse on the futon
12:27: Begin to process
Everything here is more exhausting. The THOUGHT of doing that again is more exhausting than I can even describe. Every once in a while, though, the effort is really worth it.
Saturday, September 4, 2010
A Smattering
This posting will contain three separate writings that I did while offline today. Please don't try to connect them. My brain was sleep-deprived and lacking nutrients and kind of lonely. Just read :)
AND OH MY WORD. It will not let me copy and paste into the blog. For REAL? Sorry, then. You get nothing for now. Because the internet is about to cut out again (I can feel it fading) and I'm quite tired, seeing as it is 5:20 in the MORNING here. Wait. Nevermind. I found the answer.
After spending just four full days in Bucharest, I find myself incredibly antsy. Part of this is my trepidation about venturing TOO far outside of the areas I know, which is largely (I think) due to the language barrier. In Chicago, one of my very favorite things to do was to take a bus or the train to a new neighborhood, and just go exploring. But in Chicago, I could always get home, because I could always just ask for help. Here in Bucharest, I don’t even know what letters some of the words begin with when people talk. The language is beautiful and fluid and completely incomprehensible to my ears. I do not remember people speaking this quickly when we were in Oradea last year- this could be a regional distinction, or simply because we always had a translator with us. Regardless, I’m terribly afraid of getting lost and having no real course of action.
I have been thinking a lot about the kind of qualities I want to develop this year. If I allow it, these months could slip by with incidental growth and I will find myself at the end of the year with just a smattering of change. I want to be intentional about growth both in my own life, and in the life of my students. How to do this though? Growth is slippery and difficult and intangible- how can I be purposeful?
A few years ago, I compiled some words that I think define the kind of person I want to be, and the characteristics I hope to embody. In pursuit of growth (and in honor and deference to the nerd living in my soul), I have decided to choose one word each day to focus on and work for and discover. They are the following: affect, love, loyalty, desire, assurance, ambition, trust, hope, future, compassion, simplicity, optimism, wish, dream, humility, confidence, peace, empower, maturity, responsibility, heartfelt, and faith.
I know that to even think about walking away from this year with all of these qualities is a tad unrealistic and overly ambitious and even arrogant. However, perhaps I can strengthen all of them just a bit, in a search for the person I want to become.
For someone who defines herself as an educator, both as a source of pride and an excuse for behavior, I know shockingly little about schooling outside of the United States. You could ask me about any current event in teaching or education in the States, and I probably have an opinion or three to share. I lug around the soapbox everywhere I go so that I can jump onto it in an instant, and I have worked hard over the years to avoid shoving my feelings down the throats of those who just are not hungry.
I think one of the most difficult things in moving to a new country is to avoid comparison. It is so easy to measure everything by the standard of what is known, and in my case, this is the United States way of doing things. I’m a little embarrassed, to be perfectly honest.
The educational system in Romania is just a wee bit different, and exploring it this year will be quite the treat. Remaining flexible and just understanding that this is the way things ARE, and maybe not the ways things could be… this might prove to be my biggest challenge.
One of the things I have been most surprised by is the admiration from others regarding my status as an American citizen. I wasn’t really prepared for this- I thought I would have to go the “other way” and temper down my citizenship in order to be liked. Perhaps this is just a feature of Western Europe that hasn’t caught up in Romania yet. Regardless, I have met people who would kiss my feet if I let them, and I am trying to be both appreciative and humble. It really isn’t as a result of my superiority that I was born in the United States, and that I am a native English speaker. This is the message I am trying to communicate.
With such a status comes an enormous amount of pressure. I hope that being the resident native English speaker at school is not accompanied by the assumption that I have the best teaching methods or amazing English techniques. My friends, I have so much to learn. For the first time in months, I am nervous about the teaching part of this endeavor.
AND OH MY WORD. It will not let me copy and paste into the blog. For REAL? Sorry, then. You get nothing for now. Because the internet is about to cut out again (I can feel it fading) and I'm quite tired, seeing as it is 5:20 in the MORNING here. Wait. Nevermind. I found the answer.
After spending just four full days in Bucharest, I find myself incredibly antsy. Part of this is my trepidation about venturing TOO far outside of the areas I know, which is largely (I think) due to the language barrier. In Chicago, one of my very favorite things to do was to take a bus or the train to a new neighborhood, and just go exploring. But in Chicago, I could always get home, because I could always just ask for help. Here in Bucharest, I don’t even know what letters some of the words begin with when people talk. The language is beautiful and fluid and completely incomprehensible to my ears. I do not remember people speaking this quickly when we were in Oradea last year- this could be a regional distinction, or simply because we always had a translator with us. Regardless, I’m terribly afraid of getting lost and having no real course of action.
I have been thinking a lot about the kind of qualities I want to develop this year. If I allow it, these months could slip by with incidental growth and I will find myself at the end of the year with just a smattering of change. I want to be intentional about growth both in my own life, and in the life of my students. How to do this though? Growth is slippery and difficult and intangible- how can I be purposeful?
A few years ago, I compiled some words that I think define the kind of person I want to be, and the characteristics I hope to embody. In pursuit of growth (and in honor and deference to the nerd living in my soul), I have decided to choose one word each day to focus on and work for and discover. They are the following: affect, love, loyalty, desire, assurance, ambition, trust, hope, future, compassion, simplicity, optimism, wish, dream, humility, confidence, peace, empower, maturity, responsibility, heartfelt, and faith.
I know that to even think about walking away from this year with all of these qualities is a tad unrealistic and overly ambitious and even arrogant. However, perhaps I can strengthen all of them just a bit, in a search for the person I want to become.
For someone who defines herself as an educator, both as a source of pride and an excuse for behavior, I know shockingly little about schooling outside of the United States. You could ask me about any current event in teaching or education in the States, and I probably have an opinion or three to share. I lug around the soapbox everywhere I go so that I can jump onto it in an instant, and I have worked hard over the years to avoid shoving my feelings down the throats of those who just are not hungry.
I think one of the most difficult things in moving to a new country is to avoid comparison. It is so easy to measure everything by the standard of what is known, and in my case, this is the United States way of doing things. I’m a little embarrassed, to be perfectly honest.
The educational system in Romania is just a wee bit different, and exploring it this year will be quite the treat. Remaining flexible and just understanding that this is the way things ARE, and maybe not the ways things could be… this might prove to be my biggest challenge.
One of the things I have been most surprised by is the admiration from others regarding my status as an American citizen. I wasn’t really prepared for this- I thought I would have to go the “other way” and temper down my citizenship in order to be liked. Perhaps this is just a feature of Western Europe that hasn’t caught up in Romania yet. Regardless, I have met people who would kiss my feet if I let them, and I am trying to be both appreciative and humble. It really isn’t as a result of my superiority that I was born in the United States, and that I am a native English speaker. This is the message I am trying to communicate.
With such a status comes an enormous amount of pressure. I hope that being the resident native English speaker at school is not accompanied by the assumption that I have the best teaching methods or amazing English techniques. My friends, I have so much to learn. For the first time in months, I am nervous about the teaching part of this endeavor.
Adjustments
There are many minor adjustments that accompany any sort of move overseas. Here are a few of mine thus far:
1. No shower curtains. As confirmed by D~ in his new apartment in Timisoara, Romanians do not use shower curtains, apparently. It works out alright, just a little adjustment.
2. Sleep. My sleep schedule is a disaster. I am awake late, exhausted in the afternoon, and have woken up between 5 and 7 am since Wednesday morning.
3. Time. I am still figuring out the time difference. I know it in my head, but it is odd to talk to someone and have them discuss the breakfast they just went to, as I am contemplating dinner.
4. Time. Romanians, even here in the bustling city of Bucharest, just take things... slowly. It works out, just not in my timing.
5. Language. I'm not even going to go here.
6. Streets and addresses. I have lived here since Tuesday evening and I still have just a faint grasp of where in the city I live, and what street I live on. I can figure out my way around the area, sure- but to tell you where I live? No way! I can't even pronounce the name of the metro station on the corner near my flat. And the map of Bucharest looks like a bowl of spaghetti noodles.
I am going to try and post a video a bit later of my apartment- hope it works!
1. No shower curtains. As confirmed by D~ in his new apartment in Timisoara, Romanians do not use shower curtains, apparently. It works out alright, just a little adjustment.
2. Sleep. My sleep schedule is a disaster. I am awake late, exhausted in the afternoon, and have woken up between 5 and 7 am since Wednesday morning.
3. Time. I am still figuring out the time difference. I know it in my head, but it is odd to talk to someone and have them discuss the breakfast they just went to, as I am contemplating dinner.
4. Time. Romanians, even here in the bustling city of Bucharest, just take things... slowly. It works out, just not in my timing.
5. Language. I'm not even going to go here.
6. Streets and addresses. I have lived here since Tuesday evening and I still have just a faint grasp of where in the city I live, and what street I live on. I can figure out my way around the area, sure- but to tell you where I live? No way! I can't even pronounce the name of the metro station on the corner near my flat. And the map of Bucharest looks like a bowl of spaghetti noodles.
I am going to try and post a video a bit later of my apartment- hope it works!
Friday, September 3, 2010
Arrival
This is going to be a badly written and terribly boring post, just so you know. I am copying most of this from an email I sent someone because my internet connection is REALLY shady at the moment. I am supposed to have internet in the apartment, but I am currently stealing it from my neighbor (I think). Thank you, Lucian.
Travel was pretty good. I had to pay extra for my bags, but no biggie, I knew that was coming. The flight was delayed about 45 minutes, and we actually were seated apart. We asked someone to move, and so we ended up in the middle section- I was right in the middle and D~ was on the outside. As soon as we sat down I knew it was going to be a long flight- the seats were TERRIBLY uncomfortable- the plane was so old that there were still ashtrays in the armrests :) Poor D~ was miserable- he couldn't even rest his legs on the floor because his knees hit. We had a pretty good time, all things considered. Played a LOT of card games, talked a lot about politics and religion and everything else, and watched a REALLY terrible Queen Latifah movie called "Just Right." AWFUL.
Food was awful. I chose the beef (rather than fish) and D~ had the fish after seeing my beef- but then he ended up really sick at the end of the flight.
We were seated seperately on our flight from Rome to Bucharest, which was okay again. I ended up sleeping again for almost the entire flight- just a few hours, but really needed. When we got to Bucharest, we got a luggage cart to wait for our stuff, but it never came. All of a sudden we heard the words "Roma finished." I followed the parade of people over to the lost baggage office while D~ waited to see if it was anywhere around, and with all the carry on stuff. Everyone was yelling in Romanian and I very nearly had a breakdown. About 1.5 hours later our claim was in and we went out to meet two people from my school, and climbed in the tiny car to go to my apartment. In hindsight, it was a good thing the luggage was lost b/c there is NO way it could have fit into the car. We were met by my landlord, a parent from the school, and one of my students who brought me flowers. This was around 5:00 on Tuesday night- we were in the apartment for a while, and they showed us around. The apartment is beautiful- one main room with a tiny little kitchen and a decent sized bathroom. I have a really nice futon, two comfy chairs, a television, a few cabinets, and a really huge wardrobe. The kitchen has a fridge, sink, and range/oven, and the bathroom has a tub/shower, sink, toilet, AND... a washer/dryer!!! (This is a big deal). Oh yeah- there is an adorable little lift that works about half the time and I'm on the fourth floor- not too bad. Oh yeah- AND there is air conditioning :)
My area of the city is really nice- everything within walking distance- supermarket, post office, bank, school, and a metro station. We went to dinner right across the street on the first night (sour cream chicken and paprika potato wedges) and then grocery shopping, just for some staples like fruit, bread, milk, and cereal. We crashed pretty early the first night, and went the next day to get our luggage, spending the rest of the afternoon just hanging out in the apartment, unpacking a bit and napping some. I got a mobile phone, so I am officially connected :) We had dinner the second night with people from SOL, but I messed up on the time- we were supposed to meet the country director O~ at 5pm outside my apartment, not 6pm. We had to run out pretty quickly- D~ was still in the shower and I hadn't yet gotten in... it was pretty miserable. We ran to the Metro station and I did what I do best- fell down the steps. I messed up my foot pretty badly- I could walk with an awful limp to the restaurant, but couldn't even bear weight afterward. Dinner was great, all things considered. We were there for nearly 3.5 hours, and we ate well. I had some Romanian chicken and mashed potatoes, beef soup, and carmel custard. We talked and talked (I was quite distracted by the pain in my foot) and it was a beautiful place. Afterward, we ended up calling a taxi to get back to my apartment, because there was NO way I could have made it otherwise. I felt really bad, but I was in a tremendous amount of pain.
Bucharest is big and loud and none of the streets run straight and everything looks the same. I crave the knowledge that I will have in a month, six months, a year from now concerning this strange place. It is pretty drab for the most part- it still reeks of an oppressive Communist regime, and Ceausescu's legacy is everywhere. I'm looking forward to finding little pockets of good, but it might take some searching.
We had orientation yesterday, and it was quite interesting. We met at the British Council, and were able to meet a few other teachers here in Bucharest, which was good for me. I got pretty drugged up for the day, my foot still in a lot of pain but not NEARLY like it was the night before. We talked in the morning about school stuff- more to come in a later post (the Romanian system is quite interesting) and then went to lunch, which basically turned into a 3 hour break time. I got a library card from the British council library (!!!!) I met a man named G~ who also teaches in the city, and he mentioned a few opportunities about teaching part time at a preschool (almost every teacher has to have a second job for money purposes) AND his project this year of going to a hospital and holding babies!!!
After orientation, D~ went to buy his train ticket to Timisoara (pronounced Timmy-shwora) and then we wandered around for a bit looking for something to eat, and ending up back at the same restaurant as the first night. It seems like a decent place judging by the amount of people there, and our waiter from the first night was all smiles about us being back.
D~ left this morning, and I have three days with nothing to do. Hoping that the internet holds out, and that I get my connection fixed. I find myself missing him already- he was my last tangible link to home in this strange, bewildering place. He has been incredibly fun, wonderfully comforting, and impressively strong. I'm not sure I could have done all of this without him.
My foot is feeling a lot better- I was honestly quite worried the first night. It is still quite painful, but I can at least hobble around now. I am hoping that this sense of lonliness transforms itself into excitement, but for now I am just overwhelmed and wondering if this was the right choice. I know this will get better when I have friends and school starts and I have the opportunity to explore the city a bit more- but right now is pretty difficult.
Haha- in other news, I apologize for the spelling errors in my postings from now on. Because I am in Romania, when I click on "check spelling," about 95% of the words are highlighted. Sorry!
Travel was pretty good. I had to pay extra for my bags, but no biggie, I knew that was coming. The flight was delayed about 45 minutes, and we actually were seated apart. We asked someone to move, and so we ended up in the middle section- I was right in the middle and D~ was on the outside. As soon as we sat down I knew it was going to be a long flight- the seats were TERRIBLY uncomfortable- the plane was so old that there were still ashtrays in the armrests :) Poor D~ was miserable- he couldn't even rest his legs on the floor because his knees hit. We had a pretty good time, all things considered. Played a LOT of card games, talked a lot about politics and religion and everything else, and watched a REALLY terrible Queen Latifah movie called "Just Right." AWFUL.
Food was awful. I chose the beef (rather than fish) and D~ had the fish after seeing my beef- but then he ended up really sick at the end of the flight.
We were seated seperately on our flight from Rome to Bucharest, which was okay again. I ended up sleeping again for almost the entire flight- just a few hours, but really needed. When we got to Bucharest, we got a luggage cart to wait for our stuff, but it never came. All of a sudden we heard the words "Roma finished." I followed the parade of people over to the lost baggage office while D~ waited to see if it was anywhere around, and with all the carry on stuff. Everyone was yelling in Romanian and I very nearly had a breakdown. About 1.5 hours later our claim was in and we went out to meet two people from my school, and climbed in the tiny car to go to my apartment. In hindsight, it was a good thing the luggage was lost b/c there is NO way it could have fit into the car. We were met by my landlord, a parent from the school, and one of my students who brought me flowers. This was around 5:00 on Tuesday night- we were in the apartment for a while, and they showed us around. The apartment is beautiful- one main room with a tiny little kitchen and a decent sized bathroom. I have a really nice futon, two comfy chairs, a television, a few cabinets, and a really huge wardrobe. The kitchen has a fridge, sink, and range/oven, and the bathroom has a tub/shower, sink, toilet, AND... a washer/dryer!!! (This is a big deal). Oh yeah- there is an adorable little lift that works about half the time and I'm on the fourth floor- not too bad. Oh yeah- AND there is air conditioning :)
My area of the city is really nice- everything within walking distance- supermarket, post office, bank, school, and a metro station. We went to dinner right across the street on the first night (sour cream chicken and paprika potato wedges) and then grocery shopping, just for some staples like fruit, bread, milk, and cereal. We crashed pretty early the first night, and went the next day to get our luggage, spending the rest of the afternoon just hanging out in the apartment, unpacking a bit and napping some. I got a mobile phone, so I am officially connected :) We had dinner the second night with people from SOL, but I messed up on the time- we were supposed to meet the country director O~ at 5pm outside my apartment, not 6pm. We had to run out pretty quickly- D~ was still in the shower and I hadn't yet gotten in... it was pretty miserable. We ran to the Metro station and I did what I do best- fell down the steps. I messed up my foot pretty badly- I could walk with an awful limp to the restaurant, but couldn't even bear weight afterward. Dinner was great, all things considered. We were there for nearly 3.5 hours, and we ate well. I had some Romanian chicken and mashed potatoes, beef soup, and carmel custard. We talked and talked (I was quite distracted by the pain in my foot) and it was a beautiful place. Afterward, we ended up calling a taxi to get back to my apartment, because there was NO way I could have made it otherwise. I felt really bad, but I was in a tremendous amount of pain.
Bucharest is big and loud and none of the streets run straight and everything looks the same. I crave the knowledge that I will have in a month, six months, a year from now concerning this strange place. It is pretty drab for the most part- it still reeks of an oppressive Communist regime, and Ceausescu's legacy is everywhere. I'm looking forward to finding little pockets of good, but it might take some searching.
We had orientation yesterday, and it was quite interesting. We met at the British Council, and were able to meet a few other teachers here in Bucharest, which was good for me. I got pretty drugged up for the day, my foot still in a lot of pain but not NEARLY like it was the night before. We talked in the morning about school stuff- more to come in a later post (the Romanian system is quite interesting) and then went to lunch, which basically turned into a 3 hour break time. I got a library card from the British council library (!!!!) I met a man named G~ who also teaches in the city, and he mentioned a few opportunities about teaching part time at a preschool (almost every teacher has to have a second job for money purposes) AND his project this year of going to a hospital and holding babies!!!
After orientation, D~ went to buy his train ticket to Timisoara (pronounced Timmy-shwora) and then we wandered around for a bit looking for something to eat, and ending up back at the same restaurant as the first night. It seems like a decent place judging by the amount of people there, and our waiter from the first night was all smiles about us being back.
D~ left this morning, and I have three days with nothing to do. Hoping that the internet holds out, and that I get my connection fixed. I find myself missing him already- he was my last tangible link to home in this strange, bewildering place. He has been incredibly fun, wonderfully comforting, and impressively strong. I'm not sure I could have done all of this without him.
My foot is feeling a lot better- I was honestly quite worried the first night. It is still quite painful, but I can at least hobble around now. I am hoping that this sense of lonliness transforms itself into excitement, but for now I am just overwhelmed and wondering if this was the right choice. I know this will get better when I have friends and school starts and I have the opportunity to explore the city a bit more- but right now is pretty difficult.
Haha- in other news, I apologize for the spelling errors in my postings from now on. Because I am in Romania, when I click on "check spelling," about 95% of the words are highlighted. Sorry!
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