Comeback Kid

A few weeks ago a professor from my school emailed me asking for updates about how I am doing and details on what I am feeling about my experience so far. She is the person who encouraged me to apply for the Fulbright and mentored me throughout my application process, reading and re-reading my essays, providing insight, criticism, and endless support. (She is also the professor whose class, which I took early on in college career, kicked my butt and pushed me to be a better student and helped me develop my voice in my writing.) After sending her a fairly long email about my thoughts, feelings, and experiences, I received her reply this morning. Two things she said really stuck out to me as things I need to keep in mind during the second half of this journey: 

1. “Just think of this as a time to learn learn learn about another culture and education system instead of a time to actually teach…” 

2. "I’m rooting for you!” 

The first thing, about shifting my perspective about what my time here actually means, is something I have been forced to constantly do since my arrival. Before coming here I was pretty nervous to be responsible for high school student’s English education for an entire school year. I had never been a teacher in a formal classroom setting before. I even wrote a blog post earlier in the year about how I have never wanted to be a teacher. But honestly I have not really been teaching that much. Sure, I assist and lead lessons in the classroom almost every day, but I do not think that when I leave the memory that the  students I have worked with will have of me will be connected to a specific lesson. And I have no tangible proof that any of the lessons that I have taught by myself have stuck with any of the students. This is partly because the times I am teaching my own lessons have no real schedule or repetitiveness and therefore it does not allow time for me to review or check understanding the following day, and also because students know I am not teaching them  things that will specifically be on their exams and therefore do not make effort to remember the lessons. This is definitely a double edge sword that cuts through any chance I have at effectively teaching anything. 

What is really interesting about having this realization—that I do not have a set class that I can regularly teach lessons I have created in a coherent pattern—is that actually want that experience. (I can hear my family’s collective “we told you so” now.) While I am still convinced that being an educator is not something I would want to continue to do for the rest of my days, this time as an ETA has taught me that I do want to be an actual teacher, at least for a while.  

For now though I need to let go of that desire and focus on this identity I am currently claiming. I am, in most ways, a student. This entire region of the world is my classroom and I need to take in as much as I can. That means asking more questions, stewing in the discomfort, and trying to make sense of it all, instead of taking things personally. I came into this experience without many expectations of what my time will be like but after being here for a while I realize that I have been building up so many expectations through comparison with other ETA’s stories. Short of cutting off all communication with anyone in my cohort, it is basically impossible not to keep up with what other people are doing, but I need to work on compartmentalizing what I see and hear about other ETA’s experiences and what my own is like. Our schools and communities are all separate self-sustaining microcosms and instead of pining about how the grass is always greener I need to stop and smell the roses in my own backyard. 

The second thing that my professor said—that she is rooting for me—is something that I have been blessed enough to hear continuously throughout my life. My family, friends, and teachers have always shown me support and guidance in the different things that I do. But, being half a day ahead of everyone in the US makes it really difficult to stay in touch with people. Most of my conversations with friends and family are voice and text messages left in reply to one another when we have a spare minute during the day. I have to schedule days (sometimes weeks) in advance with most loved ones if we want to actually talk on the phone and have a conversation in real-time. My professor’s words were a wonderful reminder of how vast my support system back home really is. It can be hard to remember, because of how isolated I am from the community here, that I am not alone.  Because every interaction here is slightly strained (because of the effort it takes to breach communication barriers) it is nice to be reminded of all the communities and groups I am apart of with whom I can interact with ease. I helps me to realize that this isolation I experience at my school is not a reflection of my personality or my potential  but a situational consequence of where I am. 

My mom always says, “Be a problem solver not a problem maker”, and this time in Perlis has definitely been forcing me to put those positive thinking practices my mother instilled in me to the test. But just like always, when I am starting to feel incredibly down in the dumps and the woe-is-me-mindset is clouding my thoughts, someone in my vast support group gives me the push  and prod I need to get back to the problem solving habits that have served me well throughout my life. (If my mom’s mantra can get me through statistics it can get me through anything right?)  Besides, with the end of month five just around the corner I have already made it through the uphill climb! Im sure, like any downhill slide, I will receive just as many bruises and bumps as the way up but there’s something sweet about knowing you’ve passed the halfway point. I have more time behind me that I do ahead and that is giving me the motivation to step my game back up and work towards a second semester that I can be really proud of. Stay tuned y’all because, like any sports fan knows, the second half is when it gets good. 

On being an object

Objectify (v): to treat (someone) as an object rather than as a person. 

 Within feminist discussion, sexual objectification is at the forefront of every conversation about objectification. As a young woman the experience of sexual objectification is unfortunately all too familiar for it to not have been the dominating my association with the word. However, since beginning to work in my school I have been subjected to objectification in a new capacity.  The way that I consider the term objectification has changed as a result. 

There is a classic riddle that I have been thinking about a lot recently. One of the things that drove me to write this post that I have been reluctant to compose for a while now. I goes like this, “If a tree falls in a forest and no one is around to hear it, does it make a sound?”  

I spend the majority of my time, at school and in my community, completely immersed in a language that I am not able to understand. Between the rapid pace at which people speak, pronunciation which lends itself to blending words, and my really horrible vocabulary memory, my ongoing attempt to learn Malay has not been very successful. I would say that about 95% of the time I have absolutely no clue what anyone is talking about. And generally teachers and students don’t really do anything to help me understand. For the most part I guess I get it, it is hard to constantly remember that there is that one American in the school who does not know what is being said, and can be pretty awkward to try to constantly translate into a language you are not comfortable speaking in. I have tried to stop thinking about what I would do if the situation was reversed because I have never been on the other side of this awkward linguistic tango. (Frankly, imagining what I would do can be a frustrating because I assume that I would put more effort into inclusion than what generally happens at my school.) But since I cannot change my situation, I am trying to make the best of it by just getting used to it. It does not mean I am giving up on learning Malay—I ask teachers what certain words mean, try to write down phrases I hear (or think I hear) and see a lot, and am constantly trying to recruit a Malay tutor from the teachers I interact with more often, but I am not allowing myself to be frustrated with how little I understand things. I try to understand as much as I can from context clues and snippets from vocabulary I recognize, but for the most part when people are talking around me I just tune it out, wait for someone to address me, and if not just kind of do my own thing.   

A couple of weeks ago my school celebrated “hari kanteen” (canteen day). This was basically a day where students and teachers ran different food, drink, and activity booths in order to raise money for the different student organizations and clubs that they are a part of. For me, this meant wandering around aimlessly basically all day stuffing myself with Malaysian delicacies, becoming the “model” (read: guinea pig) for a teacher’s Mary Kay makeup booth, and going through an elaborately executed haunted house (imagine a bunch high-school boys with tons of fake blood, black cloth, and masks trying to scare the daylights out of their peers).  

While these two full days of festivities were super interesting (and delicious), I spent most of the time sitting with groups of teachers while they talked about and around me in Malay. It was a really interesting time but those moments that are full of energy and conversation are when I feel the most lonely in my school. I am not able to fully engage with what is going on because I am watching and not really participating due to the language barrier. I did not realize how much this has really been effecting me or how used to this feeling I have gotten until hari kanteen. I sat next to a tuition teacher (basically a private tutor) who works with Form 5 students in after-school classes, she is getting her masters in English language education and just recently moved back to Perlis after living for several years in Kuala Lumpur. Throughout her conversations with teachers she was translating for me what was being said, and responding in English even when speaking with other teachers, making a conscious effort not to make me feel left out. If she forgot to translate or slipped back into Malay for a while she would apologize and catch me up in the conversation. I felt so much gratitude for her throughout the whole day, we actually had substantial conversations: she told me a lot about herself, and asked me about my life and future plans and feelings about being here. She really wanted to get to know me for me and become my friend. Obviously she felt more comfortable having a conversation with me because of her profession and education background. But what I valued more than her translating and english skills was the feeling of being recognized and acknowledged. I felt like she saw me as a person, a colleague, a friend even, and that is not something I really feel very often at my school. 

The longer that I have been here the more that I realize I am basically seen as a walking, talking, English lesson for the teachers, administrators, and students. Basically I exist as a way to force people at my school to speak English, therefore helping them to increase their vocabulary and confidence. But like any lesson, most people only participate if they are required to or passionate about it.  My mentor encourages me to speak with teachers (and vice versa), and there are some teachers who are generally excited to speak with me and get better at english. So in a way it is best that Im not fluent in Malay because then I wouldn’t fully be doing what I have ascertained is an important part of my role in my school. But it is exhausting to constantly exist not so much as a person but as a dictionary, a puzzle, a brain teaser, something that people engage with when they are seeking a challenge rather than someone people speak to for companionship. 

I feel a special type of isolation to be in a full room, or sitting at a full table in the canteen and have no one address me . It makes me feel invisible. I try not to take it so personally, but honestly how can I not take personally actions that deny me my personhood?  I know it is not about me specifically. I have not consciously done anything to push teachers and students away or make them uncomfortable. It is just this cavernous language barrier that none of us know  how to navigate well. Had I come into this experience with a wealth of knowledge in Malay I know I would be having a very different experience. 

This is not to say that no one ever speaks to me. But just that when they do I know it is because they are making a really conscious effort to do so. People have to actively remember to include me. I recognize the most comfortable space is to default to one’s first language. I am always grateful to the people who work to help me stay apart of the conversation. But even still, it does hurt to go through the day not being part of the conversation (and therefore not really apart of the community), sometimes actively being avoided just because people don’t want to be uncomfortable. It is doubly frustrating when people who have the capability to keep me in the conversation do not do so for whatever reason. While I am here I cannot simply choose not to be uncomfortable by avoiding the language barrier because I am completely surrounded by it everywhere I go. I wake up everyday in a place where I am constantly and relentlessly uncomfortable and I can’t change it. I do not know if people have not considered how difficult this is for me or just do not care. The lack of consideration about my comfort level or feelings about how I am treated (more like not treated) has to be directly correlated to the fact that no one really thinks of me. Me, Naja, not the ETA, the american, the foreigner, or the outsider. Me the young woman all the way on the other side of the world from everything familiar just trying to be seen. But why would you work to meet someone halfway if they are not even a someone to you in the first place, right? 

I left a work environment that was seriously fulfilling, with a employer and co-workers who saw me as an equal and a friend (despite being the youngest) and it can be very difficult to rationalize my decision to come here, to be immersed in this ceaseless isolation, this unending discomfort, this complete denial of consideration. I know I am gaining a lot from this experience but I cannot help but mourn the loss of what I had before. I cannot help but to be off-put by this blatant, habitual disregard. 

This objectification is taking a toll on me in ways I did not anticipate. The constant lack of acknowledgement as an actual complex person with emotions, opinions, and a need for more than baseline human interaction on the best days is a slight bother but on the worst days makes me question more than just my effectiveness as this school’s ETA. And so I will leave you with this question, one that I have not been able to answer for myself but has been bothering me for the past few weeks. If I am here without acknowledgement it does it matter if I am here at all? 

Lessons on Fire Mountain

Mount Merapi at sunrise. 

Imagine me—an average, not particularly athletic or outdoorsy, midwestern girl who had never seen a volcano in person—trekking up the most active volcano in Indonesia at 3am in freezing weather, soaked in sweat and rain water, climbing towards (what I had expected to be) the most amazing sunrise I had ever experienced. Cant imagine that? I barely can either and that is exactly what I was doing one week ago.  

The sunrise hike up Gunung Merapi, “fire mountain”, seemed like a horrifying idea from the very beginning. I tried to play it cool when, in the group chat of the fellow ETAs I was traveling with,  one of the guys informed us that the hike was “only 4 hours each way”. I was terrified of the idea of hiking up anything, let alone an active volcano, especially at night. But, I reminded myself of the two mottos I have fallen back on during the various moments I have been overcome with extreme self doubt and fear of the choices I made to get me where I am: be bold and remain uncomfortable. Planning for the week long vacation in Indonesia—the first real vacation I had ever been on without a family member or close friend—a sunrise trek up a volcano seemed to fit the bill for a bold and uncomfortable move. I had no idea just how difficult the trek would be. Halfway up I started to seriously doubt the choices I had made to get me there. I was totally convinced I had had a moment of insanity when I decided it would be a good idea to pay to have to climb up and back down a constant incline for 8 consecutive hours, in severely cold weather with an even more severe wind, in the rain and hail, without a map, with a bunch of strangers and people I barely knew.  

This is not the kind of story where I get to the summit, look down into the crater below and sew lava and look up to see a beautiful sunrise which warms and revives me and I skip down the mountain with the realization that I can do anything in the world. If you know me, you know even my fairytale stories aren’t that much of a fairytale. (Like when, days after the hike, I along with two other friends, found an off-the-beaten-track waterfall and spent much of the day lounging in the fresh water pool at the base. I ended this fairytale adventure with a sunstroke and heat rash so bad I was out of school for two days upon returning to Malaysia.) But back to the story of how Mount Merapi whooped my butt: 

Obviously, the sun rose. But we couldn’t see it for the dense cloud of fog had surrounded upper part of the volcano. The magical sunrise I envisioned (which helped me power up the mountain) was more like the world just gradually got light enough for us to see without a headlamp. This sucked for two reasons: first, because of the thick cloud coverage it did not get any warmer and second, now I could see how high up I was and how far down I could fall if I accidentally toppled over the side. Oh and by the way, we did not even make it to the summit of the volcano. The wind speed was so high that our guides refused to take us to the summit, which was a plateau and would have not only been extremely cold but the wind was so strong and the fog was so dense that we could have easily been blown off. Not only did we not get to the top or see the sunrise, I was cold, and miserable and had a long way down. 

Even though Merapi was, for all intents and purposes, a bust without reaching the summit or seeing the sunrise, it was definitely an experience I am glad I had. Though I huffed and puffed my way through the whole thing (all the way in the back of the pack mind you), I felt so accomplished for not stopping and going as far as our guides (and mother nature) would allow. I felt extra satisfied when I talked to some of the more experienced trekkers and climbers in the group and they told me that it was a very difficult trek for them too. I had challenged myself and it paid off because now I realize I can do things that I never imagined I would be able to do. I spent a lot of time in silence, pushing myself to go higher and higher (and then to climb down which was a whole other beast in it of itself), and through all the torment I kind of started to see a glimpse of the reason behind why people love to do that kind of thing.  

The trek on Gunung Merapi taught me a few lessons that have already helped me to come to terms with my work this year and i’m sure will help guide me for the rest of my life. So here are some lessons I learned on Merapi: 

1. Not every step is going to be a sure one. 

I think this is the hardest realization to come to and a reason why I have always had an aversion to hiking, especially the coming back down part. I like certainty and stability especially when talking about literal things like where I placing my feet. Coming down from Merapi was a realization that not every step is going to be sure and that is okay. You have to trust the choices you make, the path you pick, and your ability to correct quickly or else you will do more harm that good.  

2. You will fall, and you might take some friends down with you. 

About halfway down we came across a serious patch of muddy land. Remember, the incline was steep so it was definitely going to be tricky. A few people went ahead of me with the guide’s help and then it was my turn. I took a couple steps, a guide reached out his hand to me I leaned to grab it an took another step and then I slipped and proceeded to slide about 10 feet down, taking the guide whose hand I held with me and the other guide who had reached fin to help when I began to slide down. I slid to a stop against a rock and hopped up howling with laughter. It had been both terrifying and hilarious. All my friends above me were laughing hysterically as well, one of the other girls slipped the exact same way I did but the guides were smart enough at that point to not let her drag them down with them. I was definitely embarrassed, I couldn’t stop apologizing to guides I had caused to fall with me. But they did not really care and totally shook it off with a laugh. I guessed it was not the first time a pretty inexperienced person on the trek had taken them down. Plus what’s a little more mud on your pants in the long run? Though I was embraced and significantly more muddy, I was not hurt and could keep going. Instead of letting the fact that I had fallen totally negatively affect me, I just decided to get back up and keep going and to be happy there was a rock there to stop me from falling too far down. 

3. Friendship means support 

Three months ago, every person I went on this trip with was a complete stranger. I don't really remember talking to most of them during the two week orientation in Kuala Lumpur in January. But through this week long trip, I felt a connection with all of them both as a group and on an individual level. This was never more apparent than during the Mount Merapi trek. They were all so supportive, nice, and encouraging. From holding my hand when I got too shaken on the way down, to words of encouragement when I did something right, to laughing at my jokes, cuddling with me when we were all freezing while waiting for the sunrise, and never rushing me up or making me feel bad for having to take a few breaks and always being in the back. Most of the people who trekked Merapi with me were more experienced than I was but they never made me feel inferior for my lack of trying, instead they were all excited for me for gaining more experience with them. Maybe that is the nature of the trekking community, maybe I just got lucky to have some super amazing people to trek with, but either way the support I received was an integral part of my success.

 

In Yogyakarta, hanging out after eating Gado Gado, a traditional Indonesia dish of boiled vegetables, tempe/tofu, eggs and peanut sauce.  

4. Always bring an extra jacket 

The day prior to the hike a few of the girls and I bought additional jackets at the market. in the moment I put up a bit of a stink about having to shell out extra money. When we were up in the clouds and freezing rain, I was so happy I had spent the cash on the windbreaker and was kicking myself for not always investing in a poncho. 

5. Not reaching your goal does not mean you failed 

There were several reasons beyond our control, or the control of our guides, as to why we were not able to reach the summit or see the sunrise. Standing in the wet cold on Merapi I could say I was a little more than disappointed that we did not get the views we anticipated. But once we reached the bottom again we all concluded that we had a great story to tell and really interesting bonding experience. When I am older and I back think on my first trek up an active volcano (and definitely one of the most difficult physical activities I have ever participated in) the member is inextricably linked with the people who experienced with me.  The connection we all made and memories we share as a group is so much more important than just being able to tick and experience off our bucket list. 

All in all, I am so grateful for the experience I had both on Merapi and in Indonesia. I never considered that I would be in a position to casually travel to Indonesia for week long vacation, so it is still really amazing to me that I actually did! This whole experience so far has been amazing because it has opened up the world in a way I did not realize I needed it to be. I feel now, more than ever, the endless possibilities that this world has to offer. The longer I spend away from home in this culture that is very different from anything I ever knew in the US, the more I the desire to see what else this earth has in store grows within me. The value of this experience is twofold: in inspiring me to go places I have never gone before and do things that scare me, and in allowing me to make connections with some really amazing people along the way.  

In my first entry for this blog, I talked about finding comfort during orientation in the community of other Fulbright Malaysia ETAs after feeling so isolated during my preparation to come here. If I am being honest with you, the feeling of community with the ETA Malaysia program at large dwindled significantly once I got to my placement. I made a few friends at orientation that I kept in touch with over the ensuing months, but it was hard not to feel isolated from them and the other ETAs in my cohort, even the ones in my state. As soon as we got to our placements our experiences, which had melded into one big mess during orientation, became very individualized as we started to begin our lives at our own schools and in our own homes. Between the struggles of finding my place in my school, the small number of other ETAs in my state, and feeling like I was not really being acknowledged in the large scale group Whatsapp chats that were created in the frenzy to keep connections an communication going during orientation, I began to feel the familiar sensation of isolation again. The vacation in Indonesia not only provided me with a much needed reprieve from the challenges of my everyday life in Perlis, but it helped me to gain and solidify connections with people in the cohort beyond just being in the same program. I was able to create and strengthen actual friendships with seven of the people in the Malaysia ETA cohort and that made me feel a lot less isolated and a little less crazy for choosing to hike up an active volcano. 

Being apart of this community of ETAs across Malaysia is definitely a strange place to be. While I do have a special tie to all 97 of the other people in the cohort—enough even to let them crash on my couch if there were ever in my city (either while in Malaysia or later when we are all spread out somewhere in the world). But, I would not necessarily say that I will come away from this experience with 97 friends. I expect the majority of us will go our separate ways, some of us without ever really getting to know one another, and never come face to face again. I think it is a really ambitious and pretty naive to assume that will all have the opportunity to forge a genuine connection with each other on a individual level before the 10 months are up. (Besides I feel like statistically, if there are 98 individuals then you are bound to not get along with at least 1 or 2 of them no matter how much you try.) There are definitely people in this cohort who have a lot more friends (or at least are a lot more well known that I am) and I definitely struggle with the desire to be well liked by everyone, no matter how unattainable that desire truly is. But after this vacation I can say, at least, my friend circle has expanded by 8 funny, inspiring, supportive, intelligent, talented people. And I have Indonesia—and especially Mount Merapi—to thank for it. 

On the way down on Merapi with some of our fabulous guides 

On Never Wanting to Be a Teacher

I grew up in a family full of educators. Almost every adult in my family has been a teacher of some kind at some point of their life. Whether it was my Nana who taught in Saint Louis Public Schools for decades, or my Uncle who, throughout my elementary school years, would sneak attack me with multiplication drills whenever he was in town. (I am certain he is the sole reason I know my 7 multiplication table as well as I do).  

My upbringing and education taught me the value of teachers from a young age. I recognized the importance of appreciating and respecting my teachers. One of the worst things I could do in school—which would surely get me in a ton of trouble at home —was disrespecting a teacher or authority figure. The adults in my family made sure I understood, as much as my young mind could, that my teachers worked hard because they cared about me and that I would not get far in life I did not learn the lessons they strived for me to understand.  

I was lucky to have a educational upbringing full of amazing teachers both young and old. They were passionate about their subjects and their students and they made me excited to learn the knowledge they passed on. I looked up to my teachers, even in the subjects I hated, because they would be just as excited as I was when a concept finally clicked and my confidence grew in the subjects that I could never consider pursuing more than the level required to pass the grade that I was in.   

Because of my respect for their position and my love of school, teachers often really liked me. I looked forward to parent teacher conferences because they were like scheduled sessions of praise for me throughout my school years. This is not to say that I had amazing relationships with every teacher I ever encountered and succeeded in every class. There were definitely serious hiccups throughout my schooling experience: teachers who I did not like , teachers who did not like me, times when I failed, times when I did not work as hard as a should, times when I was told I would not succeed. When I got to college there were classes, and professors, and whole subjects that I absolutely and completely detested with such force that it shook me. However, all in all I had an overwhelmingly positive relationship with school and educators throughout my life as a student, even including all the failures, missteps, misunderstandings, and boredom that I inevitably encountered.

While I have always had respect for teachers, I never really desired to be one. From my view point teaching seemed like a ridiculously tiring occupation: you're on your feet all day, you're always in class, you have homework every night, each year a new sort of emotional rollercoaster, and you don’t even have that great of a paycheck. I saw the toll it took on the adults in my family, heard the stories of successes and failures in the classroom, and thought it’d be better that I become a doctor, lawyer, or business person; something with less homework and better pay. I know you must be thinking it is pretty ironic that I have this view on the profession,  seeing as I am currently a teacher. (Members of my family will find in doubly ironic because they always say I would make a wonderful teacher.) But honestly, this experience has almost solidified my desire to not be a teacher (at least so far). 

I have spent several weeks in the classroom at this point playing different roles: lead teacher, co-teacher, assistant teacher, and sole teacher. Every time I step into the classroom I am wracked with nerves. Even when I am relaxed I stumble over what I am going to say, how I am going to say it, and in what order I am supposed to say it. It makes it doubly difficult that at best my students understand most of what I am saying and at worst they are staring at me with blank (and slightly frightened) faces because not a single word of what I have said has gotten through. The combination of my tendency to talk too fast when I am nervous, my strange accent, and my lack of knowledge of BM phrases that are functional for the classroom, causes me to seriously struggle. Nevertheless, students get extremely pumped when I enter their classrooms  (or even walk past their classrooms), I basically cannot walk around my school without being greeted with a chorus of “hi teacher how are you?”.  It makes me feel like a celebrity and also sort of like an alien. 

Everyday I am shuffling between two distinct ideas I have about what my focus is supposed to be here: that I am supposed to ensure my students gain knowledge of the English language and gain confidence in using English, and that I am supposed to ensure that my students have fun in every class I lead. I still have yet to strike the right balance to make sure both of these things are happening at once, especially because getting me students to actually speak in full sentences is akin to pulling teeth. Not because they do not have the language but because they are so gripped by the insurmountable fear of being wrong that often they would rather say nothing than to pronounce something incorrectly. Typically I simply embarrass students into answering questions or reading passages. (I enjoy the tactic where you get everyone in class to chant and cheer and applaud the particular student who refuses to speak until they just have to stand up and read the damn sentence or just melt into the floor.) But even then it is extremely slow going. I make a point to being extremely encouraging when correcting students written and oral work but there’s only so much I can do.  I struggle with the idea that I am not doing the best to help students, even though they are enthusiastic and seem to have fun (most of the time) when I am leading a lesson I constructed for myself. I get the overwhelming sense that students like having me in class because I am just different from the regular teacher and not because my lessons are particularly fun, interesting, or enlightening. 

And then there is the difference between the actual resources I have at this school compared to the resources I was exposed to during my education. I was blessed to go to a school with a TON of resources: smart-boards, high speed internet, endless art supplies, laptops for every student, projectors and computers in every class room. At the school where I teach there is not a projector anywhere, the internet sometimes works, I cannot assume my students have access to internet or computers at their homes, the library is small, and any art supplies I need I will have to purchase and bring with me to class. So it makes it basically impossible to mimic many of the projects and lessons I did in high school even if I wanted to do them on a simpler scale. Add that to the fact that the majority of the time when I am planning a lesson for a class it is, at the most, a couple hours before the class starts and, at the least, walking to the classroom when I bump into the lead teacher and they ask me, “So what are we going to teach today?”. Add that to the fact that using art integration and creative expression in lessons is basically an alien concept in schools here (and basically the only way I know how to teach) and it has me sweating (more so than the heat already does) and trying hard not to pull my hair out. It makes for a stressful situation to say the least. I do not say this to complain about the Malaysian Education system or to brag about the schools I attended, but just to say that it is layer of being a foreign teacher that impacts my ability to be an effective teacher. Naturally, I anticipated that I would have challenges adjusting to and fitting my abilities into the system of my school, but it was not until I had to operate in a school that was vastly different from my own experience that I realized how much the teachers I had influenced my understanding of what teaching looks like and what it means to be a good teacher. 

But to be clear, this is not my way of telling you guys that I am quitting or giving up. I have never in my life felt so consistently exhausted both physically and mentally. I get home at the end of the day and just collapse into a chair at the kitchen table for hours before pulling myself up to workout and make dinner for myself. In the mornings I drag myself out of bed cursing my schedule that forces me to be up and out of the house before the sun rises. But I get so much joy from spending time with my students, it is amazing to watch them open up to me more and more as the weeks have passed. This work is like a complicated puzzle and when the pieces fit together and students understand me and enjoy what we are doing and are broadening their confidence and skills, it is an incredible high. But just like when solving a complicated puzzle, most of the time the pieces don't fit and I'm constantly turning and twisting (and flipping and standing on my head and doing backbends) to get my students understand me and encourage them to use full sentences. 

When I express my insecurities and downfalls to friends and family in education they assure me that a lot of my nerves about being affective, being likable, being engaging, being respected etc are super common, especially for new teachers. And I know they say it to make me feel better but it honestly doesn’t. It just makes me feel a little crazy for thinking I could do this in the first place. It makes me even more sure about my decision to never choose a career in teaching full time.

More than anything this experience has given me a serious reality check to the struggles educators go through. When I get home from school I often talk to my roommates about how in awe I am about the strength of character (and physical strength) teachers have to have. I am not even a real teacher, I don’t have to deal with so much that an actual teacher must deal with and I am completely overwhelmed every single day. But at the same time, the moments of joy and appreciation are so warm and genuine from students that I do get a glimpse into the reasoning behind why teachers go to work everyday.  

If nothing else this experience so far has renewed my belief that education is power and my respect for the people who decide to make education their life’s mission. I have always appreciated my teachers, mostly because I was raised to. Now that respect is colored with a sense of understanding that I did not have before. When I think about all the teachers I had in my life I feel both awe and gratitude. I did not understand the  magnitude of the sacrifice they were giving to me. Not only did they share their knowledge but they gave me their sleep, their happiness, their mental health, their physical well being, their relationships, their free time, their money and all they asked for in return was that I made my best effort. Teaching is a profession of altruism. Teachers, everyday, expect to give more than they receive. It takes a strength of character of heroic proportions. I have always thought back to my favorite classes and teachers with fondness, but now even the classes I completely hated and felt like pure torture when I was in them are colored with a new sense of appreciation and genuine pleasure for having gone through them. 

If I could implore you to do something it would be this simple thing. The next time you take moment to be appreciative, to thank the people who sacrificed for your success. Remember to think of your teachers, from both in and out of the classroom, who gave themselves to you knowing full well and not minding one bit that you might never understand the gift they were giving to you and how much of themselves came with it. 

Thank you for all the educators who modeled what a good teacher was for me. More than anything I hope that I can make you proud! 

Be Bold

Yesterday I was so busy I forgot to eat. 

Before yesterday, I honestly thought people who would say that “they were so busy they forgot to eat” were telling white lies. I was sure it was more like they thought about eating, but decided to finish what they we're doing instead of eating. I couldn’t understand that someone could be so focused on what they were doing that they could not notice their stomach growling. Don’t get me wrong I have been incredibly busy before yesterday. It is not as if yesterday was the first time in my life that I felt overwhelmed with deadlines and responsibilities, but I have never forgotten to eat. I have definitely chosen to put doing something I needed to do above feeding myself, but I have never just not realized that I haven't eaten for 10 hours.  But yesterday that is exactly what happened to me. I just… didn’t even consider food until I got home and felt like I might actually faint. (Don’t worry Mom, I did not faint. I made some peas and kidney beans and went to bed at 8:30 pm.) 

This week has been what I am considering my first real week at as an ETA at my school. The few weeks prior this one were epically boring. I did not have a schedule and so I had absolutely nothing to do. I did not know any teachers and therefore did not know who to ask about having anything to do. I considered blogging about my experience but it was so full of confusion, boredom, anger, frustration, stress and more confusion that the resulting blog post would have been riddled with more angst than the diary of a high school student. So I refrained. For both your sake and mine.  Because I was not in a good place emotionally and I did not want to subject you to reading about it just as much as I did not want to subject myself to reflecting on it. Just know that in my first three weeks I did very very little, was barely in the classroom, took several naps at my desk in the teacher’s room, finished a book and a half, and cried a lot at home (both to myself and to my housemates) because I could not fathom an entire school year filled with empty meaningless, directionless days like the ones I was experiencing. 

And then last week on Friday there came a light at the end of the tunnel: I finally  got my hands on the elusive schedule: this schedule was my key to feeling useful! I could go into classes with confidence because the schedule would tell me where I was supposed to be and when! I would finally meet some teachers other than the ones who sat near me and the few who were brave enough to strike up conversations with me in the canteen. I could really start my work! 

My feelings of elation and happiness quickly dissipated when I actually looked over this sad excuse for a schedule. I only had 5 hours of class a week. FIVE HOURS. (Keep in mind that I have to be at school from 7:30 to 2:35 Monday through Thursday and 7:30 to 12 on Fridays. Thats roughly 30 hours a week.) AND THIS SCHEDULE ONLY GAVE ME FIVE FREAKING HOURS OF ANYTHING TO DO AT ALL. Additionally, 3 out of 5 of those hours were in classes that were not English classes, which means they were conducted entirely in Malay. A language which I do not speak. I wanted to scream. I almost did. (I would have had I not been sitting in the middle of the teacher’s room.) I wanted to slap my mentor. I wanted to pack my stuff up, book a plane ticket home and get my butt back to the United States where at least I could understand what the heck people around me were saying. I was so defeated and so stressed out.  I did not know what else to do so I simply picked up my bag, and went to a history class that was on my schedule for the day, I sat through a lesson on the importance of learning history, conducted entirely in Malay, then headed back to the teacher’s room to respectfully argue my case to my mentor.  

My mentor basically told me I had to stay in classes that were outside of the English Department. Citing some vague rule from someone in some position of my school’s administration that I had to be an assistant for the entire school and not just the English teachers. But he also told me I was free to add and subtract from my schedule as I saw fit. This was my real saving grace. He basically told me I could make my own schedule. So I decided two things that day before I headed home for the weekend: first, I would not spend another day without getting into some classes, and second, I would stop waiting around for assistance or instruction.  

Side note: My New Year’s Resolution this year was to be bold. I decided that 2017 would be my year full of bold choices the night before I drove back to St. Louis from New Orleans with my sister. I had a conversation with a friend about holding back feelings for fear of them not being received well. It was during that conversation that I promised myself to be bold. Because nothing ventured nothing gained, right?  

So while I thought that moving to a different freaking country was a bold enough move. I was wrong. Bold choices were about to come from me left and right baby. Because sitting back and waiting because I did not want to step on toes did not get me anywhere. (Has that really gotten anyone anywhere ever? I do not think so.)  

So Monday morning, after a wonderful talk filled with endless support from my amazing housemates (shout out to  Jamie and Lalitha for helping me see the wins when I have been blinded by the losses)—I got to work creating the schedule that I really wanted. I basically went around to the classrooms for Form 1 and 2 students and looked at when they had English class on their schedule. Then would show up a few minutes before the class was scheduled to begin to intercept the teacher on their way to class and ask them if I could put it on my schedule. This plan actually worked much better than I anticipated! I now have about 12 hours of regularly scheduled classes in addition to the classes agreed to take on from time to time as a substitute teacher when teachers are absent. Through this method I also accidentally bumped into an art teacher and started chatting with her, and she said she was open to having me in her Art classes! Way better than history or Geography and still keeps my mentor happy because it is a non-English department class! I have yet to hit my goal of 20 classroom hours a week but I am slowly building more classes. I also started the process of convincing my mentor to allow me into the higher Form classes and I have a trial run in a few Form 4 classes next week! And because I have students that I will be teaching regularly I am able to start gaining interest for the English Language After School Club I am head of as a part of my position as an ETA. Win, Win, Win, Win!  

While I have been having a lot more wins than losses this week compared to the previous weeks, there are definitely still things that I do not understand/ get extremely frustrated by. One thing is the school schedule. While I know technically what time classes begin and end I am still not quite in the groove of the actually schedule in my school: I show up early and late to classes when I think I am right on time, I keep getting lost, and can only figure out how to order one thing in the canteen at school (But that one thing is delicious so I ain’t mad). I have also had several instances this week where I have a class on the schedule, go to the classroom, and there is no one there. Then I find out later it is because that class or that form of students has been pulled for an assembly or the lead teacher canceled the class without telling me. (I am sitting in the teacher’s room as I write this because I was supposed to have a class and no one was in the room and I couldn’t find any of the students to find out what was going on.)   

So basically, this experience so far has been exhausting and rewarding, confusing and  embarrassing, irritating and yet super fun. Any time I spend with students fills me with joy (even when I am fumbling around in front of a class because I prepared a lesson that requires a better grasp of English than the students have and they are just looking at me like I am crazy/from a different planet/speaking German). When I am feeling super down I just walk around campus and get bombarded with an enthusiastic chorus of “Hi Teacher!” as I pass students and it makes me feel a little better. Reminders of the student’s enthusiasm that I am here—even when they cannot understand what I am saying—is great because it makes me feel welcomed way more than anything else. The feeling of being wanted is so important especially when I am so far from home and so far removed from anything familiar. (But at least I can find barbecue potato chips here!) 

I guess my biggest take away from my time so far has been the lesson I have been learning over and over since I left the comfort of the life I had created for myself in New Orleans. That lesson is this: be brave, be bold, be yourself, and you will be happier for it. 

And now for some pictures:   

Me and some Form 5 students after a lively game of UNO during lunch break!

Lalitha, Jamie, and me on the day we found out our placements! 

Nasi Goreng Ayam (fried rice and fried chicken) aka the only thing I know how to order from my school canteen.

Strange Bird and Malu Malu Kuching (Shy Shy Cat): Reflections After Two Weeks in My School

The other day I had a student ask me for a lock of my hair. Like literally. She wanted me to pull out a strand of my hair and give it to her. I joked with her that if gave her some of my hair then she would have to give me some of hers, thinking that she would see how strange it was and that it would end the conversation. 

This one is crazy” I said to her friend who was sitting next to me, laughing lightly. 

“No no teacher please! Just a small small piece”, she begged as she reached under her tudong (headscarf) and pulled out a strand of her own hair to give to me.  

I panicked for a second because I was like totally unprepared in this situation. (Orientation had taught us how to reject marriage offers but not what to do when a student begs for a piece of your hair as a keepsake.)  

“No no!” I said, “It will hurt too much”, as I frowned in an exaggerated manner and patted  my head as if just the thought made my scalp sore. 

She looked extremely disappointed but dropped it (for now at least). 

This is the same student who has asked, at least three times now, if she can touch my hair. Which I always oblige because I recognize she probably has had very little if any contact with black people and I honestly don’t mind if she lightly grazes the back of my fro from time to time (always with my permission first). She is not the only student who has made the request in the two weeks I have been in my school. The students always ask politely, touch gently, giggle, and compliment me so it is all around a good experience: they get to see what black hair feels like, and I get a little ego boost.  

During orientation I felt seriously self conscious about going to my school as a black woman ( I know many POCs felt a bit weary about it as well). The discussion always centered around having to combat the idea that, for a  person from outside of the United States, an American person is a blond-haired, blue-eyed, white person. (But honestly this is not just an international problem, the idea that white culture is true American culture is a misguided belief that permeates American thought as well.) But honestly, I haven't really felt any disappointment or disinterest from my students or teachers because I am a black woman with natural hair. Though the experience with the girl wanting a lock of my hair made me realize that I must be even more of a strange bird for my students than the two white ETAs before me.  

Whenever I am at my school the normal interactions I have from students range from totally unashamed staring, enthusiastic or extremely timid  shouts of “hi teacher!” followed by a fit of giggles (and sometimes scurrying away as fast as possible), to questions and conversations about where I am from, if I am married (LOL), and how I find the Malaysian heat and food. The longer the conversation the bolder the student, and the more confident they feel with their English language skills. While I love talking and actually interacting with students my favorite interactions have been with the kids who are too shy to do anything more than simply stare at me. They are normally the younger students, form 1 and 2, who are small and if I say hello to them they look extremely embarrassed/shocked/mortified as if they can’t believe I noticed them looking at me for five minutes straight. Normally I will laugh and say they “are too malu malu” and they will smile because my small use of a simple BM vocal word I learned at orientation. There is one girl, who I think is in Form 1, whose name I do not know because she literally refuses to speak to me and will whisper in the ears of her friends if she is near enough to me that I would be able to hear her voice. She is the epitome of a “malu malu” student. If I am sitting with students playing bananagrams or UNO she will come and sit in the outside circle around the group playing the game (the circle of students who are extremely curious but way too nervous to join in) directly across from me and just stare unabashedly. If I stare back she giggles and hides her face in her tudong, if I talk to her she will jump up and run away, then slink back after a few minutes in hopes I don’t notice her return. Which I always do. 

I like the shy but curious students because they present a challenge to me. I know they want to talk to me but they don’t have the confidence yet (though most of them do have the vocabulary). Building these student’s confidence enough to at least greet me and answer “how are you” will be the type of small victory that will make my time here truly meaningful. The US Embassy reps tell us we are here as bastions of American diplomacy as tangible representations of positive American culture and values, The Malaysian Department of Education reps tell us we are here to increase English language skill so that our schools score higher on standardized testing, the Malaysia American Commission on Education Exchange reps tell us we are here to expose Malaysian youth to native English speakers. While that all is true to some degree, the real reason I chose this program, the way I will feel like a made a positive impact, lies in how I am able to boost the confidence of both my students and my fellow teachers in their ability to communicate effectively across race and cultural lines while using the English language. If I can come away from my time as an ETA in Malaysia saying that  my students feel more confident in themselves than before, then I will consider myself successful—and hopefully I will make all the different commissions and organizations that are I technically work for happy along the way.  

**Notes on the phrase "malu malu kuching"** This is a term that means "shy shy cat" in Bahasa Malaysia (BM) that we learned at orientation. I quickly learned during the first few days at my school that no one actually says it and instead will just say "malu malu" which just means "shy shy". For instance ,if a student is not speaking to me or just giggles when I say something to them one of their friends might say, "Teacher, this one is shy shy".  This is a harmless (and kind of adorable) example of the confusion and mistakes that happen when trying to learn a different language. A native English speaker would never say someone is "shy shy" but a Malaysian student will look very confused if you say someone is "malu" when trying to describe them as timid, the phrase is "shy" and "malu malu" for English and BM respectively. 

Liminal and Limitless

Three weeks in a hotel living out of a suitcase would be frustrating for any person. Wouldn’t you agree? It is especially frustrating to a person who quit a job she loved, moved back home, was on bed rest for weeks due to surgery, and then circumvented the globe in order to start work as a teacher, only to be stuck in meetings day in and day out for the better part of the month of January. 

I am emotionally and mentally exhausted and I have not even started the real work of being an English Teaching Assistant yet. *sigh* 

I hate to complain about how hard these past weeks have been. (Because in a lot of ways it has felt like I have been getting paid to mostly just have a vacation in a beautiful country for a few weeks.) It has been quite taxing to come all the way to the other side of the world and not yet be able to do any tangible work that I came all this way to do. Orientation in Kuala Lumpur was amazing; I formed some great friendships (with both locals and Americans), began to get to know the city, and had important sessions and discussions about the work I am about to do in the community that I am about to be living in for the next nine(ish) months. But by the time that were we finally scheduled to go into our states for in-state orientation I was already chomping at the bit to get to my school and into my own house. Now I am at least physically in Perlis, however have to wait until next week to really get started in my school though I get to move into my house this Tuesday!  *cue celebratory music*  

The reason for the extreme delay from my arrival in Perlis to my first real day of work is a combination of state orientation programming and Chinese New Year. (Fun fact: Malaysia recognizes more holidays than any other country in the world! Just one of the many perks of having a an ethnically and religiously diverse population.) Because the Chinese New Year is next week, every school in Malaysia gets about a week off of school which means I will have one day of work in my school before I have the first of many holiday breaks! My fellow Perlis ETAs and I plan to travel to Penang, another state in Malaysia, because Penang has a large Chinese population and is a great destination to really celebrate the New Year. I am excited because I have never celebrated Chinese New Year before and I know it will be a great experience (at least that is what every Malaysian person I talk to tells me) but I am frustrated because this break will only delay my ability to actually feel like i am doing something.  

While I am sure that, in the future, during a hectic moment I will completely regret how little I have appreciated the lack of responsibility I currently possess, I cannot help but have extreme anxiety about the liminal space I have been occupying for the past few months: right between doing absolutely nothing and experiencing absolutely everything. While it is not as bad a living at home with no job and basically no schedule everyday (I do have meetings with my mentor, planning sessions with my state, and briefings and different presentations from educators and other officials) the fact that I have not had any real autonomy to do anything myself or create a schedule where I actually accomplish a difficult work-related task is starting to weigh on me in a way that I have never felt before. In some ways I know that this anxiety that I am not doing enough just comes with the territory of being a recent college graduate who has no set in stone long term goals. But in other ways it is difficult to really articulate since rationally I know I am doing a lot (like moving to a completely different country, completing orientation, planning my schedule and responsibilities for the year, building relationships etc.) But the anxiety I am feeling is not coming from a completely rational place and so it is pretty difficult to articulate. But the great thing about this program is that there are other people in the exact same spot as I am who totally understand where I am coming from. Talking to other ETAs, many express the same feelings of longing to get started in the work we came here to do and anxiety about wanting to reclaim the control over their life, schedule, and diet. 

Basically I am just ready to start my life here, I am sick of living in a hotel, and I want to meet my students, make friends, and cook a meal for myself. Until I do those things it won’t quite feel like I have done anything at all. Until I do those things I will continue to wonder if this was worth all the fuss (even though I know deep down it totally is). This liminal space is driving me crazy and if it wasn’t for the other ETA’s around me to commiserate I might actually be crushed under the weight of the emotional knot that these past few months of hurry-up-and-wait has created in me. 

Even though the uncertainty and continued ambiguity of what my day to day life will actually look like is the massive elephant in the back of my mind at all times, I cannot help but be in complete awe of this country. The people, food, landscape, and diverse cultures commingle in a wild dance unlike anything I have ever experienced in the US. If the United States is a melting pot—all it’s cultures blending, bleeding, and fusing into one; then Malaysia is a massive feast—every culture’s complex flavors boasting their own greatness sliding right up to one another one yet all existing on the same table in an intricate and delicate balance. Malaysia is overwhelming in the best sense of the word and I am so lucky I get to explore this country for as long as I do.  

When I begin to get too wrapped up the logistics of my future I try to take a step back, take a look around, and remember that a liminal space is a threshold between a comfort zone and endless possibility, and that is an amazing spot to be in.