The One With the World Map and the Translating 5 Year Old

"Hey Jessi, what's it like working at an international school?"

Well, friend, I'm glad you asked. Let me tell you two stories. These stories are probably my two favorite stories that I get to tell because they perfectly capture the incomparably crazy essence of this life.

So, here you go.

Story #1: I love doing lessons where I get to project the world map onto the board because every hand is in the air, every student is bouncing out of their seat with excitement, and every voice is talking all at once. (A real teacher's dream right?? Lol. Yeah.) "Ms. Souer, where is Korea?" "Ms. Souer, where is Japan?" "WHAT THAT HUGE COUNTRY ABOVE CHINA? IT EATING THE WORLD." (It was Russia FYI) "Ms. Souer, Ms. Souer, this one time, we went to this little island that sounds like the name Chengdu, but it's not, because I forgot the name of it, but we went to..." And on and on and on, one after the other (who am I kidding--all at one time) wants to share about somewhere they've been, or point out a country they've visited, or talked about the people they know in the countries on the map.

You know what I love about this though? What I really, absolutely, wholeheartedly love? When my students look at a map, they see people. They know that Sam lives in Hong Kong and that Bella lives in Brazil. They have travel stories--funny, sad, or otherwise. The world is so much smaller to them and they aren't afraid because they don't think of "scary" on our level. They've already done it--leaving all they know as familiar to be somewhere new. My students have traveled to more places than they can count (literally--we're working on that lol), and I think it's freaking AWESOME.

Story #2: End of school day--walking out to the buses. The bus driver pulls me aside and begins talking to me in Chinese about two of the students on the bus, but sadly, I don't even catch onto the meaning of what he's saying. The student holding my hand looks up to me and says, "Ms. Souer, you say, (Insert Chinese phrase meaning "I don't understand")."
Me: Blinks. "Um, yes, thanks (Student)."
We keep walking until I hear another student ask, "(Insert Student's Name Who Speaks Chinese), what did the bus driver say?"
Student thinks and responds, "He says, (Student A and B) need to be quiet on the bus."
And there you have it. Five year olds translating for me. My life. :)
 

The One Where I Hated My Job

Yesterday night, as I was lying in my bed willing myself to fall asleep, I realized something. I realized that I was dreading going to work in the morning. I hadn’t felt that feeling before as I did so strongly laying there, wishing my brain would quiet down.

My mind rolled over my un-logicalness, and I tried for 5 minutes to have a very logical brain. “Alright,” I said to myself. “Why don’t you want to go to work in the morning?” Because the kids don’t behave. I feel like I’m constantly fighting an uphill battle of reminders, behavior management, and discipline. “Okay. That’s legitimate I guess.” My brain thought about this for a while longer until another thought popped into my head. “Why are the kids misbehaving?” Because the kids just ARE that way. Because I’m a terrible teacher. Because I’m not strict enough. Because, because, BECAUSE!

And then, just like in the movies, the pieces of the puzzle began to form to reveal the bigger picture. I had stopped liking my job. Curriculum and drills and assessments had become the sole focus of my vision. But learning wasn’t fun anymore, I realized, for either the students or for me. And if I’m not having fun teaching it, then who’s to say they’re having fun learning it?

You see, teaching is sometimes a little bit like manipulation. You have to convince your students that what you’re teaching them is of value to them. You have to be worth their time. And if you can’t own what you’re selling, you should take a class in Salesmanship 101 because owning what you teach and making it your own is probably the most essential quality there is in teaching.

I had stopped delighting in five-year-old hugs, and wiggly teeth, and stubborn attitudes. I had too high of expectations for my students. I expected them to the perfect, and they will NEVER be perfect students because heaven knows how difficult it is for us to get down the hallway without a single peep. I expected perfection from myself, which… *THUD* oh my, excuse me. I just fell off my chair from laughing so hard. Eye roll. We all know that’s never happening either. Heaven knows how hard it is for ME to get down the hallway without a single peep.

I forgot that I get to teach them what it means to be a friend, and how to skip count by 2’s, and that bringing bugs into the classroom means that Ms. Souer will make you release them back into the tuffs of greenery that grows between the cement cracks on the sidewalk.

Life goes so much farther than curriculum. Life is about experiences, and by golly, my students are going to experience writing their first words, creating social skills, and developing fine motor skills by decorating a card for their best friend while I teach them about David and Jonathon and how incredible their friendship was. We’re going to learn how humans move by playing follow the leader and hopping, jumping, skipping, walking, and running around the classroom. And if we’re loud, I’ll apologize, but deep down, I will smile because I know that learning is going on in these little brains. We’re going to learn how to act and imagine from the dramatic play pizzeria that just opened up across the classroom, and we’ll probably learn how to tell time from the number of times they ask how many more minutes until lunch time.

My teaching is nothing if I cannot impart the love of learning to my students, but I know that they’re learn in spite of us.They always do. :)

The One Where I Rode the BRT and Something Terrible Happened

Those of you who know me well know that I am pretty fond of a good funny story. Those of you who live in China know that humorous stories are in abundance when one rides public transportation (or, at least, somehow these humorous incidents always seem to find me). Allow me to entertain you with a humorous story from one of my public transportation-riding experiences.

One day, I was traveling with two friends on the BRT to go to someone’s house for dinner. It was around 5:30 pm, which is prime everyone-is-going-home-from-work time. As we kept arriving at stop after stop, more and more people kept getting on the bus, until I felt very similar to how grapes feel while chilling in their bunch.

The person who’s house we were going to told us that the next stop was the one we needed to get off. I felt a swell of panic rise in my throat because we were feet away from the door but many, many, MANY people were blocking our exit, and if I got left behind, my group would never hear the end of it. (I am always terrified of getting left behind on traveling excursions, and somehow I never do, but, you know, it could happen…) Right as I look up from intently memorizing my toenails, I see my traveling group squirming their way through the crowd. Just as the bus came to a sudden halt, I lost my balance and reached behind me to grab the pole for balance.

Only, I missed the pole and grabbed some lady’s pony tail instead.

I couldn’t tell who was more shocked: her or me.

And this is the day that I used someone else’s hair to keep me from falling over on the BRT. Memorable days, my friends. J

Stories

Imagine for a moment that you and I are sitting somewhere in a coffee shop, sounds of espresso machines whirring in the background, groups of people happily chatting back and forth, and laptop keys of studious college attendees click-click-clicking away. Imagine for a moment that we are sipping our drinks and imagine that you ask me how life is in China. If you were to ask me that question, here’s what I would say. I would not tell you, “It’s fine,” or “It’s good,” because to be frank, those phrases limit the indescribable feelings I have for China. Let me instead paint you a picture of a typical day for me in China, and through this story, I wish for you to see and rejoice with me in the beautiful, hard, wonderful, stretching, and challenging. Here goes…

The alarm buzzes at 5:07 am. I blearily stumble to get ready for the morning, make vain attempts at coaxing my hair into place, mix together my instant coffee, and grab something to eat as I walk to school. I take the elevator down to the first floor from the 27th floor that my roommate and I live on. The darkness greets me as I enter the lobby area. Residents of Chengdu don’t see the sun peeking through the clouds until around 7 am each morning. I listen for the sound of rain, another permanent fixture of the city of Chengdu. If I hear the pattering of rain, I take out my umbrella from my backpack and try my hardest to dodge the huge holes of water. If I don’t hear raindrops, I revel in the coolness of the morning.

Mornings are my sacred time. Here, people seem to treasure their sleep greatly. Children run wild until 9 or 10 pm at night because of the cooler temperatures, but are promptly scooted into bed at 10 pm. Most sleep until 7 or 8 am. Because of this, when I leave the house at 6, I see around 3 people out of the millions that live in Chengdu on their early morning walks. I pass the same street vendors selling breakfast items. I walk past the same foul-smelling construction site that is near my apartment’s back gate. I see the same construction workers every morning. I bypass the same street sweepers clothed in orange taking care of the trees and bushes that line the roads. And I cross the same seven-lane highway on my way to work. I’ve gotten quite good and judging distances and rates of acceleration. Physics at work, my friends!

When I cross the highway and arrive at my school, the guards recognize me and wave. I’ve trained them well. The first week of school, it looked as if they were in pain when I waved at them. Now, they freely offer waves and smiles and Mandarin greetings.

I will do work in my classroom until our daily staff devotional. It looks different everyday, but lasts only for about 15 minutes. It’s a grand time to refocus for the upcoming day, take a deep breath, and praise.

My students arrive. They are talkative and excited and totally and completely dependent on the weather. We learn. We grow. We make mistakes. We apologize. We move on. We start fresh.

We exhale after the day is over. We wonder if the students learned anything at all today. We plan. We re-plan. We adjust. We use Plan Z. We laugh at something that happened today. We, despite the irritation, grin until the grin becomes a smile and the smile becomes laughter. We laugh harder when we realize we’re sitting in an empty room, laughing by ourselves, as the guards on their night rounds walk past the room.

I leave school at 8 pm every night, and the sun has long gone to bed. As I shut off lights and close doors, I sigh, realizing that I will have to be to school again in less than 12 hours and do everything all over again. I wave good bye to the guards. I close my eyes and inhale deeply the smell of the flowers that bloom outside the front doors. Heaven. I begin the walk home. I cross the seven-lane highway, sometimes stop and buy fruit from a man with a van, and gawk at the people practicing Tai Chi. I stop and listen to the music and watch for a minute, reveling in the peaceful sounds and graceful movements coming from the scene. The night life here is one of my favorite things. Everyone, and I mean everyone, is out walking around with their babies, children, dogs, husbands, wives, grandparents, and parents. It is not the fast walk of the westerner either. It is a slow, steady walk that allows to wind down from the day. I use the evenings to write to people, do laundry or dishes, and crawl into bed and fall asleep to await my beckoning call at 5:07 the next morning.

There are days when I love being here, and there are days when I wonder why I’m here. I don’t let the bad days overtake the good, and He has been good in letting me catch a glimpse of small, precious moments that help me realize He is here. I do not have an answer for the question of, “How has China been?” but what I do have is stories, and through those stories, I hope you can realize the real-life struggles and blessings I have encountered. And, oh my friends, the stories are merely beginning. J