Feed on POSTS
Just another brief update to let ya’ll know that I’m still around, but reluctant to blog for a few reasons. I imagine that I might start writing regularly in this space again sometime deep into next year. Instead, I’ve been twittering like a twit, so if you need a fix of my Adoyzieisms in 140 characters or less, that’s the place to go. I’ve also embraced Facebook, for better or worse, where my youngest brother clicks “Like” when my status updates indicate that I’m having a bad period day.
Before the year is over, I’ll be sure to post a bullet-list of some of the stuff that’s happened since I’ve been home. It’ll be a good six months worth of rollercoasterness. Pull that safety belt tight.
In the meantime, here’s a video of my fitful sleepiness in Chittagong, Bangladesh:
It’s been nearly three months since I’ve last updated and I apologize for the lack of words from this end of the fiber optic cables.
Being back home has been beautiful in ways I cannot enumerate. But the business of re-adjusting and re-settling after that year and a half in Chittagong, working for an institution that stripped me of so much, has been daunting and more difficult than I ever could have imagined. And to think that my students are still there. And to think that there are a new batch of wide-eyed, young women that have been brought into a school that is propped up by a bright, but fading, facade. It’s heartbreaking and I continue to have restless nights of sleep, mumbling my way through nightmares where I’m trying to lead my girls out of a winding labyrinth without luck.
A month after the majority of us returned home, we received an e-mail from the school’s founder’s assistant asking us for our contact information. The assistant mentioned that they wanted to have our addresses on file because the founder was thinking of taking us on a retreat. I could imagine vividly how each one of our faces, in different corners of the world, scoffed at our computer screens.
Of course, like all of the other platitudes, there is no retreat. Just frustration and agony and a deep well of resentment.
But I’m trying to come to terms with it all, one day at a time. Some days are brighter than others. Some days are beyond dark. I imagine that I’ll be able to push through this like I did in Bangladesh.
Filed under: Big Bang
Our faculty of teachers made a group speech at the graduation ceremony, as a last message to our dear students. We spoke of characteristics that we’ve seen in them, and that they ought to cultivate as they continue their journeys. My portion of the speech was about strength. This was my message:
We know how strong you are, but there may still be people who will question your strength.
If anyone ever tells you that you are not strong enough to do something, you can say to them
Even if I am not strong enough to lift buildings and cars, I have the strength to lift communities and spirits.
Even if I am not strong enough to move mountains, I have the strength to help my country, and the world, move forward by fighting for equality and empowerment for everyone.
Even if I am not strong enough to break stone with my bare hands, I have the strength to break negative stereotypes of Asian women.
You say to them, I have a voice and the strength to speak up with it.
You say to them, I have my own ideas and opinions, and the strength to do what’s right.
You say to them, I am an Asian woman and I have the strength to exceed expectations and rise about limitations.
You say to them, I am an Asian woman and I have the strength to make dreams come true.
This is us (minus the five teachers that came months later), 16 months ago. We were something else. We were fresh. We were ready to charge into Chittagong and uproot and change and help to better those who wanted to be better. We were here.
We were many things, and most of all we were hopeful. We continue to be hopeful, but not without that same hope wrapped in layers of skepticism. We’ve fought, we’ve scratched and crawled, we’ve been hurt and scarred. But we survived.
This is us 16 months ago.
And we are all still here.
Filed under: Big Bang
A couple weeks ago the Bangladeshi government decided that it was in the best interest of their great nation and for the sake of energy conservation to begin enacting daylight savings. This also coincided with a new policy in our residential building where the laborers are supposed to stop hammering and pounding away after 10PM, because trying to rest while a circular saw is revving its way through two-by-fours just the floor above can be quite disconcerting if you’re trying to recoup from a day of working at our school.
The saving of daylight has been pleasant, its nice to wake up from my post-work nap and it’s still light out as I’m fixing dinner. I wonder if the laborers had a chance to enjoy more of the sunlight because it seemed that they continued to work by the sun as long as it was up, and even after it set, and pass the 10PM loud-construction-noise-curfew. Days passed and they kept passing their curfew with heavy pounding that seemed to come from all sides at once. Finally, our super (yep, there’s a superintendent now, because the important folk have moved into the building and us piddly little teachers didn’t deserve a super before their arrival), informed us that the workers had continued working because they hadn’t realized it was 10PM- they hadn’t set their watches an hour ahead. This was four days after the entire country decided to spring forward.
Let’s do the math: if it takes four+ days to get a crew of workers to grasp the concept of daylight savings time, how many days will it take for folks to grasp bigger, larger, looming ideas like gender equality, education as a means to eradicate poverty and that volunteer teachers are worth just as many pennies as salaried faculty?
We can save daylight- we can harness the power and energy of the brightest burning star in our galaxy. But for some odd reason we find it difficult to treat each other fairly- to offer decency.
Of the many awesome things I got to do with my students, I had the opportunity to teach a capacity building class about blogging. My students were fantastic and seized this new platform for getting their voices heard on the vast wilderness of the internet.
I just know that I’ll watch this video months from now, seeing them speak about how they found a medium have express their ideas, thoughts and opinions, and how it will make my heart ache with missing them and their evolution. At the very least, we’ll have the internet and if I’m lucky they’ll update me on their progress through these fiber optic wires. I will be able to witness their transformation from afar, much like you have done through my blog.
For more info: auwstudentblogs.wordpress.com/
This is quite possibly the most accurate search query that has brought a visitor to my blog:
nerdy teacher in front of class
Filed under: Big Bang
Anytime there is discussion about our departure date, I am ecstatic.
The mania is setting in. I think of the sensory overload when I get home and realize that I am flooded with sensory overload just from thinking about or writing about going home.
But then something happens when a student asks about when I’ll leave. Today Nishka asked when I’ll be departing and I found myself choking down tears as I mumbled the date. There is no revelry in saying this date to these young women whom I will miss deeply.
“Miss, do you mind if I do something that is very traditional in my culture?” She asked afterward.
“Sure.”
She knelt down onto the floor, bowed her head at me and touched my feet. Nishka gently lifted my hand from my thigh and placed it onto the top of her head, against her soft black hair and said, “Now give me your blessings.”
“You have my blessings.” I nodded, my vision distorted through tears.
She told me how much she loved her teachers, and I reciprocated. Most importantly, she told me how much she learned. And it is because of this that makes it difficult to leave, to not be here to be apart of their continual evolution.
Loda came into my office weeks ago to ask for advice about dealing with a friend. She listened patiently to my suggestions when suddenly her eyes watered.
“What’s wrong, Loda?”
She wiped her face with her orna and said, “Miss, who will I talk to when you go away?”
“There will be others here who can talk with you too. You’ll be fine. There will be really nice people here to work with everyone.”
She shook her head, “Miss, you are going. Leaving us. It will not be the same. What are we going to do?”
“You’re going to do what you have been doing…” I paused to think of an apt metaphor, to help her picture who she is, as a student, and who we have been as teachers. “Have you seen those little trees? The ones that are just beginning to grow but they are too small and they need support?” I stuck up my fingers to mime four posts around a skinny tree. “And there are strings that connect the tree and the sticks around to help it stay upright.”
She nodded.
“At first, you were like that small tree. Maybe you had trouble growing on your own, so you had teachers and family and friends to support you, to hold you up. But what happens to those posts eventually?”
She let out a sad sigh, “They are taken away.”
“Yes, they are removed because the tree is strong enough to grow on its own.”
“I see what you are saying.”
Go grow.
The countdown is part tether-to-sanity and part heartache.
The countdown is a just an inevitable part of it all.
