9/26/07
Apparently, a legend regarding my psychic abilities was a hot topic of conversation before my arrival. The villagers were undoubtedly excited – not only an American to live in the midst of their tiny town, but one with a talent that rivals even that fake Jamaican lady. Most excited of all was the school. Scheduling every year was difficult enough, and having an American who would already knew what was going to happen made things that much easier. They wouldn't have to tell her anything to do because deep down, she would already know.
This is one of the excuses I have come up with for the reason why my school does not tell me what I need to do until after it needs to be done. And why they reproach me later, like it was my fault for not knowing or guessing or something. They must think I'm psychic.
It has been nearly one month since school started here in my tiny seaside village and I still do not have a teaching schedule. I used the word frustrating in the first week or two so by this time it is more than frustrating – frustrating to the tenth maybe. By this time teachers and students alike are asking why I'm not teaching and I am certainly joining their chorus.
It is not only the schedule that gets on my nerves; it is what is expected of me. Just as I was expected to go to tea with the teachers without being told, I am expected to make some sort of curriculum without being told. It seems common sense to me, and perhaps to you as well, to show the new person around, introduce them to other employees and tell them how things are done. Apparently that is not the case here and I am still coming to grips with how do deal with it – trying to think if it is even possible deal with it.
From the beginning I have been told that my patience would be tested so it is really no surprise. What is a surprise is how far patience can be pushed. I've tried the "have a cup of tea" method. My director swears that nothing is worth being frustrated with longer than a cup of tea. A truly wonderful thought that doesn't work for me. Instead I steam over the ideas, build them into something worse than they really are and then call one of my heros, my best pc friends, who patiently listen to me freak out and then talk sense to me (thank you, thank you, thank you).
Whenever I think I have mastered my patience something else pushes it farther. Depending how exasperated I feel at that moment I react by either laughing or crying. But whenever I think I can go no farther, when I think I have finally hit a wall, my favorite Russian phrase comes to mind and I jump over it. All will be well. As cheesy and cliché as that sounds, it always is. Those moments in life that you thought you would never get through are far behind and weigh no more than a feather.
And thus, with the ability of a psychic, I know I will be as patient as a rock in two years. I know that the little things won't affect me like they do now and I know that I will be better for it. I suppose the art of patience is continually pushing the wall farther, farther than you ever thought possible, and having the flexibility to rebuild it again, even farther.