Sometimes It's Hard to Smile.

Teaching is making me bipolar. Thanks to Sumi for actually putting what I've been feeling the past three weeks into words. The inconsistent "I love teaching!" and "WHY DO I EVEN *insert f-bomb here* BOTHER?!" makes me a little tired.

After school every day, I resign myself to ride my bike home, drop everything on the floor, and curl up in bed with my laptop and an episode of something running in the background, and just sleep. When I wake up, it's dark out, I lay in bed with Kitty snuggled under my chin, Giro tucked up in my arms, Zip by my head, and KitKat on my head, and I wait until I'm hungry before I head out to find some vegetarian food. It sounds like a massive amount of depression. Because it is.

Culture shock is settling in, and there hasn't been a day that has gone by when I don't wonder if I've made a gigantic mistake in deciding to take on teaching for ten months instead of five months. It hasn't even been a month yet, and I've already felt like I was on the verge of a breakdown where I call my father, tell him I'm going to move to Taiwan, and that I'm going to find a job there instead.

When two familiar faces from OEG came to visit today, I almost cried. The coordinator of the schools in the Northern provinces was one of them. The other was the sweetest woman I've ever met. I wanted to cry and tell them that these students are probably the worst ever, and that I wanted to go home and be with my family. I didn't though. What's independence without a little emo, a lot of tears, and perseverance? (I know this line makes everything sound like it's okay. Do not be fooled.)

I know that I should remind myself of the good things I have here in Tak. Like the laundry lady, Pom, and her family, Lot, Foam, and Pit. They were so welcoming and so helpful when I showed up with a huge bag of laundry because I haven't had the time to handwash them as I normally would have. I'm glad I didn't have the time. They, too, call me Teacher Liu. :) They don't know any English, and I don't know any Thai, but somehow we can communicate! There's Phi-Phet, the man in charge of the only copy room for the school, who has been teaching me Thai. I visit him every day, sometimes with papers to copy (455 copies for my 9th graders), and other times because I was in dire need of someone kind to talk to. There's the soy-milk guy: he makes amazing soy milk and he always laughs when he sees me riding up on my bike. The coconut-juice guy who speaks to me in Chinese and makes me feel less out-of-my-element, and the pad-thai lady who always knows what I want and speaks to me in a little English. I cannot let M3/8 and M3/9 and M6/3 ruin my experience in Thailand.

After today, I can see why Thai teachers don't even bother trying to teach M3/8 and M3/9--it's too exhausting trying to teach a class of 40, when all 40 are off in their technologically-savvy world, or their world of copying each other's homework, or sleeping, or running around the classroom, trying to touch each other inappropriately. I've succeeded last week, when I had my M3/8 students come up with a story together, but my creative juice is running on low, and I am desperate to make some progress with my lower-level students. I know that I'm being impatient, but I don't know when I'm doing things right, and when I'm doing them wrong!

I haven't been sleeping well lately. Perhaps I should go and try to sleep. That or start writing again. But my students are sucking all light out of this world, and it seems that my love for writing has diminished, along with my optimism.