100 Days Until School is Out

I’ve got cockroaches and the new Hey Rosetta album. I guess I’m damned if I do, and damned if I don’t. Oh China.
Last Thursday night, the staff had a raucous St. Patty’s day party at the local beer hole in the Chinese alley across the street. This place is called Wei Wei’s and Wei Wei is pretty cool I think, but I don’t know if I actually know which one he is. I’ve never asked, now that I think about it. But he must be cool because his hole serves cheap, cold beer to teachers and students on any given day. The walls are covered in Polaroid photos of the regulars from the past ten years in BCCSC history. Students sign their names and write Chinese quotes and Chinglish sentiments suitable for the bathroom stall. On this particular day, we requested that all students be turned away at the door so that they teachers could sing Maritimer-Irish songs, blare Great Big C from the boom box, and drink as much beer as $15 Canadian dollars can afford (30 bottles--for the record). I can actually say this was the best St. Patty’s Day I have ever had. Our principal dropped $150 on the whole night, food and drinks for 20 people-amazing! The green beer took its affect rather quickly, as we met there immediately after a notoriously useless staff meeting, and had nothing on the brain but consumption. After a few carols, we started to edit the student’s writing on the walls with our red markers, noting verb tense problems and punctuation issues we’ve stared at for months now. It felt good. We must have been a good crowd because Wei Wei, or whoever, caught us all on video. I pity the foo who feels compelled to show that to our students one day.
But then there were the cockroaches. Bri and I headed back to our apartment to finish the night off with water, carbs, and a St. Patty’s Day Office special (the one where Jim builds mega-desk, thus infuriating Dwight-love it). Well, that was the idea anyway, but there were cockroaches all over the place, you see. So that really killed it for us. We freaked. We were not in a good head-place to deal appropriately with the little creepy crawlies, so we ‘raided’ the dorms for “Raid” and sprayed every nook and cranny of our home. This only brought out more cockroaches, willing to die in the light after crawling for freedom from underneath sinks and dressers. It was sad, but vindicating to see them on their backs, gasping their last breaths. Poor Bri, one took a poop on her bathroom floor before kicking it. We both tossed and turned all night and woke up with headaches and likely a respiratory problem from breathing in Raid all night.
Luckily, our principal demanded that our apartment be fumigated, but forgot to mention us to when this would happen. When I came home after school to get ready to go into Beijing, the house air was putrid and burned my esophagus. Thanks for the heads up, guys. You’d think that if you fumigate an employee’s apartment, you’d find them a place to sleep for the night, and WARN them when it will take place. But no…not in this country. TABERNAC!

But the new Hey Rosetta almost makes up for the entire scandal. Almost…it’s not the same, listening to it outside of New Brunswick, apart from Jen, Cate, Greg, and Amy. It makes me miss the rain, and Snooty Fox nachos.

Today I woke up freezing (the shut off the heating a week ago and it is still cold out), and I was immediately in a grumpy mood. I bored my first class with a lame power-point lesson on writing a persuasive essay, I had 11-11 for a double after that, and the work I gave them was way too hard and so instead I babysat, nagged, chased, glowered, pouted, and tracked my plummeting self worth as a decent educator. By the time I made my way into my advanced 3 class, I had no joy. Straight off the bat I took the route of honesty, I said, “Guys, I am so grumpy. I am really sorry, I am just in a bad mood today and I can’t hide it anymore.” One of my wittier boys asked, “Teacher, what the meaning of grumpy?” “It’s like, I dunno…just…in a bad mood…angry, sad…mixed up.” “Oooohhh” they resounded. “Maybe you can help me by thinking of something to say that will make me happy,” I suggested They were quiet for a minute, I wondered if I had made a mistake by throwing my emotions at them and being honest, Maybe I made them feel uncomfortable. “Be a man!” one of the boys in the middle suddenly yelled out. Everyone lost it. Of course! We all laughed. I skipped the shitty lesson on persuasive writing and instead tested their listening skills. I told them a dramatic version of the story of the Boy Who Cried Wolf and asked them to make up a thirty-second play displaying what they heard me tell them. The results were undeniably the most atrocious recaps I had ever seen-I don’t even think they listened!! I don’t think I understood anything they said in their plays because their actions were so ridiculous and unexpected that we howled the whole time. So my day took flight and ended much like an episode of Full House: Danny Tanner is holding me in his sweet loving arms right now and the angels are singing.

I've got some collating to do, you kids have a good day, now!
xox

Here She Is

Chinese does not translate easily to English. Some of my students take shortcuts in life: they cut their own hair, they leave class early to go the 'bathroom' aka the bathroom stall where they smoke their faces off and retch into the sink, and they eat Choreos-which are like Oreos, but Chinese tasting. Different. Not gross, but not the same all-American taste that I love. The shortcut that really grinds me is the "I'm going to write you an essay, but I'll do it in Chinese and then google translate it, before copy-pasting into a word document and printing it off for you, Teach-yo-face." You try it! This is the insurmountable reason for Chinglish! The first month, it was cute. The fourth month, it was my fault-I'm the crap teacher that can't properly teach them how to use 'articles' like "and" "but" "the" "is" "for" in their writing. I've entered my 7th month-I'm like a saucy stuffed cabbage casserole ready to give birth to these young literary genius', but still, I am reading sentences that start with words like, "runnly fast I did."

Mmm. Yes. Yes you did. I'm certain.

It's good to return from a hot vacation in Thailand and sit down to 90 memoirs written in google translate. It's a relief to have three beautiful friends back home who gather to watch the Oscars and wind up bored and on Skype with the intention of blowing my mind with their smiles and stories of butterflies. I love home...ness. Heh.

Some of my students went to Canada on a school trip for their vacation, I made them do a PPT presentation and tell the class of their adventures in the big cities (Vancouver, Edmonton, Montreal and Toronto), and small New Brunswick towns like St. Stephen and Bathurst. Haha-yes-I know what you are thinking, Cate and Jen! In their reflections, they realized that they need to know how to speak and hear English to get by in a grade 9 class (fooled me), they need more practice at snowshoeing to join the winter Olympics (Haha-a small lie on my part), and they respect teachers so much more than the kids in St. Stephen Senior High school do. Obviously, why else do young teachers head to China to teach? I was, however, abashed at how much their English improved in four weeks. I felt like a proud Mum having conversations with them and I got all teary when I complimented their speaking skills. My little monsters-taking on the world!

In the two weeks I've been back in school, we've been playing lots of speaking games and practicing our 'th' and 'v' sounds, as well as a new game that has only left me red faced and vulnerable. The object of the game is to see who can avoid being asked a personal question by me. They can choose to either ask me one, or I get to ask them one. Thinking they would ease into it with questions about my favourite colour and my middle name, I felt calm. However, Chinese students are always saying the first thing they think: "What's wrong with your hair?" "My Mom is fat but lovely," "Coffee makes you stink." Naturally their questions surrounded my personal life: boyfriends, marriage, babies, nightbar frequenting, preference-chinese vs. whitey men...oh the list. Anyway, my 11-11's are focussed on setting me up with my co-worker Mark because he is 28, athletic, white, and loves pizza best, like me. Mark and I giggle about their attempts at the water cooler after class and then trade Helen stories. At least they are speaking excitedly in English. Lots of yelps and arm flapping from that class.

Outside of Teacher Camp, I've been getting ready for a 10km run for the British International school (I got roped in by some friends) and really hating my life around the 3Km, wanting to rip off my legs around 6km, and cheating around 7-claiming that I'm at 8-surely! I also went snowboarding on Sunday! Holy Mo. It was a meek hill with a ski lift, so that was a plus, but have you ever driven in China? No. Course not. Uumm..dare I say this...you know when your Mum screams at 'that idiot driver' and upon further investigation exclaims, "A Chinese! Of COURSE!" Well... I snowboarded their hill. Enough said? Hope so. I still love the Chinese, it's just, I nearly lost my life 9 times 500 on Sunday. Oh the rage.
I'm going back this Saturday.

Other than all that sass, the countdown has started-4 months and 7 days until I get to drink Tim Horton's coffee, walk into Beano and order a bagel and butter, scoff at the unoriginality of Aritzia compared to Chinese thrift stores, and maul my dearly beloveds until they beg me to let go and get off. Pretty excited. BUT-I still have lots to do here, so that's my other primary focus before I close my eyes at night.

And with that, I leave you, mommy needs another nightcap. Gots to go to bed so I have fresh eyes for the darlings tomorrow (yesterday one my of students asked why I have dark lines under my eyes and in my head I whimpered, 'It's the addictions-they're killing me." Instead i asked why she wears fake eyelashes, "It's pretty" "Oh yeah? Well in Canada, girls with bags under their eyes have stories to tell-and that makes them attractive.")

Don't let the bedbugs,

xox