Post 33: Things Fall Apart

Everything around me is falling apart. I am not being dramatic, I speak literally. In the past two weeks, I have borne the breaking down of not one, not two, not three, but four pairs of shoes. A friend kindly pointed out the hole in the butt of my pants while I was walking through the market. My camera stubbornly refuses to turn on, my external hard-drive is behaving like a temperamental toddler, and my fridge and kettle seem to work at the whim of a capricious poltergeist living in their electrical socket. The clasp fell off my sole non-utility purse and the lock on my front gate is rusted open. Like I said, I speak literally. As if all these occurrences together were not enough, I just finished reading Things Fall Apart, by Chinua Achebe. It may a weird take on “order”, but I can’t help but be impressed by the systematic nature of all the collapse around me. Technology and I have always had a rocky relationship and I never expect much cooperation from it. Also, reading a book about Africa reminds me I am lucky to have electrical sockets at all in Peace Corps. But why did all my shoes have to self-destruct at the same time? My sneakers have holes, the soles fell off my one pair of flats, the strap broke on my school sandals, and the thong broke out of my house flip flops. I am condemned to going barefoot, which is Bekah-land is usually a good thing, but in Thailand a somewhat treacherous proposition if one leaves the house.
The breakdown of my material world and the end of the semester coincide in yet another example of existential consonance. This is testing week and on Friday, schools close. I have completed the third of four semesters I will teach in Thailand. It was a good term, work-wise. There were the inevitable highs and lows, but I can confidently say I had fewer in-classroom breakdowns this year and got a classroom management scheme off the ground that does not involve whacking children with wooden sticks. I re-used some of my better teaching ideas from last year, like playing “Guess Who” to learn about adjectives, and tried out some new ones, like Steal-the-Bacon with numbers. I kicked my library development project into high gear and expanded on my World Map class, although the kids still think Africa is a country in South America. I also did an afternoon of drug education at Thangam and got to watch Pii Orasa do a parody of her cousin who used to smoke weed. Priceless. Sadly, despite repeated efforts and nagging, I couldn’t make the sex-education seminar happen this term because my big school was swept up with this national education initiative called “Dream School”.
Achieving “Dream School” is kind of like being a Blue Ribbon School in the states. The school has to meet certain standard and shows a little summin’ extra extra. Let’s just say the school failed the first evaluation miserably. But the principal does not want to give up his dream school status pipe dreams, and thus loaded project after project on the teachers to make our school seem better than it is. The school is judged on subject-by-subject basis, and English is notoriously difficult. Ironically, instead of actually teaching the students (a novel concept), we dedicated weeks to preparing presentations for a handful of students to give. 100 kids may not have learned anything, but at least 5 can tell you in English how to properly wash vegetables. Furthermore, as my pronunciation differs from what the committee may expect (?), I was often tasked to do things like make a fake family tree and write out the names of all the local products in English. This was somewhat valuable however, because I learned that there is a crocodile egg farm nearby, although no-one seems to know what crocodile eggs are used for. I am leaning towards magic potions. Now I don’t want to disparage my school- I enjoy being a part of it- but it is not quite what one would call a fine educational institution (try as I might). I heartily encourage the spirit of improvement, but all the “improvements” being done are superficial, like rebuilding the shrine and hanging up English translations of Thai proverbs. And we can’t forget the vegetable washing demonstration, speech about a made-up family, and presentation about Wat Bot’s mythical crocodile eggs.
I would say the biggest challenges this term were not work related. Film, my “sister” person, went away to school and only came home for a few weekends. Other than my co-teachers, who I never see on weekends, she was my closest friend at site, and I profoundly felt her absence. Her departure also meant I see Jon less frequently, because it would be inappropriate for us to spend time at his house without her there. Thus, my main social connection outside of school was essentially severed. I still have plenty of local relationships- neighbors, the ladies at my favorite market stalls, policemen I met biking- but they are more acquaintances than friends. Whereas before, I had a reliable source of companionship a few nights a week and on weekends, I now spend that time alone. It can be hard. Sometimes I feel like I am becoming a hermit.
The other challenge was dealing with anxiety. I can occasionally be tightly wound, like anyone, but before June, I never felt overwhelming and inexplicable anxiety. Usually, if I felt stressed, there was a clear source, whether it was adapting to Thai culture, figuring out how to teach, or juggling too many things (i.e. 4 secondary projects and being chair of a committee). Those kinds of nervous angst were manageable and made sense. Either the cause of the stress would pass or I would figure out how to make it go away. But the anxiety with no cause, the irrational kind that washes over you, rendering you unable to do something simple like pick out groceries or buy a bus ticket, the kind that makes you hide in the bathroom taking deep breaths to calm down, I had never experienced before. This is not uncommon among volunteers used to structured, highly-stimulating environment, but the alleged normality doesn’t stop me from feeling a unhinged and not a little nuts. Still, like any good struggle, we cope with it in a way that hopefully makes us stronger. I am not sure if I am “stronger”, but I will say that seeing what concerns rushed to fill the “void” illuminated some driving forces of my character, which I had not realized before. I feel an odd combination of less in control, but more in tune, with myself.
Sometimes things fall apart, and sometimes we do. Life as a volunteer is not only hard on our physical belongings and bodies, it is hard on the spirits too. When existing in a different world, with few rules, no real structure, and no guidelines, it is easy to feel lost, to flounder, and to grasp at anything that seems solid or familiar. This past term was like being in the middle of an ocean. I’ve come so far and worked hard to get here, but there is a long way left to go. I am keeping myself afloat among miles of uniform, softly pulsating, opaque water, and when I look around, there is nothing to hold on to except the faith that I will make it through. I am overwhelmed and tired, but I know I won’t give up, because ultimately, I know I am where I should be. For now, all I can do is keep myself together, even if everything outside me is falling apart. And truthfully, I am kind of glad all my shoes broke, because it is an excuse to buy new ones. The trick will be finding shoes to last.