A year ago today I was on a plane back to the US after 10 very long, full, difficult months of living and teaching (sort of) at Faith Academy. This June 6 is very different.
The 2013-2014 school year ended a week ago today, and part of me still can't believe it's really over. The kids are gone, most of them to different countries, the staff has dispersed to corners of the city and the world, and I've managed to move everything I own three times in the last week (long story...). I have another 3.5 weeks before I'm back on US soil for good and many people have asked me lately,
"Why are you staying the extra month? Why not just go back now? You're done here -- don't you want to be back in the US?"
They seem like easy, innocent questions. Yes, of course I want to be back in the land of my best friends, great coffee, four full seasons, and Spotify. But I also don't want to rush too quickly out of this season. Quite frankly, when a season that started with such a big commotion ends abruptly, there tends to be backlash later. Consider this my attempt at cutting the backlash. Re-integrating to American culture is going to be bumpy, I'm well aware. But it might be done better if I had time here to think and process before just plopping onto a plane the day after school's out like so many here do in order to maximize time with family and friends in the motherland.
The next most natural question tends to be...So, what are you going to do all month?
The short answer? EVERYTHING I couldn't do when I was teaching full-time! Reading, long walks, morning runs, naps, writing about my time here, journaling, prayer days, extended times of bible reading and learning, SO MUCH coffee, Shutterfly scrapbooks, day trips to tourist spots I never got to, nights sitting at school just watching the Manila skyline twinkle, suppers with friends at a dinner table I never had in my studio apartment. Trust me -- there are SO many things to do when I have "nothing to do."
The long answer?
Transition sucks. (Pardon the bold language, but I promise it's honest.) If you've ever had the duty, privilege, calling, or obligation to pack up your whole life and kiss it goodbye and then jump onto an airplane, you know what I mean. It takes time to kind of 'get over' the idea that this place was not your home, became your home, and now isn't going to be your home anymore. My students are becoming pros at this. Me? Not so much.
In the final weekend before school let out, I'd gone to Starbucks after church for one last "normal" Sunday wherein, I order coffee, I sit down with my journal, and I list all the things I'm thankful God allowed or did in the past week. I call it "Great Things He Has Done"--stolen from the hymn we sing as a staff at Faith during all-staff meetings. But that Sunday was really hard to begin writing. I wanted to write everything -- and yet, nothing because it's all ending. Instead, I ended up sitting and just thinking through everything that happened in the last normal week of school -- SO many activities, tests, fun days, outings, and meetings, it was a total blur.
After only a minute or two of thinking, I felt like my head was just buzzing with memories, conversations, funny stories, snapshots of the week, and things I had to get done yet. The mental "noise" was so loud it was hard to even think. I decided it sounds like when it's hailing and I'm stuck in a barn... (or Running's Fleet and Farm, cuz I'm a town kid!). When it hails onto the tin roof I'm standing under, there is no ignoring the elevation of decibels. It demands to be heard. Those under the roof have two choices: flee or listen. I could run from it and go outside, but then I'm more exposed to the actual element itself. Plus, it's not like the metal roof on the car is any quieter. Sometimes, we just have to wait out the storm.
That's what I'm doing this month -- I'm waiting out the storm. Could I just dash out of here and get to the next place of shelter? Sure. But it doesn't make me any more prepared for the next hail storm -- and because I'm young, transitions (storms) come often. And it doesn't make the current storm go away. If there's mental processing and grieving that needs to happen, the sooner it happens, the better. I prefer to think about it this way: when in my life am I going to have a whole month where (for tax purposes) I HAVE to be out of the country an additional 33 days, but my work contract has ended and for those 33 days, my money is secure? I've NEVER had a season of life like that and I doubt if I'll ever have it again. I'm in the process of job hunting and interviewing, but even the promise of a job won't get me on and off a plane any sooner than July 2. The storm isn't ending, and I'm not running.
So I'm waiting out the storm and choosing to "hear" every hit, because no one's in danger, the place is pretty empty, and my mind is loud enough to keep me busy for weeks. I'm going to live in the moment because I can and it's fun and there's no schedule to be followed. Believe me, I'm STOKED to be back in the US. But I also want to say goodbye well, even if it's taking me longer than everyone else. I'm thankful for every day here -- those days are numbered and counting down quickly. I'm doing my best to make every day count because once they're gone, they'll never come back.
The 2013-2014 school year ended a week ago today, and part of me still can't believe it's really over. The kids are gone, most of them to different countries, the staff has dispersed to corners of the city and the world, and I've managed to move everything I own three times in the last week (long story...). I have another 3.5 weeks before I'm back on US soil for good and many people have asked me lately,
"Why are you staying the extra month? Why not just go back now? You're done here -- don't you want to be back in the US?"
They seem like easy, innocent questions. Yes, of course I want to be back in the land of my best friends, great coffee, four full seasons, and Spotify. But I also don't want to rush too quickly out of this season. Quite frankly, when a season that started with such a big commotion ends abruptly, there tends to be backlash later. Consider this my attempt at cutting the backlash. Re-integrating to American culture is going to be bumpy, I'm well aware. But it might be done better if I had time here to think and process before just plopping onto a plane the day after school's out like so many here do in order to maximize time with family and friends in the motherland.
The next most natural question tends to be...So, what are you going to do all month?
The short answer? EVERYTHING I couldn't do when I was teaching full-time! Reading, long walks, morning runs, naps, writing about my time here, journaling, prayer days, extended times of bible reading and learning, SO MUCH coffee, Shutterfly scrapbooks, day trips to tourist spots I never got to, nights sitting at school just watching the Manila skyline twinkle, suppers with friends at a dinner table I never had in my studio apartment. Trust me -- there are SO many things to do when I have "nothing to do."
The long answer?
Transition sucks. (Pardon the bold language, but I promise it's honest.) If you've ever had the duty, privilege, calling, or obligation to pack up your whole life and kiss it goodbye and then jump onto an airplane, you know what I mean. It takes time to kind of 'get over' the idea that this place was not your home, became your home, and now isn't going to be your home anymore. My students are becoming pros at this. Me? Not so much.
In the final weekend before school let out, I'd gone to Starbucks after church for one last "normal" Sunday wherein, I order coffee, I sit down with my journal, and I list all the things I'm thankful God allowed or did in the past week. I call it "Great Things He Has Done"--stolen from the hymn we sing as a staff at Faith during all-staff meetings. But that Sunday was really hard to begin writing. I wanted to write everything -- and yet, nothing because it's all ending. Instead, I ended up sitting and just thinking through everything that happened in the last normal week of school -- SO many activities, tests, fun days, outings, and meetings, it was a total blur.
After only a minute or two of thinking, I felt like my head was just buzzing with memories, conversations, funny stories, snapshots of the week, and things I had to get done yet. The mental "noise" was so loud it was hard to even think. I decided it sounds like when it's hailing and I'm stuck in a barn... (or Running's Fleet and Farm, cuz I'm a town kid!). When it hails onto the tin roof I'm standing under, there is no ignoring the elevation of decibels. It demands to be heard. Those under the roof have two choices: flee or listen. I could run from it and go outside, but then I'm more exposed to the actual element itself. Plus, it's not like the metal roof on the car is any quieter. Sometimes, we just have to wait out the storm.
That's what I'm doing this month -- I'm waiting out the storm. Could I just dash out of here and get to the next place of shelter? Sure. But it doesn't make me any more prepared for the next hail storm -- and because I'm young, transitions (storms) come often. And it doesn't make the current storm go away. If there's mental processing and grieving that needs to happen, the sooner it happens, the better. I prefer to think about it this way: when in my life am I going to have a whole month where (for tax purposes) I HAVE to be out of the country an additional 33 days, but my work contract has ended and for those 33 days, my money is secure? I've NEVER had a season of life like that and I doubt if I'll ever have it again. I'm in the process of job hunting and interviewing, but even the promise of a job won't get me on and off a plane any sooner than July 2. The storm isn't ending, and I'm not running.
So I'm waiting out the storm and choosing to "hear" every hit, because no one's in danger, the place is pretty empty, and my mind is loud enough to keep me busy for weeks. I'm going to live in the moment because I can and it's fun and there's no schedule to be followed. Believe me, I'm STOKED to be back in the US. But I also want to say goodbye well, even if it's taking me longer than everyone else. I'm thankful for every day here -- those days are numbered and counting down quickly. I'm doing my best to make every day count because once they're gone, they'll never come back.
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