I was told that I was being sent the province to help students with their English education. I was told that students would be excited and lucky to have me teach them. How naive and idealistic I was back then. Despite the warnings from my family, despite my own fears, I decided to take the leap.

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Fall 2015, Journal Entry 12

“I didn’t come all the way here to be to be disrespected by these kids!”

Mindy, my ever patient and diplomatic liaison, blinked several times and processed her thoughts a few seconds before replying. “I don’t think they mean it.”

They don’t mean it? You have to be kidding right? Why does this class treat me like shit when my other classes don’t? Why do the students straighten up when their homeroom teacher walks in the room but create mayhem when I teach? Clearly, I’m missing something, so I try to figure it out. I spruce up my language skills to communicate better with students. I ask their homeroom teacher for advice. I reasoned with students when they misbehaved and rewarded them with praise and candy. I empathized with students when they shared with me their testing anxieties and their longing to see their parents again. Maybe I’m being too idealistic. I want to solve all their heartaches and frustrations so that they’ll behave in class, but I only see them for 40 minutes a week. What can I do? My advisors say that I need to let it go. Don’t pay too much attention to their harsh words.

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It’s been a year now, and I still haven’t been able to come to terms with the events that happened. I realize now that I was sheltered by my own peaceful school days. I was fortunate to be always placed in classes with other students who were respectful. I never saw the inside of classrooms where students talk back to their teachers. Only whispers of students being suspended reached my ears. No wonder I was shocked when I stepped into a chaotic classroom. Teaching abroad in an unfamiliar school system only heightened my stress and confusion.

I try to tell myself that I did the best that I could. I put a lot of effort into my lessons and reached out to the other teachers in my grade. I should be proud of my accomplishments and my ability to survive through the year, and yet I always end up feeling miserable. My friends tell me that I’m too hard on myself. I know I am. But something has broken inside of me, and I just don’t know what to do with the broken pieces.