Unexpectations

Back-story time. Does anyone else feel like this blog is just like an onion, where you keep peeling back the layers of me? No? Just me? Okay, just checking.

When I was in high school, I went to go see a career counselor of sorts and take a test to find out what kind of job I would be good at. (I'm really bad at making decisions for myself.) The test came back positive for a career in education or journalism or law. Lawyer by day; journalist on the education beat by night? Possibly.

When I got accepted to IU, I wanted to double-major in education and journalism and then consider law school afterward, if I wasn't too worn out by then. At the time, I knew I wasn't going to be able to major in both. The school of journalism wants you all for themselves, so the best I could get would be a minor in education which would amount to nada in the real world. Luckily my decision was made for me when I realized that I pretty much hated everyone in the teaching program and decided I couldn't possibly see myself finishing the degree without serious brain damage from banging my head against a wall.

So, journalism it was. I had some amazing instructors at the school and really became interested in advertising. I decided then that I was going to hop on the money train. I'd become an account manager and live my fabulous “Sex and the City” lifestyle, even if doing so had no relevance to what I had found particularly stimulating about advertising in the first place.

After a series of moves from Indianapolis, to Chicago, and then back to Indianapolis and looking for jobs in all the wrong places, I stopped. I gave it all up to a bad economy and began my application for the Peace Corps. That was chugging along for a while, and then I got a job interview. I forget how they got my name, but they did, so I headed up to Chicago once more.

I think it had the potential to go well, but it didn't. Or rather, it did. But in a totally unexpected way. I was sitting there, talking to this guy about where I saw myself in five years or so, and I realized: I absolutely without a doubt do not want to do this. My answers lost any enthusiasm that they originally had, and I walked out of there feeling weird. Isn't this what I've wanted this whole time?

I wrote the guy a thank you e-mail, telling him how much I really wanted the job. I think it was just in case. Just in case I'm really supposed to do this, I'll give it one last go. I didn't get it. In reality, Elizabeth didn't get it; that was who the e-mail was addressed to. Not only was I rejected, but my name was too. If ever I had needed a sign, that was it.

I dove headfirst into the Peace Corps thing after that. I looked for opportunities to use my English teaching skills, but I found nothing, and I needed at least 30 hours of tutoring experience before I could go forward with the process. I just thought it was my bad luck, but after speaking with my Granny, always full of wisdom, I realized I was most definitely not doing everything I could. She told me that if I really wanted to do this, then I was going to have to try a lot harder and search everywhere and told me some good places to look.

I followed her ever-sage advice and found some stuff, which I continued until I left for Korea. I remember driving home from those ESL classes, filled with eager immigrants just wanting a little piece of America for themselves, feeling elated. Yes, elated. After a year of no good news, this was a definite up.

Then, I went to Korea and got beaten down by the hagwon system, but that's a tale for another blog. Oh, yeah, tried that already.

Anyway, here I have two days per week at each of my two schools, and Fridays are my community days, where I go out in search of how I can save this godforsaken place. I kid. But an opportunity did find me while I was out jogging (soft “j”) one day. The chief of police approached me and asked if I would be willing to teach English to his police officers every Friday.

Last Friday was my first class. For the first time in a long time, that sense of elation returned. This can't just be stomach indigestion. Could it be that I've actually discovered what I want to do as a career? I mean, besides being an international jet-setter and just general bad-ass? Yes, methinks so.

For this, I consider myself lucky. I know a lot of people go through life without ever having experiencing this. What else would the point of midlife crises be?

Thankfully, this makes my decisions of what to do with myself so much easier when I go back home. So, don't worry Mom and Dad, your extra bedroom is safe from me.  

On Learning a Language

When I was in PST, we had to study Thai for four hours a day, four days a week. In addition to this we were living with a host family and just generally “being” in Thai society. Needless to say, there was a lot of learning going on. At first, I really enjoyed going to class. I had two awesome classmates and a great teacher. I was excited to be able to have conversations with my host family, albeit short awkward ones that pretty much consisted of what we were eating, how it tasted, was it delicious, and then ended with us staring at one another for a few seconds before they returned to their “adult” conversation and let the weird, foreign “child” alone. I would study while they were watching T.V., and I felt like I was making progress, breaking the code of Thai, if you will.

And then...I don't know. It just stopped being fun. In fact, it started to be a chore. I started to dread going to class. I began to really doubt myself in conversations; I felt like I couldn't even be trusted with “Sawatdee-ka” anymore. (Sawatdee-ka...Really? That doesn't sound right...) In class, it felt like I was continually adding stories to a building with an increasingly shaky foundation. Eventually, I resorted to sabotage. I was constantly thwarting all of our teacher's efforts to start class by asking cultural questions and gossiping. At home, I didn't study in front of the T.V. anymore. My days of being a good little student seemed to be over.

Then, the day of reckoning came. We had our language proficiency exam. Mine was early, so I at least didn't have to spend the whole day fretting. I went in, chatted with the lady for about 20 minutes and then walked out. No big deal. I thought it went OK, but the rest of the day was spent comparing exams to other volunteers, effectively increasing my stress. (Yours lasted 30 minutes? You had two role plays?!)

Luckily, we didn't have to wait long. We got our results the following Monday. I got an intermediate low, which is a level above what I needed as a TCCO volunteer, but a level below what I wanted and what everyone else seemed to receive. Despite the fact that I passed, I was really disappointed in myself. I knew that I was better than the score I received. And there, ladies and gentlemen, is the story of me and languages. And it goes back to forever, or seventh grade. I have tried to learn no less than five languages now. German through high school; a couple of semesters of Italian in college, which I was forced to drop before the “D” ruined my GPA; sign language for four semesters; Spanish, on my own (most pathetic attempt ever) and then, Korean. All in all, a pretty pitiable track record as I am not even conversational in one.

Thai was different though. I actually put some effort into this one. I know exactly what my problem is. If the exam had been a written one, I would've blown it out of the water. When I'm confronted with an oral test, though, I become a mess. I think I managed a good “My name is Ashley.” I had to lie my way around what my dad does by telling the exam administrator that my dad works as a cook at a hotel. So far from the truth I might as well have told her he was an astronaut, which I would've done if I'd had the vocabulary. In other words, my nerves get the best of me, and I have no confidence when it comes to speaking. I run every sentence through about ten filters before I finally say it. I know I have to get over this, but it's a constant struggle.

But, the point of talking about this is to tell how this relates to me now. In my state of super ambition at site, I made a list of goals for myself that I'd like to fulfill by the time I complete my service. One of these is to score a superior on my Thai exam at the close of service. Close to impossible, I know, but I figured it's worth a shot.

So far, I've been pretty determined and focused with my studying. I get up most mornings at around 5 a.m. to study for an hour and then do another half hour before I go to bed. I've also been carrying a notebook around with me and writing down any new words I hear and have been asking how to say certain things. I can read now; I'm working on my writing.

Since being at site, I've determined that even though the language training during PST is great, fabulous even, I know my learning style best. I know what works and what doesn't for me. Learning to read has been the most helpful thing to me. Once I can visualize what a word looks like, it will stay in my head if not forever, then for at least a good while. A very small proportion of language class was spent on reading, which is understandable, but I think it also hindered my learning a bit. Before PST ended, I was pretty sure that my Thai learning would come to a standstill, but I've learned that it is possible to become your own teacher. At least until I can find a Thai boyfriend.