Hello, friends,
It's been a while so I'm due for a sizeable blog and have plenty to catch you all up on. As most of you know, teaching has begun and it is going amazingly. I teach about 6 of 8 periods a day, alternating between 4 classrooms and 2 subjects (literature and grammar). I'm greeted every morning by an enthusiastic chorus of "Gooooooood Morning, Miss!" from almost 50 energetic 5th graders, and after a blur of grammar, monsoon showers, recess games I don't understand, unintentionally brilliant answers, unnecessary eraser-clapping in my face, eight million "Good afternoon, Miss" es, and endless high fives on the way to the bus, the bell is ringing and another day is done. Hopefully somewhere in there I've managed to teach some English.
Some Nepali school teachers are on strike for better wages, so we are currently in the middle of an unplanned holiday. It came in the middle of midterm exams, so it'll be difficult to jump back in, but for right now, we're enjoying what amounts to the familiar joy that used to come along with snow days. I think we're more excited than the kids. Speaking of snow, they say Nepal is a country of extremes... blistering cold and desert-like heat, depending on the season; absolute wealth and utter poverty; the list goes on. Nepal even boasts both the world's highest peak and its deepest valley. I have definitely felt those extremes so far in my time here on a much smaller scale, of course. Buddha taught the idea that life is full of 10,000 joys and 10,000 sorrows--that there is an equal balance, and trying to tip the ratio one way or another is what leads to unhappiness. We often reference this idea on our way through town accompanied by beautiful inscence smells and those of the butcher's... or when we open the window to look at the gorgeous Godavari night sky and a then a bat flies in the house. You really don't have to look too far to see this idea. Anyways, my attention was drawn to this stark disparity in a big way last week.
On my way to homeroom on Wednesday, I saw my students sticking their heads out the windows of our classroom. Just as I caught myself thinking, "Oh no, what are they up to now..." I noticed the blackboard covered in Happy Birthday notes and drawings. My birthday was not until Friday, but I didn't even have time to be confused. As I walked into the classroom, they all shot out of their seats to sing Happy Birthday and the 6 kids in the front row reached into their pockets and came back with handfuls of confetti that covered me instantly. As they screamed and sang, I noticed a big box on the desk covered with flower petals and cards. When they finished the song, Samriddhi Karki pulled out my desk chair and all but pushed me into it. As they all came running up to crowd around the desk, standing on chairs and hanging onto mine, I opened the box to see a "Happy Birthday, Sarah Miss! We Love You --5B" birthday cake. I pretended to need their help blowing out the candle, so I made my wish and then 47 heads leaned in to blow it out with me. They held balloons over my head and handed me a pencil to pop them. They were full of confetti, so as it showered down over us, I managed to ask if they were doing all this because of the rumor that we wouldn't have school the next few days because of the strike. Through the rain of confetti, they shouted back, "Yes Miss!!!!!" and I found myself holding back tears.
Somehow I got them all back into their seats for our morning "eyes-closed, deep breath" and all across the classroom I saw 47 smiles beaming with accomplishment. I explained to them how hard it is to be away from home on your birthday and how much much easier they had all made it, and all their tiny faces seemed to be saying, "We know." Those were among some of the most overwhelming moments I've had in a long time..... 10,000 joys.
After somehow administering their exam, I moved along to 5A for their Literature test, and as they finished, I noticed one little girl had hardly answered any questions. I had her stay back with me during break to talk about how if you're absent you have to get notes. Luckily I wasn't too far into my speech when she just looked at the floor and said, "Miss, my mother." I sat down and listened for about 10 minutes while she went on to talk about how her mother had been killed a couple weeks ago in an accident and how this was her first day back at school. I took a deep breath and listened, assuring her there would be good days and bad, but that I'd be there for both. Walking back to the staff room, carrying my cake and dozens of little cards and presents, I found myself fighting back a different kind of tears.... 10,000 sorrows.
Every day seems filled with this difference, and in the long run, I'm grateful that it's there. It's hard to describe how these kids are exponentially enriching my experience, but I hope this story gives a glimpse. As always, it would mean much less if I didn't have you all to share it with. I hope this finds everyone well and happy. Until next time...
-Sar
