A farewell to teaching

Well, it's over. Today was my last day as a teacher. I spent it not in the classroom, but playing football, throwing colored powder around like a whimsical child, and being thanked by my students. Each class made us a card, and presented it to us with well wishes for the future, and sweet hugs goodbye. There is a hurricane of emotions inside me. Mostly I feel numb, I am happy to have completed a task, to have taught a group of students something that I hope they will use in the future. I am happy to see how much they truly loved our classes, and how much fun we had. But I am distraught at the realization that I will perhaps never see some of these faces again. Of course we still have until May before our actual departure, but still the thought remains like a knot in my heart.

Instead of rambling on about my feelings, I will share some of the messages they wrote on our cards. 

"We will miss you ma'am because you are very friendly, caring and lovable to us. You are not only a teacher to us but also a motivator." -Class 9

"Dear Molly ma'am I will miss you for every long days Love, Hephziba" -Class 4

"To dear molly ma'am, I hope you that may 5th you are going back to America. we all miss you dear. You are best in Speaking English always. I like you very much. And also I love you darling. And also god bless your Home, parents and you. Thank you for teching us ma'am. From Josin Joy When you go anywhere don't forget our Holy cross school and the students. We will miss you dear" -Class 2(but definitely had some help from class 5 older sister)

"To my dear Molly ma'am, special thanks for caring, for love and tenderness, your patience and generosity, and boundless thoughtfulness. Your imprint lives forever in my heart and in my mind! With love, Ganga" -Class 7 

"Ma'am, you are a good teacher. You understood the fact that we didn't understand your politics class. Thank u for everything. Shintumol" -Class 10 (Can't win them all I guess)

"Ma'am, Mollykutty, love you very much. You are my BFF ❤️❤️ ! By: Aleena" -Class 10 

I learned so much from these human beings. We had our ups and downs, but I love them with every fiber of my being, and I can't believe it's all over. Thank you Holy Cross School. I'll be back. 

To bite or not to bite.

To bite, or not to bite.

Not others.  I know not to bite others, as I did make it successfully through preschool.

I mean my tongue. It's a perpetual internal battle for me, at home and abroad. But the hardest I have ever fought this battle, has been in Aymanam.

"So are you married?...No!?...Well when are you going to get married?...What do you mean you don't want to?!...Oh you'll change your mind."

If I had one US dollar for every time I have engaged in this conversation here with complete strangers I would have approximately ten thousand rupees. If I had one US dollar for every time I had this conversation with individuals I do know, it would be significantly more.  And of course this is just one of the very many conversations that challenge me to sit back and not allow the hot-headedness within me bubble up and spill over. No, I'm not married because I'm only twenty-three and I am not yet sure what I want to do with my life! And maybe I'll change my mind about whether or not I actually want to someday, but shit man let me decide that!

Then there are the unspoken conversations among myself, Marissa, and the six men we live with. We two American gals recognize that we perceive the gender roles in this country in a completely different light than those who are accustomed to, and accepting of them. And honestly they're not so different from the roles of our own culture's past. They're just grossly antiquated to us, and because of this we struggle to be helpful members of our community while also not feeling like we are allowing ourselves to be placed in the boxes they seem to wish our entire gender be shoved into.

Allow me to elaborate. I, a woman, am sensitive to the fact that the lives of women around the world are very different from my own. And this in no way makes me fundamentally disparate from, or superior to my fellow ladies. In the norms that I grew up in, we pushed back against the traditionally held views about where a woman is meant to spend her time. As I grew up, however, I learned to be respectful of those who make the choice to engage in these traditional roles. I don't wish to fulfill the role of homemaker, but I also know, and very much love, many many women who do. But it became very difficult to participate in this charade of gender roles when I reached India. The unending, and unspoken assumptions that are imposed upon me everyday make me wholeheartedly appreciate, value, and very much miss the place where I grew up.

We help out in the kitchen a lot. Sophy Aunty, our favorite human in the seminary, is our cook. But she too has her own life, and her own family for whom she is also the sole chef, so understandably, she goes home at 4:30pm everyday. Come evening time, someone has to heat up the meal she prepared in advance of her departure. So, because we are available at that time, and able to put a premade curry on the stove for five minutes to make it hot again, Marissa and I take turns heating up dinner every night. As the months have passed, we are doing more since we have became more familiar with the kitchen set-up (very different from our kitchens at home). Sophy Aunty will come a little late on Sundays, so I heat up the breakfast and prepare the coffee while everyone is at church. Then in the evenings, we will also prepare the tea. All of this is out of an attempt at being helpful. I can't manage the house financial accounts because I really am very inept in mathematics, I can't offer mass because I am not a priest, and I can't be the principal of the school, so I do what I can to be a good member of the community I live in. But it is extraordinarily frustrating how the treatment of us has changed. Not all the Fathers, but some have become far too comfortable. Sometimes, knowing full well the only people there to clean up are themselves, Marissa and myself, they leave plates, cups, and food out on the table, often with little to no intention of coming back to clean it up. Or they'll request something be prepared a certain way, or by a certain time. And they do this to us, the volunteers who give kitchen help as a favor to our fellow community members, as well as Sophy Aunty. Yes, it is in fact her job to maintain our kitchen, it is what she is paid to do. But I often find myself cringing at the way the Fathers treat her. I find it is similar in practice to some of my experiences with customer service, in that some people are very nice and grateful, and other people see the fact that you are being paid to serve them, and therefore conclude that it is actually your god given duty to do so. I wonder if Sophy Aunty takes their behavior as personally as I do. In some ways I think she might not, as her generation, as well as her culture very much still subscribes to the "ladies belong in the kitchen" gender roles. But inside, I detest this treatment so deeply because while I am aware it is not out of malice, I know these men are satisfied in seeing us take part in what they think is what we are "supposed to do." How do I know they feel this way you ask? Oh because they've said it, many times.

So what do I do when these able bodied men leave dishes for us to clean up, criticize Sophy Aunty's rice, and ask her to make something special for them, when she just prepared a meal for seven? Well often I bite my tongue. Surely not every time, because occasionally I do allow a small (or large depending on the scenario) comment to be made about certain circumstances. But there are absolutely  other battles to be fought, so I find it best to save a small explosion for the perfectly apt moment.

Whatever the struggle is; incessantly being asked about our plans for marriage, not being understood when we express that it's really annoying to be asked about marriage all the time, having people assume you will clean up after them because you occasionally cook for them (because SURPRISE! I genuinely enjoy cooking, it's just not what I was put on this earth to do!!), or being told that my womanhood will not be fulfilled if I choose to not get married and/or have children (yes, a 70 year old man told us that), it's not always worth letting ancient opinions get the best of me. I did, in fact, give a very long winded reply to the last comment, but it was futile. His opinions are not going to budge on my account. Instead I choose to focus my energy on my students, the next generation. No, I do not force western gender rhetoric down the throats of young children. But I do freely offer my opinions (when appropriate) about how people should be allowed to live their lives the way they see fit regardless of their gender, and their society's opinions about the roles of that gender.

It is not my job to change a culture, and I would be wrong to think I should or could. But I'll be damned if I don't plant a few seeds. 

Small moments.

Simple things.
Keeping track of things is easy. My planner is in my bag. My phone is on my desk.

Keeping track of memories is harder. What was the first meal I ate in India? How did I perceive things when we touched down in Cochin? Surely I remember them now (Dosa and chamandi, everything is colorful and scary), but will I remember how spicy I thought the chamandi was two years from now? Will I remember the jovial and confused faces of my kindergarteners when I tried to teach them the 'v' sound? Maybe I will, or maybe I will file these precious gems away to be glimpsed only when I smell the pungently tangy aura of coconut chamandi.

Each day is beautifully uneventful and simple. From time to time we have a large festival, or feast, or some type of cultural celebration. And these moments are cacophonous, and aromatic, and wonderfully tasty on the lips of my memories. Each parish feast or temple festival is louder than the last, with more colorful sarees and more drummers surviving only on spectator energy in the stifling heat of midday. It's cultural experiences like this that I will absolutely never forget. But it's the simple things that I hope to hold onto more.

Kindergarten has a really tough time properly pronouncing the letter 'v'. It always comes out as a 'w' so vehicle sounds like wehicle, and love sounds like lowe. It stems from their mother tongue, which doesn't make much use of the teeth or the lips when producing language. So once or twice every class we will come across a word with a 'v' and everyone will pronounce it as if it were a 'w'. I will pause, and then begin the most fun game I like to play. Their faces when they try to mimic the way I place my top teeth on my bottom lip to produce the 'v' sound is, without any shadow of a doubt, the funniest and best part of my day every time we do this exercise. Even after 8 months it is impossible for me to keep a straight face. So then I start laughing and they start laughing and we're all off track but damn they're cute. It's beautiful. That laughter. I want to remember that laughter.

When we're not attending a feast, or marriage/ baptism/ first communion on the weekends, we are enjoying the slowness of village life. Even though it's the weekend I still wake up around the same time I would for school. Not because I set an alarm, but because there is an incredibly hungry young bird in the trees somewhere right outside my window. He or she dictates when I rise. We have an understanding though, if it's before 6 am we are going back to sleep at least until the sun rises. It could very well be annoying to be woken up between the hours of 5:30 and 6:30 on the days I can sleep in, but I love the melody too much. The sweet chirps are innocent, and I should get up and enjoy the cool misty air of the morning before it becomes blisteringly hot.

During the weekend days I spend a lot of time with goats. They are my new favorite animal. We have 8 of them. One mama, two duplicate sets of babies, and one odd ball named Sammy who was a gift for Father Johny. In June when we arrived, mama had the first set of babies. Two boys and a girl; Ron, Harry, and Hermoine. Just two weeks ago, mama had her second set of babies; again two boys and a girl named Emma, Patrick, and Philip. Got a goat? I'll name it. I'll also befriend it. They really get me, and I thoroughly enjoy their presence. I was present for the birth of the second set. I had never seen any kind of animal give birth before that. It was very slippery.  Loads of fluids involved. And it was a bewilderingly beautiful process. Mama knew what to do, and so did the babies. They  popped out, woke up, inhaled their first breaths of air, and immediately started to make their way to the food source. She licked them clean and after all was said and done the new family took a well deserved nap. I was not present for the birth of Ron, Harry, and Hermoine but we bonded anyways. Ron is my favorite. Harry can be kind of an asshole and Hermoine was always the biggest and strongest. It's  hysterical to see their personalities mirrored in the new babies. Emma was the first to be born and is the spunkiest and most adventurous. Her brothers are always sleeping and following mom, while Emma likes to explore, at a safe distance, away from mom. Do I sound like a crazy goat lady? Probably. But they're my friends! I feed them the mushy bananas no one will eat, and the peels of the ones we do eat and they love me for it!

Then there are the peaceful weekend afternoons we spend walking through Aymanam, visiting teachers and students. This weekend we visited one teacher and spent the whole afternoon talking. These types of moments are the ones that may be less likely to remain cemented in my immediate memory, but are the most important to keep with me as these are the times where I get the most beautifully honest insights into this deeply complex culture. While some of the traditions can seem backwards to my western mind, they are second nature to this culture. Trying to understand, and respect, the honesty with which people can accept such customs is the most valuable lesson in tolerance that I will ever have. Tolerance not only to appreciate the differences between my native culture, and the culture that surrounds me, but also tolerance to appreciate parts of my own culture that I myself may not agree with. It's extraordinarily comforting to find the mirrored experiences in my life and the lives of others. Defining ourselves with checked boxes does little more than identify the location of our birth. Because if we explore more deeply into the cavernous depths of our personalities we are not so different after all. Even myself and this teacher, with whom we spent the afternoon talking, are not so different. Despite being a generation apart we have similar desires; to travel, to be self-sufficient, to love and be loved. And even though they are separated by the swift hands of time, we also share similar fears; of marriage, and of what the future of growing old holds for us. It's true we all grow up in different worlds, but at the core we are mostly the same. We are all connected by the experience that is being human. 

Reflections on First World Problems

Have you ever found a solitary bug in or around your bed and thought very seriously of sleeping elsewhere for the night? No? Just me?

These reflections are brought to you by the infestation of late; my new buddies who love to snuggle up at night and share my pillow and my dreams. Ants. But of course not just any ants, the ones that bite. 

Our mattresses are made of coconut fiber, and everyone says this is great for your back. But what they don't say is that it's also great for ants, because these little guys really seem to love it! I think the first infestation began only a few months into our stay. Both of us were affected, and after putting the mattresses in the sun and rubbing some tea tree oil on the bed frame it seemed to do the trick. We were sleeping alone again for a while. Im not sure what it is that prompts their return, but every so often I find myself waking up to tiny little red ants biting me in places that I do not wish to be bit. 

Recently however, the ant infestation was so great I actually marched upstairs and stole one of the new mattresses from the (empty) dormitory. I woke up one morning to the feeling of the ants crawling on me, and thought, "whatever we can peacefully coexist, I don't even feel the bites anymore." But when I got out of bed and peeled my bedsheet back to assess the damage, I saw that it was the worse than any gathering of my little friends that I had experienced yet. They even began to chew hundreds of holes through my bottom sheet (I keep two sheets on the mattress explicitly for this purpose). So I did as I usually do, took my sheets off, threw them in the wash, and lugged the mattress up to the terrace to lay it in the sun. But this time, as I passed the dormitory (that has yet to be used ) I decided to take one of the still-plastic-covered, brand-new mattresses that was just begging for me to use it. Really I'm doing the mattress a favor. It was unable to fulfill its true mattresshood by simply lying neglected on an unused cot.  

I won't even pretend to say we enjoyed a peaceful coexistence, those damn ants and I. But I did learn how much my bug tolerance has changed. Despite my efforts over many months, there was no way to permanently exterminate the ants in my bed. Even now, there is a good chance they will come back, as my new mattress is still one made of coconut fibers. And when they do come back, we will do our dance again and again, each time with more acceptance. I don't want to accept biting ants during my quiet slumbers, but at least they're not the giant spiders! It seems that here, each time a previously held boundary is pushed, I allow it to move. So many boundaries, fears, and peeves have been shrunk. Who knew that I, the compulsive neat freak, could wake up in the middle of the night to the feeling of fresh ant bites and the promise of more to come, and simply shrug, roll over, and fall back to sleep? I did not see that's for myself. And yes it's a very small problem comparatively speaking, but it's a personality win in my book! 

Time is a Loose Concept

Ok ok ok so it's been a month and a half since my last blog, sorry parents. Time is a loose concept so let's pretend it's only been a week and a half.

It's already November and I am not exactly sure where the last four and a half months went. How can it feel as though we have only been here for a few weeks, while it also feels like we have been here for a few years? Time. It passes and passes and becomes so skewed in our perception that we are consistently unsure of our place in this invisible, intangible temporal spectrum. It's easy to get lost in time here. The days are seemingly long, but they slip away as if it were only minutes. Yes of course I am exaggerating a little, we have many days that are excruciatingly never-ending. But looking back on all the photos and adventures we have had since our arrival plunges me back to these moments that are still so fresh in my memory, and makes them appear to have happened only seconds ago. At the culmination of each week, we reach Friday and I am faced with the reminder that this year will come to an end. I know, Slow down Molly you're not yet halfway there! But these kinds of reminders are incredibly valuable, because it gives us no choice but to be unwaveringly aware of the swift passage of time, and hopefully encourage us to take full advantage of our position in this moment in time. For example, I was really hoping to solidify verb tenses in my Language Lab classes by next month, but I am not exactly on track to achieve this. So, I must reorganize, rethink, and restructure some of my lessons and then re-attack them with fervor!

Additionally, I must be better at documenting the passage of these moments. While they all feel so close in time now, they will soon slip further and further away, and I will lose the lens of clarity through which these memories still project. What a dichotomy! Make sure you live in the moment, but also be sure to take time in this moment to document everything so that later on you can (accurately) live in the past.

Side note: the most difficult thing about teaching third graders verb tense is trying to simplify but also maintain accuracy of the explanation of time. Time. It's a loose concept. 

Cultural Fest 2017-2018

A few weeks ago, the school held a two day cultural fest to celebrate and showcase the many cultures of India, and Holy Cross School. On Monday, the events included folk dance, traditional dance, group dance, poem recitation in English and Malayalam, and lots of uncoordinated dance from each class and their teachers (yes unfortunately including myself). I discovered that I really enjoy the Indian pop music they listen to despite the fact that I cannot understand the words being sung, and that both students and teachers have incredible talent for both dancing and singing. On the second day, there were story telling competitions, speeches, songs, and mime skits! All spoken word competitions were in both English and Malayalam. We are slowly learning a few words here and there, mostly phrases and words having to do with food of course, but this language is a hard one to learn. I always tell my older students that they are already smarter than me because they know at the very least two languages (English and Malayalam) and sometimes more. They also learn Hindi in school and I am sure some have mastered it to some degree already.

The students, teachers, and staff are all a part of such rich cultures, and this was an absolutely fabulous and fascinating event to be present for. The dances and costumes alone were my favorite part. The dress we see day to day is simply beautiful. Churidars come in infinite displays of rich colors and elaborate patterns. Shawls are effortlessly draped over women's shoulders, and always match the color and pattern scheme of both pants and top. And this is the everyday dress. One of the competitions at cultural fest was fancy dress, and the intricately ornate costumes were jaw dropping. Gold adornments, lace stitched in the utmost taste, thick black makeup to accentuate shining brown eyes, and the jewelry! The traditional dress that was worn by the folk dance competitors brought the rich history of India to life before my eyes. The dances tell stories more clearly than words could. And oh the way these kids can dance! Some of the most impressive dances came from students in third and sixth grade. The details! I am no student to dance (and this will be very evident when I participate in the Thiruvathira dance with the teachers next week) so I cannot be sure that details such as hand gestures and facial expressions are a part of western dance. But I can be sure that I have never seen dances that are as involved as the traditional folk dances we saw during cultural fest.

It was a beautiful few days to take the time to get to know the culture we are living in a bit more. The students had such fun (of course because we had no class) and it was an opportunity to bond more with them. I certainly did not know how well some of my students could sing, dance, recite poems, and give speeches! Marissa and I showcased our excellent western dance skills by teaching them some classic dance moves including the sprinkler, the lawn mower, and of course the shopping cart at the end. Saved the best for last right?! Next week we will really be putting ourselves to the test by taking part in a traditional Onam dance called Thiruvathira (thee-roo-vah-thee-rah) with some of the teachers. Onam is the harvest festival that falls around the beginning of the Malayalam calendar year. The celebrations in school will include flowerbed competitions, payasam making, and some outdoor games for the younger classes. Payasam is a mysterious soup like sweet treat that I have yet to acquire a taste for, but I hear there are many different types of payasam so perhaps I simply haven't tried the right kind yet. And of course one of the very special events to take place will be the teachers' Thiruvathira dance. They told us it would be simple; we practiced for the first time yesterday and I can assure it is not. Also we will be wearing a traditional Kerala sari which I hear is both beautiful and somewhat hard to move around in, so yes not to worry there will be plenty of videos and pictures to document the occasion.

A note on teaching:

This life we get to live here is wonderful, beautiful, and so educational. Learning how to be a teacher by simply doing it without any training at all is both very, very hard, but also very fun. I constantly feel like I am doing it wrong, and that I will not actually be able to teach any of the students anything. But then sometimes I'll walk into class and say "Ok guys do we remember what we talked about last time?" and they will actually yell out, with much fervor I might add, an accurate summary of what we learned last time. I cannot even describe how proud this makes me. Not only because I did it, I taught them something, but because they cared enough to feign excitement about it! My little loves! I am learning (and finally committing to memory) most of the students' names, and they sometimes like me I think! My current goal is to simply make them think. The way they learn in their normal classes, and prepare for exams, is almost solely memorization based. When they read a chapter in their textbooks, the teacher will give them the questions AND THE ANSWERS on the blackboard and their task for the exam is to memorize the answers. This is just the way they do it, and memorization is certainly a skill that can be useful, but it's clear that when it comes to being inside the classroom, there is little room for any abstract or hypothetical thought. So, this is exactly what I do! Each class I will come in with a few hypothetical scenarios (e.g. If someone gave you 100 million rupees what would you do with the money), make them write a few sentecnces and then I have them each share the answers they wrote in front of the class. The first few times I did this I think everyone single student said "Ma'am I don't know the answer, what do I write?" And when I tell them they can write anything they want (appropriate for class of course) their eyes bulge out of their heads.  This has become a good way to get to know the students in both English ability and personality. It's fun for both of us, and yes sometimes it gets out of hand and I have to yell, but if I can simply get them to think outside of the box in my class, then I will consider myself successful.

Also I taugh the Kindergarteners my name and now every time I see them they yell "Hi Molly Ma'am!" and it's the cutest thing in the entire world and it makes my day every single time. It's a wonderful life:)

Culture Shock

When you travel to a new place, you are most likely aware that the destination will exhibit many differences compared to the place you traveled from. It is my opinion that this awareness can shield you from the shock of being thrust into a starkly different culture. However, I have come to realize that awareness can only go so far as a shield. You need much much more that this.

Some privileges I took for granted in America:

• Not being stared at. Or at least openly stared at. Aren't we taught that staring is rude? And pointing! My goodness it's truly like being a zoo animal. 
• Being able to wear shorts. I could dedicate an entire essay to this concept. Not to worry that is coming. 
• Warm showers. Even though you don't really want one when it's super humid. The cold water is actually nice and I've adjusted to that part just fine, but I miss a nice warm shower in the morning. 
• Windows with screens. Don't get me wrong our verandah is my favorite place in the house. It's  like being outside, but you don't get rained on! Screens would be nice for the mosquitos though. I've itched a few (thousand) bug bites into oblivion and now have lovely new scabs all over my legs. (Now they will think I'm a leper and stare at me more, oh wait I can't show my ankles never mind!)
• A protein or whole grain based breakfast. We have Idli (google it) with curry a lot, and occasionally spicy noodles. They are both really really tasty, it's just still odd to me to eat it for breakfast. 
• WINE!!! In the village it's very taboo for anyone to drink really, but as a woman you are actually not allowed to drink. You can't buy it in a store, and you can't go to a bar. I have many thoughts on this.  But I need to collect and organize them so they do not come out in babbling fits of rage. 

These are just a few things I've realized I completely took for granted while living my comfortable life in America. I'm sure there will be more cultural shocks that we will experience over the coming months, and we will constantly work on how to live with and assimilate to these changes. 

On being stared at:

I don't know what it is like to live in a small village or small city where there is not much tourism, and then all of a sudden see two ladies walking around everywhere who look absolutely nothing like everyone else. It's funny because in the shopping centers the poster ads usually have white people on them. The children's store advertises their clothing on white babies. From what we have seen, and what we have heard from a few locals, light skin is an aspiration. Which is odd for me because I've spent my entire life wanting to be darker, or to have the ability to tan at least a little bit. The grass really is always greener on the other side! I am never sure if the reason for the stares is simply the difference in our skin tone, or the fact that we are also women. I think if the residents of Aymanam or the nearby city of Kottayam were to have ever seen an American, it would have most likely been a man, perhaps traveling for business. I don't know this for sure, but most gender stereotypes are unfortunately accurate here so I would not have much doubt if this were the case. 

Maybe one day they won't see us as zoo animals. We're not the first to be here, so they must have some awareness of the new influx of international teachers at Holy Cross School. The stares and the pointing is harmless. They seem to be teeming with curiosity, and who am I to blame or judge? In this case, we came to India aware that people would stare. The teachers who came before us warned us of this.  But it is one thing to imagine it, and another to actually experience it. When you feel a curious gaze, it's a little uncomfortable. When they point, giggle, and talk to the person next to them in Malayalam, it's even more uncomfortable. I'll never know what they're saying, so we have to learn to just not care. Awareness shielded us from being surprised by the staring and pointing, but an adjustment in attitude will shield from the constant discomfort of being ogled at everywhere we go. 

By the way the power went out three times while I was writing this. ~just India things~