starbursts

it finally felt like i had run out of options. with my energy sapped from earlier classes this week and a general disinterest in concocting grandiose lesson plans, i committed to a path of positive reinforcement.

starbursts.

i walked into class prepared today. we skipped our usual yoga routine complete with bowing at the tail end of intentionally quiet and soothing stretches. we skipped homework checks because i had not assigned homework. we skipped any and all conversations about why we weren't going to be playing games.

we dove right into king arthur and his roundtable plotting in camelot. a whole page worth of copying and then translating. i did not crack a smile. i was not lenient with those who had forgotten to bring a pen. for the first time since arriving here, i felt that structure would necessarily have to be enforced or i was going to lose any hope of control (read: me going completely batty).

they're 6th graders. i taught their sleepy and lethargic first-period brains four days a week last semester but now have the unfortunate disadvantage of teaching them during one of the last classes of the day after their gym class. they are unruly. no, they're absurd. my mother (of course) was right when she told me it mattered what time of day i taught them. i just wanted to complain about needing extra morning snooze time.

shortly after we commenced, i began shelling out individually wrapped starbursts to those i found jotting arthur's story down quietly. and soon, the blabbermouths began to notice. and they began writing. fifteen minutes into class, i had the entire class writing when two days ago, i could not keep one out of the window long enough to break up an argument between two others.

it. was. amazing. it is not sustainable, but for that period of 45 minutes of my life, i felt like i was not utterly failing at this teaching gig. it reaffirmed my belief that positive reinforcement not only is a more efficient management style, it is also a method i am better suited to utilize. my sweet and sympathetic demeanor doesn't naturally lend itself to screaming at kids in a language i really have not mastered.

now if only i could figure out how to reinvent positive reinforcement without starbursts, i'd be set. starbursts, after all, are in short supply and, undoubtedly, there's a better way to embrace this whole being positive strategy without candy.

but, it is the candy i give out and the games that i play that have the teachers most thoroughly entertained and busily conversing about. perhaps i should continue to provide them with "i can't believe she plays so many games" and "what must those students be learning?" fodder for all of those coffee dates i cannot bring myself to suffocate through?

emerging a bit from silence

i am trying to pull myself from this sequestered corner i have been hibernating in, i really am. i am only marginally succeeding.

nearly a month has passed since the dawn of the new semester and the start of a more lenient schedule. february, despite all expectations otherwise, passed by rather quickly. until last week, the weather warmed nicely and tricked me into thinking i could begin my more regimented running routine. on friday, though, it changed its mind and dumped several feet of snow on the ground, knocking out the power and my lifeline (*ahem* internet connection) all together.

a weekend of gallivanting through sofia helped my disposition enormously, as did the starbucks frappacino i consumed in spite of the freezing temperatures and persistent snow fall.


i haven't much interesting to report, so i'll divvy out one good morsel of hope and one crazy story having to do with the mysteries of this school system.

several months ago, a good student of mine flicked his cigarette at me in my classroom after asking him to put it out. the saga did not develop into any major drama and a brief conversation with his mother (not executed by me) did the trick. in the weeks and months since, he has been remarkable as far as students are concerned, respectful and eager to participate and learn; on some days, he is the only student i can persuade in a class of 13 students to do any of the exercises and projects i have planned, while the rest look at me with disdainful looks challenging me to get them to work.

anyway, this student approached me recently and told me to speak to him only in english. his father, he reported, had encouraged him to ask me to speak to him only in english so he could learn as much english as possible during my tenure here.

as i write this, i reflect on how this must play out for all of you reading at home. it seems awfully inconsequential, doesn't it? something that should almost happen automatically with the nature of my job. well, or at least you'd like to think so.

but for me, this was a monumental leap forward with this student, a roma student other teachers constantly lament over. though i am failing in assigning appropriate weight to the whole incident on my blog, i am happy to report, that two weeks later, he is still speaking in english with me.

one facet of this system that continues to baffle me is the absence policy for students. today, i was given a stern talking to because i have been writing absences in the class books everyday. this is nothing if not a point of contention for me every single day (and i suspect it will continue to be). the issue at hand was the amount of work i was creating for this classroom teacher by writing in daily absences. you see, this creates work for her because she then has to justify excusing the absences when we all know the students are in one of the three cafes drinking coffee and skipping class. how many excuses are there for emergency coffee breaks?

the paradox is incomprehensible to me. on the one hand, i am supposed to write absences, as it has been promised to me that consequences will follow. however, on the other hand, it was made clear that absences should not be figured into overall grade calculations; they are simply to be recorded daily and not to be used as ammunition against students come end of the term.

i feel stuck. i want to write absences in hopes they will beget the helplessness i feel with the grading. yet, writing the absences requires someone (if not me, and certainly not the students) to account for them, then i begin contemplating surrender and apathy. the worst part of it all: these daily recordings create work and animosity between two teachers who ultimately have no control over the larger picture and the ensuing absurdity and frustration feels like a waste of energy.

that's where i am at right now. someday i suppose i'll look back on all of this utter ridiculousness and laugh, but right now, i just want to scream.

i hope that as the weather continues to warm, the overall process of being here will alter and i will have more insightful and positive anecdotes to dish out. keep hanging in there with me people. i promise i have more to say than this. i just have to pull it out of me.

oceans

meet gergana.

my little english student and i studied underwater animals today thanks to a few instant sponge animals that came in the mail last week.


it all began with her baba, who would lovingly shout at me from her elevated balcony as i strolled by her building during the summer. eventually, we began running into each other buying tomatoes and perusing the streets of the town. one day, she finally bit the bullet and asked if i would tutor her granddaughter. i tentatively agreed, knowing that my previous attempts to "tutor" anyone had been less than fruitful.

however, every week since, for almost two months now, this bright little 8 year-old girl has come over to study english outside of her weekly classes. my experiences and hours spent with her are slated among the richest and most fulfilling thus far.

we drink hot chocolate and practice english and her little sponge of a brain just flabbergasts me. it is exciting, truly, to be visibly reaching (and teaching) someone here.

and while we may just be making oceans of sea creatures with paper and glue, she (quite unknowingly) provides me with an ocean of tangible results and rewards to selectively sort through on low days. and for this, i am simply grateful.

welcome to my wonderful monday afternoons =)

quiet

i have never been certain of my reasons for blogging, aside from the most obvious effect of it keeping people involved and up to date with my experience here.

along the way, it has become a journal of sorts for me personally and i am only now beginning to acknowlede this. i have written in a journal- many, in fact- for the past 4 or 5 years. it has proven to be an excellent outlet for me, a place to open up, to unleash all that remains inaudible and silent and a storage unit for feelings i do not necessarily care to share.

i know this about myself. i have come to understand my journaling cycles and habits over this span of time.

it should not be surprising to me, then, that i have come to a point in time with this blog- ostensibly a blog, but more accurately a public journal- where i just don't have the words to write about what i am feeling and all that i am doing. this happens in my personal journaling as well, with periods of weeks filling gaps in entries.

the only difference, now, is that i have allowed myself to enter a space where an audience is present and my quirky and silly writing nuances, while clear in my head, aren't so clear to those outside of the swirling madness inside of me.

i have so much i could be writing about- a new school schedule that allows me time to sleep in every morning, stories of success with certain students and frustrations with others, elaborations on adventures and experiences traveling in london and istanbul, progress on my marathon training... =)

but, at the moment, i am not going to write about any of it. i offer this merely to tell you to hang in there, to return in a little while because my inconsistent journaling tendencies are bound to pick back up again sooner or later. the low swing of the winter and the foggy landscape of everything around this little world of mine has left me only with quiet introspection for now.

it seems logical that i will resurface soon and i hope i do. so much of this experience is the part of sharing it with people. i will continue to share it just as soon as i can.

and, finally, a few photos. there always is space and time for photos.

january 2009
i am alive. i am trudging through january. i do not have a lot to say today, though surely the words will come pouring out of me soon. i have yet to write about london.

ya know, there really is nothing that says you're in my country like a trip to the local printing shop where you find yourself being snubbed at for asking the clerk to copy one page 20 times in under 15 minutes because you've got a class to get to. i am slowly learning to slow down, but remarkably, things operate at a snail's pace here sometimes and i just cannot get myself to crawl that slowly.

let's just say i'm in a mild funk. and i think the weather here is not helping any. it has looked like this for two weeks straight, though it doesn't actually get dark until 5:30 now.

hope you're all doing well!

part two of two related stories

december 2008, all photos in this post taken by st.

this particular 'na gosti' was certainly the most atypical of the experiences i have mentally filed away so far. it is a story that i feel is best expressed through photographs and, thanks to my good buddy st, there are quite a few photos to guide you through the experience.

a brief synopsis:

it was christmas eve around 3pm when st and i decided to explore his quiet village. the sun was shining, after all, and although there was snow on the ground, it was warm enough with the sun pouring down on us that we wandered out in spite of the snow.

st, as i have documented briefly, has taken to taking pictures and quite lovely ones, too. he was interested in introducing me to some of the future photo subjects he had dancing in his head-- gates and doorways and most notably, the adorable neighborhood children who had overcome any shyness towards being photographed in the time since we arrived.

we pointed ourselves towards the roma neighborhood in town and began, stepping between and beside potholes and trudging through mud as the houses passed us by and the neighborhood surely changed. before i knew it, two small girls caught our attention as they scurried up to the road to greet st, who has become a welcome wanderer in this part of town.

shy, yet curious inquiries about my identity out of the way, these two girls began normal banter with st, pulling out a few english words for the new audience (me) to show off a bit.

from behind me came a strong, yet friendly voice. a father? brother?

the voice of a friend who, we came to learn, almost was like family.

"come drink some homemade wine," the voice beckoned with an unmistakable come hither gesture.

the four of us turned and made our way towards the cluster of homes from which the voice emanated. as we trudged through the mud up towards the houses, through one of the barn areas, past a really old green truck and up on the side of the muddy/icy/slushy/snowy slope, we saw a large family grilling pig. we were welcomed with a glass jar of homemade wine, warm greetings, the strangely blended scent of grilled pig, smoke and cigarettes.

we all got to talking. slowly at first. and then they realized we could speak some of the language. gradually, the conversation fired up and we talked about holiday celebrations.

i mentioned that some families in the states eat turkey for christmas. i didn't know the word for pig, so this was a convenient detour around that dilemma. st asked about the particulars of roasting pigs on christmas eve and then turned to me to ask what i had said. he knew the word for pig, but not for turkey. through our puzzle-like vocabulary structuring, we discovered this family killed a pig for christmas eve and ate turkey on christmas day.

or, they were just pulling my leg about the turkey. i may never know.


this was how i spent my christmas eve, amongst a large, friendly, modest roma family that not only invited me to join in their pig roast and wine drinking, but brought st and i in for dinner... with more wine and warm rakia and a delicious meal.

it was humble. and kind. and enjoyable in a way that eludes me, even now. it felt comfortable and we had never met these people.

i do not recall how long we were there. hours, certainly. the brief walk and the chicken in st's house waiting to be cooked long since forgotten about. my feet and hands and nose completely frozen from standing in the cold mushy mud on the hill where the fire's smoke swirled away in the merciless wind.

yet, it was one of the warmest na gosti experiences i have had since i arrived here.

and one of the strangest/hardest/most incredible parts of it all- i was the only female who sat at the dinner table that evening.

i could not decide if it was an honor, a privilege, a lack of sufficient space elsewhere, a misunderstanding or otherwise. but, my gender-sensitive brain, ever the inquisitive machine, couldn't help but wonder...

perhaps another post for another time.

i'll let the pictures tell the rest...

silent monday

the alexander nevski church shrouded in fog from bbc


the letter "c" taken by my friend st and posted in this online bbc portfolio entitled "learning"

to read about the gas crisis that has crippled much of the country, including sofia, go here.