Mixed Feelings

Today is the first day of school...for Brian. I am still on maternity leave. I have gone to work, bringing Bug, a few times in the past week to help set up my classroom and meet with the substitute and my teaching assistant for planning. I even went yesterday for the new student orientation. But today I stay home.

A bit of adult interaction each day has been fantastic; I've needed it. But honestly, if I didn't have to work, I don't think I would go back. At least not until Bug and his future siblings were school-aged. Don't get me wrong, I do love my job. It is incredibly fulfilling. The students are little bundles of love and wonder, and I am always challenged to grow professionally. However, my priorities have completely shifted. Quiet snuggly mornings, silly playtime and intimate nursing are what I live for right now.

In reality, I will have to return to work in a very short five weeks. Both of us working affords our spacious apartment in the center of the city and all our amazing travels. Neither of which I am willing to give up. And I will probably need a life that entails more than wearing pjs all day, changing diapers every two hours and babbling in gibberish. So in preparation for that big event, we have hired a nanny. Yesterday was her first day. Before I had children, I thought I would be a laid back parent. Now, the thought of leaving Bug with someone who isn't family is terrifying. I know it is necessary, for many reasons, but I need a little more time. So we've brought the nanny on half time until I return to work. This allows all of us to get to know one another, and for me to model Bug's daily care and watch her with him.

Did my heart ache as I watched her rock my baby to sleep? Absolutely. Did Bug take to her gentle and caring ways immediately? Yup. I wouldn't have hired her if he didn't. So this is just going to be a process. He is in good hands, and I need to have a life outside my baby. Am I looking forward to leaving him on my first day of work? Heck no.

Moving Forward

In order to get a grasp on my new life, I set some short term goals: setting up my classroom, moving to my new place, finally unpacking my bags, attending yoga classes, and socializing with new friends. 

Well, I accomplished all my goals and then some.

My classroom is organized and decorated.  I also set a schedule and finally began working with students.  Connecting with the kids energizes me, and they are the reason I love my job! If I can love my job, then the rest should fall into place, right?  Although my role as an ESL specialist is still undergoing revision, I am now finding more opportunities to contribute my expertise and feel validated professionally.  School is thankfully on an upswing.

The new flat feels good and meets my needs for now.  I have finally unpacked my suitcases, organized my things, and established daily routines.  Although a bit lacking in windows (I have one), the space is quiet and provides a needed respite from the chaos outside.  I am calling it "cocoon-y."  If I can't control the big things in my life, at least I can create a bit of normalcy and feel safe in my little home.

After a long hiatus, I have come back to yoga.  This is significant on many levels.  Physically, I am rebuilding muscles and flexibility.  Mentally, I am focused on caring for my body inside and out.  Emotionally, I am acknowledging the correlations among poses, feelings they release, and challenges they symbolize in life.  Spiritually, my heart is open and connected to a higher power. And socially, I am spending time with supportive and likeminded people.

The greatest gift of living abroad is the friendships that are built in the absence of family.  Amazingly, I have already found caring, generous and well-grounded people with whom to share my life.  I am slowly filling the empty spaces caused by leaving behind people and places.  However, filling is not replacing, and those people are truly cherished and places deeply missed.  It just means that my heart is a little bigger and the world a little smaller.

The homesickness, the urge to go back to Jordan, and the shock of, “What in the world have I just done with my life?” all come and go in waves. The inverses are moments of amazement that this is truly my life, the thought that I must move forward and never backward, and that my experience in Vietnam is a journey with an end that I cannot anticipate (and will be a better person for regardless of the outcome).

From Jordan to Vietnam

The last two weeks have been a rollercoaster of contradictions. Excitement and dread. Relief and regret. Sheer ambivalence at every turn. The three foundational needs for re-establishing my life include: my job, where I will live and who I will spend time with. In each of these, I have had extreme highs and lows since I arrived in Vietnam.

Let’s start with my job. Well, this is the driving force that brought me literally to the other side of the world. I have taught in various capacities on and off for several years. After completing my Master’s degree in International Education and teaching elementary school language arts in Jordan for the last two years, I know I have found the best career for myself. I left Amman feeling confident in my abilities and eager to grow as an educator. Arriving in Vietnam, I feel as if I am a first year teacher all over again. And in fact I almost was when my position was changed last minute from ESOL to Grade 3 classroom. Gulp. Be with the kids all day? Plan for all content areas? I’ve always flirted with the idea of making this switch, but when it was thrust at my unexpectedly, I hadn’t had time to mentally prepare and was freaking out internally. As is my way, I jumped right in setting up the classroom, meeting with the other third grade teachers, and planning as much as I could. But I still felt like I was spinning wheels.


This is also when my housing anxiety kicked in. The school financed my stay in a very clean yet windowless hotel room downtown for just one week. The whole lot of new teachers was scrambling to find accommodations at the same time and it seemed I was one step behind. Half of them decided on one building walking distance to the school but further from Western familiarities, and the other half chose a highrise complex in a leafy suburb about 20 minutes by motorbike from school. I wavered on both locations because my mind was still stuck on my charming, spacious apartment in Jordan for half the price. These were box-like with tacky and/or low quality furniture. The bathrooms in most were blah and I couldn’t imagine snuggling up to watch a movie on any of the couches. So I went online and found some listings I liked in a building in the same district as my school. I fell in love with the apartment as soon as I walked in the door. Simple and high quality furniture, neutral tones, two bedrooms and two bathrooms, and high up with an amazing view. After losing out on other apartments, I jumped on this one. No one was going to beat me to it!

I handed over millions of Vietnamese Dong and moved in the next day. As soon as I signed the lease and the landlady and real estate agent left, the tears poured out. What had I just done? I was all alone in middle of District 5. Yes, it was in the same district as my school, but still a ten minute ride on the back of a motorbike. Certainly not walkable. And I learned very quickly that I was the only expat in the twenty block radius of Chinatown. I have absolutely nothing against Chinese people—and actually one of the reasons I felt at ease signing this lease was because the landlady was so unbelievably nice—but the isolation was intense. I had to haggle hard with motorbike taxis and then get jostled around in dense traffic for twenty minutes anytime I wanted to go somewhere expat-friendly, and when I wanted to come back, no one knew where it was. The route quickly became familiar, but I soon began dreading it. Inside the apartment, I loved the peacefulness, amazing view and super-comfortable bed, but as soon as I stepped outside, the chaos swept over me.

An All-Girls School in Amman

My students are called Dina, Sarah, Zein and Nour. They are beautiful girls with full chestnut curls and large almond eyes. Most are Jordanian, although within this majority, many identify as Palestinian. Although born and raised in Jordan, the Palestinian-Jordanians must carry different passports than those with Jordanian bloodlines. Those recently from Palestine are generally refugees from the Gaza bombardment. Those not from Palestine are Iraqi refugees, although several students are from Iran and Sri Lanka. All have seen oppression, violence and discrimination in ways that most Americans of our generations have not and hopefully will never know. They write about relating to Anne Frank because they also hid in basements during bombings. They ask me why Americans hate them so much. And yet they also know each word to every Miley Cyrus and Taylor Swift song.

They call me "Miss," and whine it as, "Miiiiiiisssssss," whenever I assign homework or administer an exam. They love to chat with me and with each other and cannot make themselves stop even when they know they should. It drives me crazy, but on the scale of classroom management issues, I can hardly complain. They stay seated (usually), do their work (usually), and never challenge me in threatening or shocking ways. They are much more disciplined about academics than their counterparts in the U.S. Most girls study their English lessons after school every day and come with questions the next. They check well in advance about topics that might be on exams and they often turn in work early. Moreover, they bring unassigned presentations to class and beg to present to their peers. Considering that I must cram in an astonishing amount of curriculum and test the girls monthly, I sadly don't often have much time to let them.

We are coming to the end of the year and they will be moving across campus to the secondary building next year. They are growing so fast physically and emotionally. They look like little women now and not like overgrown kids, and their writings show that they have a lot on their minds. At the beginning of the year, they were terrified to write, but now they proudly present me with poems and essays that they have written in their free time. I'm flattered that they trust me with their thoughts and feelings. I remember the traumas of being twelve years old and in the sixth grade and I thank God that these girls are in such a nurturing and protected environment.

They wear ugly uniforms, are not allowed to wear make-up and must tie back their long hair into plain ponytails. Dating is so far into the realm of "absolutely not" that they focus on the normal friendship dramas of their age and willingly participate in their frequent family gatherings. They beg me to be helpers as I set up the classroom or carry stacks of books to the teachers' lounge. And they are so generous with hugs. I love that I can pat them on their heads or wipe their tears without fear of repercussion, where in the U.S. teachers literally cannot touch the children for fear of a lawsuit. Here, the parents really do respect and trust us as teachers. We communicate freely and never critically. They know we love their girls and will do everything possible to keep them safe, educate them and help them grow into the strong women that surround us at our school as administrators, teachers, and teenage students.

Whirlwind September

Semptember was a crazy month filled with school commitments, meeting new friends, and getting to know the ins and outs of Amman and beyond.

First, thoughts on previous posts, and then a brief update of what's been going on.

Reflections on Previous Posts
Now that I've gotten used to the sensory overload that is Amman, some things that really stood out in the beginning have become ordinary parts of my day. I want to start by adding/augmenting my post on beauty. I said, "It is incredibly taboo for women to show their hair in public according to Islam." Ok, this is technically true, but many Muslim women do show their hair in public. Hijab is normal and no hijab is normal. Although the vast majority of Muslim women in the traditional neighborhood where I live do cover (e.g., long overcoat, head scarf, sometime even burkas and gloves), once you pass into west Amman, or "the other side of the wadi (valley)" as I like to say, who chooses to cover and how she chooses to do so is much more individual. Additionally, while outsiders cannot see into salons for females, they are everywhere and easily identified by the fashion posters plastered across the windows. I go all the time! This is probably a shock to those of you used to my slacker beauty ways in the U.S., but I've discovered that a little personal pampering can do wonders for self-confidence, the bonding with girl friends is so fun, and I think it's great that many of the Arab women I've met take such good care of themselves (and manage families and jobs simultaneously).

The status of Pacific Islanders in Amman is still something I struggle with. This controversy is quite similar to the one in the U.S. about the status of lower class Latino immigrants. On one hand, these workers make small wages for demanding work and are not always treated well (and sometimes quite terribly). But on the other hand, they have chosen to come here and perform this work because it earns more money than they can make in their home countries. So transnationalism and the global economy prevail--the money these workers earn barely makes ends meet in an expensive city, what little they can save is sent directly to their home countries, their home country economy now depends on this money, and the host country economy now depends on their labor. So the cycle continues. I think creating safeguards for fair wages and human rights should be a huge priority of the 21st century as we attempt to comprehend and regulate the forces of a completely globalized economy. The compromise many people (including myself) make here are to tip service workers well (e.g., the women who do such an awesome job at the salon) and treat those who work in our homes with kindness and respect (e.g., the woman who cleans my house, when I can afford her!).

What's Been Going On
In brief, I love my school. My coworkers are so warm, dedicated and supportive. Our principal maintains an careful balance for meeting the needs of students, parents and teachers. This is not easy to do, but it's so integral to a successful school. And my students are just lovely. For both personal and academic reasons, I am finding a great deal of value in separated schooling for girls and boys. I will expand on this in a later post, because it is certainly a controversial topic.

I have met wonderful locals and expats. The family from whom I rent my flat is incredibly gracious and always helps when I have questions or need assistance. I am becoming a regular at my corner ducan (store)--the owners are so patient with my elementary Arabic! And I've discovered an unspoken expat code of ethics in Amman. We welcome newcomers warmly, extend any assistance we can provide, and maintain open invitations to meet for coffee or a bite to eat. I've also met locals who have studied abroad or work for international companies that travel in our circles and adhere to the same code. Several acquaintances have grown into true friendships and my social life is quite fruitful.

Mid-Spetember marked the end of Ramadan and lengthy Eid vacation. My school generously provided a full week off, so I was able to explore Jordan extensively and have time to relax. I will post pictures shortly!

What Does it Mean?

I probably would have started this blog ages ago if I hadn't been stuck on picking a name. Actually, I've also held back beause I can't entirely wrap my brain around public narcissism. But I'm motivated to finally start blogging so that I can share my latest adventures abroad with my family and friends. So in true Lena fasion, the name materialized when push came to shove.

But I don't want the blog to only be about my recent move to Amman, Jordan. (We're all narcissists deep down, I think.) And without the opportunity to divulge in person, online is my only option! Moreover, what if I actually stick to blogging after I have completed my 1 year contract? Or what if I want to write about something that does not relate specifically to Amman or my teaching experiences here?

So the title "My Meaningful Meandering" stems from several things. First, I have always strived for a meaningful life. I want to learn and grow from each person I meet and each experience I have. I want my education, formal and informal, to create a solid foundation that helps me reach my ultimate goals.

But herein exists the contradiction. What goals? Each time I set a specific personal, educational, or occupational goal, I change it or doubt myself. Moreover, I can rarely focus on accomplishing just one tiny goal. I am an explosion of intentions. And I move at a very slow pace--unless I am pushed or cornered, in which case I am driven and focused on nothing but that goal. In a nutshell, I am an adult with ADD, and coping with it is a neverending process. But I've outgrown my adolescent angst and mid-twenties tribuations. I am happy and assured. My faults are meant to be faced and tackled.

So the word meandering here has many meanings. It is physical, in that I really do meander in the way that I move and get things done throughout the day. It is psychological, in that my feelings constantly ebb and flow--and I generally let them carry me through life, for better or worse. And it is concrete, in that I am meandering throughout the Middle East. Assuredly, I will not just be strolling the streets of Amman for the year; I will be working in my chosen field as an international educator. But this year abroad is also a detour, or strange twist, to my life.

I never saw myself here, yet here I am. When you meander, you find yourself in unexpected places. And my ultimate goal is to find meaning in those places. Hence the meaningful meander.