Journal Entry

And so it was over.
I'm no longer a teacher.
They've graduated.
The campus is nearly empty (there's still one class here).

I'll walk into breakfast tomorrow and I won't see the faces I normall see. I may never see their faces on Earth again.

Goodbyes never seem to do their job.
They never make parting okay.
It's never enough.

Things will never be the same.
Even if I see these students again, the relationship dynamic will have changed.

I hate change.

Transition

I just ate 4 pieces of Cadbury chocolate and a handful of Skittles. Why? I'm nervous.

My parent and sister have arrived!!! Hooray hoorah yippee.

Yet...
This signifies the end of "normal". It's irrevocable, un-doable, unrewindable. The transition stage has begun. Now everything that is the usual, the familiar, the routine, will begin to fall away in pieces. My job has changed, my interaction with students and faculty has changed, and so I must change.

I hate change.

I've just begun reading The Art of Coming Home by Craig Storti. All of my fears and apprehensions regarding coming home are corroborated in this book. I suppose I'm glad to know them ahead of time.
Adjustment.
Readjustment.
Discomfort.

Ugh.

Tuesday Morning

30 seconds 'til worship, ladies!

I stirred a little. Morning already?
The last regular morning dorm worship.

The low, soothing sound of singing wafted from the dorm chapel, mingling with the songs of birds.
In moments like these, I sing out a song... singing I love You, Lord...
A rogue soprano broke off from the melody and sang a part 1/3 above the rest.
Jesus loves me, this I know...

The next time I'll hear something so wonderful is in heaven.

A Drop in the Bucket

I'm preparing to move halfway around the world.

It's big (gargantuan, monstrous) changes like this that make me take one step back and look at life as it is. To look at more than the day to day, more than the petty worries of today, and shift my focus to the wide-eyed uncertainty of the future.

I don't like thinking about life. It scares me.
It's easier to remain blissfully ignorant, to be caught up in the present.

Now, though, I'm forced to consider myself in the grand scheme of things, in a circle much broader than the one I'm comfortable with, to think of myself in an eternal capacity. I cannot comprehend it, so it scares me. A lot.
I am a small grain of sand in a huge sand dune. As much as I like to think that I'm important (Water!), I'm quite insignificant (a drop in the bucket).

Hmm.

Hello, introspection.

El Ultimo Dia

It's the last night. The last night of school year 2010-2011, Maxwell Adventist Academy. Tomorrow, students will take their last battery of final exams, and a few will finish packing their things (you should see the dorm now; Olympic hurdlers struggle to get through the hallways) and leave campus for the last time as freshmen. Sophomores and juniors will dream of going home, but are stuck here for IGCSE testing throughout the month of June. Seniors will scream and dance in the hallways for the last time. There will be hugs and laughter and joyful singing. I, however, have got so many conflicting feelings popcorning in my skull that I could sell blamo-sized buckets and offer refills, and still have some left over.

I love these kids.

I've spent more time signing yearbooks this week than eating (THAT'S noteworthy, let me tell you). I told myself I wouldn't read any of the notes in my yearbook until after grad, but I cracked today and read one... then two... then all of them. I feel special. Very special. Many, upon a trip to the Dark Continent, say they've left a piece of their heart in Africa. I've left a piece of my heart with each student. From random hi-fives and hugs ("embrace me!") in the cafeteria to rolling their eyes at me after another random moment in the dorm lobby, these kids more than tolerate me; they make me feel welcome. They make me feel at home.
That's why it's so hard to leave.

A recurring note I've written in countless yearbooks? "I'll see you when we get There...".
I pray I will. Every one.

I'm perturbed. I'm a bit angry, too. Arrrrrgh.
Cultural differences really do get my goat.

A simple misunderstanding left my SM friend upset, and she told me so.
That made me upset.

I'm ready to be around people who understand me...

but will I encounter more of the same miscommunications at home?
Am I glorifying home as a paradise it is not?
Am I hoping for Happily Ever After (Wisconsin ed.), when I know it can't be real, I know it's too good to be true?

Yeah. I am.

Organizing the Clutter

None of this has happened to me before. I don't know how to catalog all of these feelings and emotions and experiences and memories. I have to make new folders and labels; I have to reorganize, to go through everything again and re-sort.

I don't particularly enjoy reorganizing.


Sheesh.
No one's left yet and I already miss them.

A LOT.

Checked Baggage

If only I could pack Kenya into a suitcase! Students, scenery, animals, weather, friends, memories; take them all with me. As it stands now, I don't want to leave. I know I'll miss it terribly. Today was a wonderful day, full of reminders of how special these students are to me, and how special they make me feel.

One quote from an expatriate-returned-home Japanese businessman: "My advice about going home? Don't."

Boy.

That's how I'm feeling. A fellow returning SM said it too: "I'm not ready to return to the old routine."

It's going to be awkward. It's going to be weird.
It's going to be worth it?

Ecipicerp

I feel as though I'm poised at the edge of yet another precipice - perhaps even the same one. This time, however, I' not at the top, looking over the edge toward the unknown - I'm standing at the bottom, looking at the summit that seems beyond grasp. This time, instead of facing my fears and trusting the Rope for my rappel, instead of leaping over the cliff, I'm facing a climb. I've seen this cliff face before, but not from this angle. This time, I'm going up. Less unknown (fewer fears?), but more effort. It's going to be a climb. I'm going to sweat. I might get a little bruised. But the view from the top will be worth it.

Journal Entry

I still long to belong.

Journal Entry

When I joined Improv, one of the very first things Bryan told us was that we have to be willing to let go of a story. Once it's told, it's history. Forgotten. Over. The end. Move on. You can't live in a story in the past; you have to live in the present, create new stories.

Music is like that.

The performance is over. It doesn't matter how much practice you put in, or how often you replay the episode in your mind; the performance was what it was, and it's over. Move on.

It's strange how hard it is for me to pull all the music out of my folder. Hours of work, weeks of practice, all for one hour of performance.

Am I putting in the practice now for the Big Performance just around the corner?

Journal Entry

I'm addicted to being liked.
I'm addicted to success, to doing everything I can to achieve it.
I'm addicted to recognition of the work I put in in the name of success.

I'm driven to succeed, perhaps to a fault. When I fall short of my expectations (often much higher than anyone else's), I'm devastated. Crushed. I can't move on. The mistakes and flaws haunte me, replaying over and over in my mind like an unwanted 8-track.

I still struggle with failure.
Being an SM doesn't change that.
But it made me a little more aware of the struggle I have with it.

NHS

I never really got to do anything in/for National Honor Society. Just a title and a medal. That's why I was so excited when the principal asked me to help with pinning at the NHS induction tonight. She gave the boys' pins to Erik, and handed me the cards/pins for two of my favorite juniors.

I'm so so so proud.

(Good job Inah, Dorinda, Valentine, Bliss, Dale, and Ricky)

Spring Concert 2011

Spring Concert. May 21, 2011.
Boy oh boy was there a lot of practice leading up to it. Shew.


We'd used our super-secret super-spy methods the week leading up to the concert to get a huge card and a bouquet of flowers to surprise the music director after the final song. I'd talked to Brianna and Ricky and asked them to present the gifts. Wha-bam! Surprise! I was feeling pretty sly.


In the hour before the concert, I went to the music building to do some final practicing for the accompaniments I had for the evening. However, this is practicing for a spring concert in KENYA; it can't be normal.

5.21.11

It's been a
very eventful,
VERY good
day.

And it's not over.


Thank you, Jesus. :)