Toodle-oo Teacher

Today is my last day teaching, and I’m in an odd place.

To be honest, I initially felt a little fraudulent working as a teacher. I entered the classroom without an educational degree or formal teaching experience, and hearing a child ask me for permission to use the toilet always felt a little bizarre. How and why was I suddenly ordained with such authority?


On the other hand, I’ve been “teacher Rochelle” for a year now. I never felt underqualified for this job, and I’d like to believe I’ve gotten into a bit of a groove. I am beginning to suspect that this identity has permeated my character more than I realized, and I may feel somewhat useless without students asking me questions about relative pronouns and natural disasters.


Admitting I was leaving spurred some disappointment in my students, but also inspired a greater fondness for me. My girls have been hanging out with me after school, showing me their new dance routines and playing games. They got everyone in grade 6 to sign a t-shirt for me and blew up some balloons for my Goodbye Party. Much to my amusement, they chose to write this on the chalk board: “Goodbye Teacher! We’re sorry for everything we did.”

Along with my younger students, I’ve spent a fair amount of time with my former private student, Lim. We’ve spent countless hours eating dinner in the mall, where he's asked me questions about English colloquialisms and Western culture. Since he met me, his TOEIC exam score improved from 490 to 660 (which is going to open a lot of doors considering many companies require a 600 for business fluency). Lim’s dream is to go abroad, to study in America so that he can become fluent.

Last weekend Lim invited me to Chumpon, a rural province down south where his family owns a fruit farm. “I want to show you real Thailand,” Lim explained, “so I invite you to stay with my family.” Before I knew it I was sitting on the floor with Lim’s aunts, uncles, cousins, parents and even his elderly grandmother, just talking and laughing. His aunts thought I was beautiful albeit HUGE, and complimented me on my Thai skills. His parents grow rambutan, durian, longan and finger bananas, so we snacked on those through the night as I taught his four-year old cousin the ABC’s.

His cousin “Bump” took a liking to me, and began following me around. Bump initiated a game of “you can’t catch me” that lasted throughout my stay, and sent him giggling throughout all corners of the house.



Lim’s parents were very sweet, and treated me to dinner by the ocean Saturday night. The next morning they took me to temple with them, and tried to send me off with as many snacks as humanly possible. We visited the main road in Chumpon, where all of the finger banana vendors sold their wares. A family friend showed me the oven where they bake the bananas, and once she discovered I could speak Thai she continued to feed me free samples. Lim tried to convince me to start an import-export business with him, selling chocolate-covered dried bananas, since I’d mentioned my fondness for chocolate.



In the car ride to the airport, he asked me “Rochelle, what you think of me?” I told him to elaborate. “You know that I am solitary person,” (it’s true, he’s refused to join any of my dinner parties our of sheer bashfulness) “but I try to be like you. You are social person, you meet new people so well, make new friends easy. You come to Thailand alone and you are not scared. When I first meet you, I think, American woman very strong. You are the first person I have ever invite to my home, this is my trying to be more social. If I am to go to America, I must try.”

I knew that Lim looked to me as an English advisor, but I hadn’t been aware the extent to which I’d influenced him. I wasn’t sure what to say, except that I was proud of him, and I knew that one day he would make it to America.

Kicking It in Kuala Lumpur

Back from abroad, yet again! I love Southeast Asia, it’s the only place where you can take a cheap weekend jaunt to another country.

This weekend I went to Kuala Lumpur with my co-worker, in an attempt to see a bit of Malaysia since it can’t fit into my massive post-semester travel itinerary (which already includes, China, Indonesia and Cambodia).

On a scale from sleek to grungy, I’d place Kuala Lumpur between Singapore and Bangkok; it was relatively clean and had several incredible feats of engineering that reminded me of buildings in Singapore, but it was still a little rough around the edges, and the steaming street food reminded me a little of Bangkok.

That being said, everyone I met in Malaysia spoke English, and the culture was much more Westernized due to its legacy of British imperialism. Kuala Lumpur had a persistent backdrop of old-style colonial buildings, overlayed with Asian markets and Chinese lanterns. In this way it reminded me somewhat of Vietnam, which had plenty of beautiful but worn French architecture, gathering dust beneath the layers of modern life.

The population in Malaysia is split between Malays, Chinese and Indians, and the ethnic divide is staunch. As our host explained, companies market to each race separately, and the groups are very deeply divided in their religious and physical distinctions. However, as far as I could discern, these multifarious parties managed to operate separately and harmoniously, albeit a different way of approaching “diversity” than in America.

Our host, Vern, grew up in Kuala Lumpur and was our gateway into Malaysian life. He took us everywhere, beginning with the Batu Caves, which is a massive cavern with an Indian temple built inside of it. There were several temples outside the cave, as well as a massive golden statue daring you to climb the inordinate amount of stairs to the mouth of the cave. The stairs were lined with several feisty monkeys, which I’ve had more than enough of in Asia, thank you. Monkeys in Southeast Asia are always hopped up on sugar and they can be rather aggressive. Human influence at its worst, I suppose.

The three of us spent a fair amount of time relaxing, perusing malls and shopping, and the majority of our time eating. Vern took us out for pork noodles for breakfast and to Chinatown for stingray and “rat tail” noodles… no actual rats involved. We also spent a fair amount of time tasting Moon Cakes, which were being sold in celebration of the Chinese Lantern Festival during the full moon. I’ve had moon cakes in Thailand and was unimpressed, but there were a greater variety of flavors to sample in Malaysia, like Sweet Potato and Chocolate Cream.

Vern also took us on a walk through Kuala Lumpur City Centre Park, to several great views of the Petronas Towers. In order to see the view from the top of the towers, you need to A) pay money and B) arrive at 6:00am, so we decided a view from below would suffice. Kuala Lumpur was a rather magical city to wander through at night, with its clean streets, blend of colonial and modern architecture, and the smell of food from three different Asian cuisines, along with plenty of trees (which I miss when in Bangkok).

We went to an orchid garden Sunday morning, and then Vern took us for some roast duck before our departure. Like most of the eateries Vern brought us to, the roast duck joint was packed to the brim with locals, and the food was greasy and delicious. I really wish I could give Malaysia more time, but I can’t bite off more than I can chew at this point.

On that note, this is officially my last week teaching, and yesterday I announced my departure to my students. Their initial reaction was sheer confusion.

“When you coming back, teacher?”

“Why do you go?”

“Aren’t you happy?”

I didn’t really have answers for them. I’m not sure if and when I’ll come back to Thailand. I’m not leaving because I’m dissatisfied with my kids, in fact I appreciate them more and more as time goes on. However, as the end of my contract approaches, so does my sense of finality. It’s like college, I loved it and gained a lot from it, but eventually it’s time to move on. Granted, there are some aspects of this job that really stuck with me. I enjoy educating and helping people understand things, but I know that working in a classroom with a bunch of kids for the next fifty years isn’t the right path for me. Besides, if I’m going to teach abroad again, I’d like to see another part of the world. Still, this year was a priceless, and I wouldn’t have traded it for anything. How do I explain this to them?

Teacher Rochelle may be leaving them, but she has made one concession; I will finally add them all back on facbeook.

Same-t Same-t but Different

So this past week was the same ol' stuff but with a completely different twist. I technically followed a very familiar routine...

During the week I struggled to push my students and shouted until my voice became hoarse, then graded unit tests until my eyes blurred. However, I also did what I always do to perk myself up: I goofed around with my kids. They may be flakey, chatty and unwilling to learn, but Thai children are also bubbly, animated and so full of life... it's strangely inspiring. "Don't worry teecha," they say. I'm not.


I also made some time to hang out with my adult students and co-workers during the week. We went out to eat, and went to a local music club called B2. The kindness of my Thai friends is astounding... they make gifts, covertly pay the dinner bill, insist on giving rides home, and all for the pleasure of our company. I have never encountered generosity as genuine as I have found in some Thai people.




And this weekend, I went the one place I've been more than any other location in Thailand: Ko Samet. It's not far from where I live, and Samet has developed a sort of history and for me. I realized that because I had less than a month before my travel began, this would definitely be my last weekend on this lazy, beachy paradise. As I explained on an entry last year, there's something about Samet that emanates island serenity while maintaining a perpetually festive atmosphere amidst the glowing rainbow lanterns. There's nothing to do during the day except play with Sunshine the puppy, eat food, and read on the beach... and that's just perfect. As for the nighttime, yes, I jumped through that fire hoop.




What feels different about all these familiar activities? The lingering sensation of "this could be the last time I do this." It's unsettling and I'm not quite sure how to handle it besides keep on keepin' on.

Had to.

So this morning I rolled over in bed, swung my feet onto the ground and realized they were ankle-deep in rainwater. I felt a familiar mixture of confusion and amusement as I called the downstairs office. What happened in my room this morning is a perfect example of why Thailand will always embody "appearance over substance" for me. I've mentioned this in my blog before, about how obsessed with appearances my school is, to the point where it occasionally detracts from the actual education of the students. This notion is ubiquitous, and doesn't only apply to schools. The obsession with having a professional and beautiful exterior exists at every institution, be it educational, governmental or.... residential.

For the past year I've lived in a curious but comfortable place called the "Amata Mansion." Before you make assumptions, you should know that every apartment building in Thailand is called a "mansion" (perhaps because it sounds fancier than apartment). That being said, where I live is relatively nice, because it's designed as a hotel for the business owners of the Amata factories. I know the staff there, and they're lovely people, but the Mansion is guilty of some definite inefficiencies. The apartment always looks nice from the exterior, because they'll repaint the building before repairing something essential internally.

A few weeks ago, I spotted a man on my balcony, retiling the floor. The floor was perfectly fine before, with brick-red tiles and a large drain in the corner for siphoning rain. This man retiled the floor with some snazzy newer-looking tiles, and apparently decided that a drain would ruin the pristine aesthetic of his tile-job, so he simply covered it up. I was left with a completely enclosed balcony, with no drain (so basically a plugged bathtub) in the peak of rainy season. Last night it poured, and my plugged balcony filled with water, then spilled generously into my room. I awoke in a my own little bath pool.

I suppose this has only reinforced my belief in hardiness over illusion, that the foundation of something is what makes it great regardless of its external appearance. I find myself always considering the most logical and productive way of completing a task, and often contradicts with the procedures I encounter here. Many Westerners would agree that how something looks is inconsequential if it doesn't work. But Thailand is an appearance-driven culture. You are required to submit a photo for every job application here, because (as my student put it) "the way you look show who you are." My coordinators are focused on us looking "polite," giving the right impression and pleasing the parents, but the most effective way to educate falls by the wayside. I hope that they will improve on this system, before this one gets too plugged up.