Feeling nostalgic, I started reading through my old posts from my first year teaching in Thailand, and it nearly brought tears to my eyes -- both tears of joy and longing. I'm incredibly grateful that I had taken the time to record some of the day to day occurrences while I still had the chance. Looking back at that time (especially when living in Asia was so new), there's no way for me to post-record some of my memories. I'll still relay some of my experiences in places I visited, things I've done, places I stayed at (posterity reasons), but nothing will replace the fresh memory of moments with locals, students, colleagues, and the random stranger. As years made the strange eventually familiar, my posts grew further apart, until there were literally years between posts. I wish I recorded more of my first moments in Seoul, Korea in 2016. Instead of taking time for blogging, I used other social media platforms to convey the quick moments -- Facebook and Instagram -- but nothing can replace the online journal, as laboriously relay snapshots of my life overseas.
While I do not make New Year's resolutions, I feel a need to declare my desire to write more often. Although "Hell is paved with good intentions," I feel secure in the knowledge that I am not on my way there. However, the sentiment is not lost on me -- intentions without action are meaningless. I will strive not to be meaningless with these intentions.
Some of my favorite memories I've read through involve my interactions with my beloved students (particularly my first class) -- that are now all adults -- but they sure were the cutest 8th graders I have ever had the privilege of teaching. They taught me how to laugh, forgive, relax, and love like no other.
I poured myself into my first class of 8th graders. It was my first year teaching, the first class I could intentionally influence, and they had a mind of their own! They had a living charisma, a personality I have never seen since. Granted, each class after them also had their own distinct personality, but nothing like my 8th grade class from 2010-11. Did I have favorites? Absolutely. This entire class was my favorite out of all the classes I taught. I could also say that about other classes for very different reasons. But they were my first love. I speculate it is similar to a mother who tells all her children they are each favorites. But a first-born....they have a special place simply for being first. A mother's love does not divide among her children, it multiplies. And I continued to love each class that came after my first, continued to hone my teaching skills based on previous classes.
One day, hopefully soon, I will find my favorites and laugh over the ridiculous antics that took place in the classroom. I hope above all hope that they don't grow up too much. We all need to remember what made us laugh with abandon. <3 br="">
While I do not make New Year's resolutions, I feel a need to declare my desire to write more often. Although "Hell is paved with good intentions," I feel secure in the knowledge that I am not on my way there. However, the sentiment is not lost on me -- intentions without action are meaningless. I will strive not to be meaningless with these intentions.
Some of my favorite memories I've read through involve my interactions with my beloved students (particularly my first class) -- that are now all adults -- but they sure were the cutest 8th graders I have ever had the privilege of teaching. They taught me how to laugh, forgive, relax, and love like no other.
I poured myself into my first class of 8th graders. It was my first year teaching, the first class I could intentionally influence, and they had a mind of their own! They had a living charisma, a personality I have never seen since. Granted, each class after them also had their own distinct personality, but nothing like my 8th grade class from 2010-11. Did I have favorites? Absolutely. This entire class was my favorite out of all the classes I taught. I could also say that about other classes for very different reasons. But they were my first love. I speculate it is similar to a mother who tells all her children they are each favorites. But a first-born....they have a special place simply for being first. A mother's love does not divide among her children, it multiplies. And I continued to love each class that came after my first, continued to hone my teaching skills based on previous classes.
One day, hopefully soon, I will find my favorites and laugh over the ridiculous antics that took place in the classroom. I hope above all hope that they don't grow up too much. We all need to remember what made us laugh with abandon. <3 br="">
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