Tuesday, June 06, 2006

Reefs



The rain drips froma rippled tin roof
A rooster crows in the middle of this dark, wet night
And I can hear the flop of my flip flops

The barbed wire fence is no longer foreign
Nor the toilet paper in the wastebasket
These are my thoughts as I flip flop home.

The Geko sings and reminds me of its presence
I hope it eats any mosquitos in my house
I flip and flop against the background of chirping crickets

The grass is wet but my toes are dry
I could get used to this place
Flipping and flopping along the more than rocky path

The firefly is passing by my window
My favorite color bursts and dims
As I flop flop flop to my front door.

The dog fight starts: yelps and barks,
Then distant barks and growls
And the flop is silenced when I turn the key--
This is my key, my apartment, my waterjug

The dogs are quiet
Silence. No silence.
There is always a flip flop in my head

I click click the pen
I click click the light
Ruffle up my pillow and flip flop in bed--
The barking dogs quiet my head.

Cacoon


The analyzation process of my mind never really goes away, but sometimes it is annoyingly strong. Usually it is a pattern that I could mathematically figure out to an extent if I wanted to. But so far I haven't wanted to.
School ended last Friday, the same day as my mom’s birthday (happy bday mom!) and from that time, or maybe a little before…my mind has been analyzing things in its deep analytical state of being.

About two weeks ago, I finally started to connect with one of my students, Tania. Up until that point, she was #11 on my favorites list. She wasn’t a very good student, but she wasn’t a very bad one either. One of the middle floaters. I finally clicked with her on a personal level, that is to say, outside the classroom. Well, recess. I would start tickling her or smiling and she responded in a similar manner. Then, this past week during exams, she would arrive early and sit at her desk (or on top of it like I do with mine) and study with another friend.

The grades on her exams were evidence of the change taking place in her. She didn’t get 100s on all of them, but she did on one. She still ended up with B’s on her report card, but she moved up on my list of favorites. (I doubt that counts for much in your world, but it does in mine)

From this experience, I better understand why teachers do what they do for so long and so little pay. To see change happen right before your eyes and to know that even though you aren’t completely responsible for it, you played a part; it is one of the most beautiful things in life.

Sometimes I wonder if I am making much of a difference at all here. I’m not an experienced teacher, I have yet to figure out how to effectively discipline my kids, and sometimes I just really want some Chic-Fila and sweet tea. Or Aniello’s pizza or Gina’s pasta and bean soup. And the thoughts of what I miss overbear the thoughts of real purpose.

Most change is hard to see. It takes long, it hurts, it smacks us in the face. Especially when it is change within ourselves. We have to fight ourselves. One desire is punching another desire right now inside me.

Outside my comfort zone of North Carolina (even though I’m starting to create a new one here in Sigua) I’m realizing a lot about who I am. Most of it right now is in the stage before words. The metamorphosis process where the creature is inside the cocoon, behind closed doors, waiting for the moment when it is ready to express itself in a form the rest of the world can understand. That’s me right now – knowing that behind my newly tanned (yet still so white) skin, something is changing. And although at times I cannot understand myself and I often don’t want to accept who I really am deep down inside, life has its own way of seeing in me what I saw in Tania – that people are not only capable of change, they are made for it.