Zen, part Two

When we last left our hero, he was brimming with optimism—the hope of a pleasant vacation to recharge the proverbial batteries and reboot the proverbial operating system on the horizon. (Is it obvious I recently had to take my computer to the Apple Store?) Alas, this happy ending was not in the cards…

That’s right. After writing about how low I had fallen during the fall, and writing about how optimistic I was going into the winter, I found myself crestfallen, perhaps lower and more downtrodden than ever before.

Why?

Well, I thought you’d never ask.

My Own Slice of Zen

Spoiler alert: This one’s all about me.

Aitch, Aay, Double El, Oh...

Another month, another six blogs I didn’t write.

Semester five is about halfway through, and at this point I’ve not written in an embarrassingly long time. Not that it is any consolation, but I have thought about writing. In fact, I have two half-written blogs from this month taking up space on my hard drive.

Not that any of that matters. What matters is what I publish. My lack of output is directly related to the amount of work I have this semester. I am teaching the PC-standard 16 hours per week. However, the overwhelming part is that of those 16 hours, I have seven different preps in a week. It is, in a word, yucky.

Despite having 553 things to do at all times, I have been feeling incredibly guilty due to my lack of updating. Combine that with a weird instance from last weekend and not yet writing a post about Halloween, here I am writing instead of grading the 120 midterms on my tea table.

Lights. Camera...

Stop me if you’ve heard this one: Once upon a time, th…

Oh. Okay. You’ve heard that one? Yeah… I thought so.

My Own Hyperbole and a Half

This week, in my writing classes, I did a lesson on hyperbole. I discussed with my students the cultural trend in American English to be hyperbolic. They didn’t know the word, but when I wrote “hyperbole” on the board, they were familiar with it (I’m perpetually grateful at the level of my students English; the average PCV doesn’t teach students at this advanced of an ability).

I had them think about the way I speak when I teach class. I asked them how often I use exaggerated adjectives and adverbs. I watched them all grin, because I do it often. Some of them even started muttering certain words I use the most, like “awesome” and “magnificent”.

At this point, the teacher in me is pleased. My students are understanding what I am saying, and are on board for where ever I want to go next. It is times like these that I love being a teacher.

Saving Summer: Shanghai

After six weeks on crutches, doing physical therapy, in a general state of inactivity, I was free. I know I mentioned it once already, but that’s where this story begins: pure elation at finally being free, and a train ride.

After being a part of the new trainee’s site-placement announcement, I wanted to depart from Chengdu as soon as possible. This meant taking the first available ticket: a hard seat. The longest hard seat I had taken was Lanzhou to Chengdu, clocking in at twenty-one hours; this hard seat took a whopping thirty-two (if you’re curious about the inner-workings of my psyche, I wrote that sentence with an impression of Mo).

Residential Malady

In my previous post, I mentioned an odd, but glad, feeling of homecoming upon returning to Lanzhou. I took that as a sign that I should upload a blog that I've been working on for some time. Full disclosure: I've written and rewritten this blog many times. I hope you enjoy it.

Jiayou!

One hour, fifty-eight minutes and twenty-six seconds.

One year.

One year ago, I said goodbye to the United States.

Running Through Xi'an

Also, it should please you
to know that I am treating
myself.

I did it. I ran a half-marathon. 

I've been reading a lot of "what to do after the marathon" blogs, and many of them talk about developing runner's depression after a race. They recommend that you wait a week before really reflecting on the race and what happened, so that's what I'm going to do. I'm going to wait a week before I try and write about it. 

Sorry if you came here today to read all about it... Stay tuned. In the meantime, enjoy another old post from before my VPN. This (hopefully) fascinating read is about my four-day, three-night trip to beautiful Xi'an over the winter holiday. 

En Route Reflections

As frustrated as I was during PST about not having the ability to post my blogs, this exercise of posting them months later has been quite delightful. I have enjoyed being able to look back and review/reflect on what I was going through. Even if the post was nothing more than a snapshot of the instant when my fingers were on the keys, it has been interesting to compare my thoughts and feelings from then to now. The following is one of those snapshots—digitally scribbled as I transitioned to the toughest job I'll ever love. 

And, as a blogistic note (you see what I did there??), the backlog of blogs is nearly finished. I'm ashamed to admit that I did not write a lot during my first semester of teaching. In the coming weeks, expect those blogs, then the most recent blogs about my travel and vacations. Hopefully, I'll be posting in real-time before the semester is over. 

Blink

Editor's note: I wrote this blog on 22 August.

Nearing the end of PST feels like I’m reliving the last month of college. Everyone is coming to the realisation that these times we cherish will not last forever. PST is only the beginning of our Peace Corps journey, and like the colon blinking on my alarm clock, every moment is gone in an instant, another taking its place. Every laugh, joke, memory: blinked away—the blinking of my clock no different than the blinking of my eyes...

Watching our language teachers blink away tears after laughing at my inspiring interpretive dance... My laughter later joining theirs when they ask me if I’ve ever had dance training—they noticed I pointed my toe really well...

Amidst various levels of singing, we blink through squints, trying to read the words on the KTV screen while belting like a karaoke champion...

Blinking astonishment from friends as I rap the entirety of Eminem’s “Without Me”, only looking back at the words once...

Cutting a moment’s blink in half, I flash a wink at a friend staring at me...

My computer is on the blink every time I attempt to send an email...

Blink.

Our group hangs on every second. I lose myself in thought, watching the blinking of my friend’s digital-faced watch. He never wears it in class—only leaves it sit on the table if he’s not spinning it around his pen.

With each blink, we get closer to saying goodbye to the friends we’ve made. Friends forged through like-minded aspirations, lengthy safety sessions and waiting... lots and lots of waiting...

Can you count how many blinks exist in a single day? Can one count the number of cultural interactions—somewhere on the spectrum of failure to success—we have faced? Each one helped us grow as individuals, but more so as friends.

Like eyelids, we were brought together. We have connected and bonded, but like each blink, we will now be separated. One cannot see with their eyes closed.