notions. Students stare eagerly at the water retainer in the hope that
it will burst and flood the classroom. My mind joins them. Secrets count
down until the bell sounds. Until we are all alike. All free. I can feel
the heat of the noon sun even in here. It cooks the metal of the pen,
heats the soles of my self-shined shoes until the rocks no longer scrape
the ground as I walk. She sits in front of me, the woman charged with
"making us teachers." Words cannot express how happy I am to be a math
educator; to not have to deal with this teacher. Her voice, her
handwriting, and her ideas could easily be confused with a 10 year-old.
3 more minutes have gone. Still I wish for the open air. Even more so
now. Half an hour to lunch. 6 hours to dinner. 1 day till the weekend. 2
days till I can freely stretch my legs for the first time in 2 months. 2
weeks till training is over. Both a blessing and a curse. On my own, no
supervision, No curfew. No Americans, though. No friends, no confiders.
Only complete isolation. 106 weeks until we return to our lives in the
States. We will never be the same. Already I have changed. Already I
sense the difference between me and I. The twisting, turning, holding,
restructured and reinforced insides that compose the essence of my
humanity. I will miss this place, these people. But it is too far away
to be thinking about. Scratch that, no thinking about the limited nature
of my time here. Live for the perpetual moment. I live for the perpetual
here and now. Not for tomorrow. Use yesterday only as a static reference
point. Internalize the essence of here. Not outside.