Yesterday, a student had a birthday. As usual, everybody began shouting the Happy Birthday Song, including the addition, "Ya queremos pastel, ya queremos pastel..." ("We want some cake...") and then, as apparently they were really into it, they added on another extra verse, which I really couldn't understand. Then they went through one more rousing version of the original song. (Singing Happy Birthday is a great way to waste time. IST students are very savvy when it comes to time-wasting strategies.)
After the song, I told my students that while I can speak Spanish quite well, I've always had trouble understanding spoken Spanish and even more trouble with sung Spanish. I've told them I can speak it a number of times before, but with their record of paying attention, this caught a number of them by surprise. So one student, Roberto, wanted to see how I well I could speak. He told me to say the word "ferrocarril," which means railroad, and apparently is difficult to say because of the double r not once but twice - that rr is very hard for gringos to get their tongues around, apparently.
I said it practically spot on. Everybody was impressed. I'm just glad Eduardo didn't speak up to have me say his name, because I have a much harder time with that - the d's and r's next to each other get me every time.
I still have a hard time understanding singing, though.
Friday, November 20, 2009
Thursday, November 19, 2009
...and I'm still struggling
It's been another really difficult week. The depression is manifesting itself really strongly. I have little desire to do anything, yet I still have to prepare lessons and teach them every day. Some friends are planning to go to Guatemala for Thanksgiving break, and I know I should go, but really don't have any desire to. I'm struggling to find motivation to do anything. I'm once again flirting (more than flirting, really) with the idea of staying home after Christmas. If I'm having such trouble, it seems foolish to go to my home, the center of love in my life, and then leave it again. It would be so much easier, I feel, to get myself better there.
It's starting to manifest itself in the form of crying and whatnot lately, as well. I'm a crier in general, but I really haven't done much while I've been down here. This week I have been.
With God's grace, I will have a doctor's appointment this evening. Oh, I hope he can do something for me. I know people who have certainly had much more crippling depression than what I must be going through, but this right now is shit anyway.
It's a lot of work to keep reminding myself it's not my fault. That and sleep take up much of my time these days. (I was in bed by 8 last night.)
Monday and Tuesday I received many pieces of love from people back home and down here. It made a big difference, but unfortunately only momentarily. This stuff is tenacious. Still, I thank you all once again for your prayers and thoughts and words of encouragement.
I wish this blog could be the varied, exciting, picture-filled thing I'd envisioned it to be, but nonetheless I'm glad it exists as a means of mass communicatin'.
It's starting to manifest itself in the form of crying and whatnot lately, as well. I'm a crier in general, but I really haven't done much while I've been down here. This week I have been.
With God's grace, I will have a doctor's appointment this evening. Oh, I hope he can do something for me. I know people who have certainly had much more crippling depression than what I must be going through, but this right now is shit anyway.
It's a lot of work to keep reminding myself it's not my fault. That and sleep take up much of my time these days. (I was in bed by 8 last night.)
Monday and Tuesday I received many pieces of love from people back home and down here. It made a big difference, but unfortunately only momentarily. This stuff is tenacious. Still, I thank you all once again for your prayers and thoughts and words of encouragement.
I wish this blog could be the varied, exciting, picture-filled thing I'd envisioned it to be, but nonetheless I'm glad it exists as a means of mass communicatin'.
Sunday, November 15, 2009
...but I can still get help from the States (as well as down here)
While I won't say my decision is completely made by this point, something inside of me is telling me I ought to be here for longer than one semester. I don't believe that God would call me down here to try to lead my students for four months and then leave them to other, untested teaching for the remainder of the year. I believe that God wants me to teach these students for a reason, but I don't believe I'm capable of teaching them what and how He's calling me to teach them in the state I am right now.
I am depressed; there is no denying that. I can barely control my use of the computer for relatively frivolous things. People I haven't known before coming down here can tell there is some sort of pall over me; despite my best efforts to be the wacky and punny guy I've been since high school (and relative success, for a depressed version of that guy), it's apparent to people that there's more where that came from, but I'm just not in a position to let that out these days. How much more effective of a teacher could I be if I were able to let go of this incomprehensible weight of depression on me, my mind, and my personality! How much more creative and authentically dynamic could I be in the classroom if the chemicals in my brain were at the proper levels! How much might I actually want to be here if I didn't have extenuating psychological circumstances at work in my head!
I had an extremely meaningful conversation on Tuesday with a fellow English teacher who actually has struggled with depression herself for many years. She assured me of the difference therapy and medicine can make, and assured me of the difference I could make in my students' English experience if I could get myself healed. She opened up the possibility of communicating with a therapist and physician over the internet, an idea I had never before entertained. (As tech savvy and internet-oriented as I may be, I very much prefer and value face-to-face contact.) So this weekend, I am pursuing a couple of leads I got from other friends back in the states, hoping I might be able to get recommendations on how I might wisely foray into the world of depression medication, which I can obtain down here without a prescription.
Don't worry, fair readers. I will be prudent. I won't rashly embark on this psychological renovation. I do, however want to expedite it as much as possible. I want assurance that I can positively change while down here and embrace my situation before I have to return home for Christmas. If I don't see promise of improvement, I may have to remain home and seek more intense help. But if I can get the help I need from a distance, then that is certainly the way to go.
At any rate, life this past week has been a vast improvement over the week previous, which led to my most recent blog post.
It all started on Tuesday, when I tied my bow tie as perfectly as I ever have on my first try and my hair fell in an acceptable manner without the use of product (yes, my vanity has a great effect on my outlook on life). I taught a great lesson on voice in writing that included sharing with my students an ancient blog post some of my readers from Xanga days may recall (though I will not share here - suffice it to say it was girl-angsty and left my students with sundry questions about my past). I had the aforementioned conversation with my fellow English teacher.
Wednesday's school day concluded with a "pep rally" for the school's basketball teams, who competed in a tournament this weekend. I was filled with disturbing (for my students, at least) amounts of pep.
Thursday I talked to my stepmom on the phone and enjoyed the night's television offerings as well as the radio offerings of Super100 (100.1 FM, your source for music from the 70s, 80s, 90s, and 00s in surprisingly apt playlistings, not to mention commercials no more than every half hour), which consisted of a solid 3 hours of Billy Joel music. When they say Three for Thursday (they don't say Three for Thursday, they speak Spanish down here), they don't mean three songs by an artist, but three hours of an artist, apparently. I've said before how much I appreciate hearing a song I like on the radio; well, imagine this appreciation multiplied by who-knows-how-many times.
Friday evening, five of us embarked on a food-and-basketball excursion. I had food plans all lined up and they were a surprise to almost all of my compatriots - I'd learned of a restaurant called The Wing Factory, and my friend Kristin had had an unfortunate turn of wing events the previous weekend, so I was hoping this would make up for it. It did. The Wing Factory is now my favorite restaurant in Tegus, with its triple play of food, ambiance, and musical choices. I shall return shortly. It is also relatively close to the American School, where the basketball tournament was held. We forewent the possibly-prudent taxi ride and walked the perhaps one mile to the school, balancing on the curb along a busy boulevard, racing across a deceptively not-busy intersection right in front of the one car turning onto it, hike up a ridiculous hill, and then pass through the beautiful-even-in-the-night campus of the American School. Our varsity team was playing a team from San Pedro Sula, and getting creamed even in the 2nd quarter. It was 2-22 when we walked in.
Honduran basketball is something to behold. Every pass is lofted with the strength of a half-court shot, simple breakaway layups are missed, and ball-handling is so clumsy I truly believe the players wouldn't do much worse if they were trying to do everything with their feet. The cultural preference of soccer is painfully apparent when watching this U.S.-created game. However, I had a blast cheering on my students, one of whom scored half of his team's total 8 points by the end of the game. (The other team ended up with 50-some points.) Despite the blowout, Nelson told me after the game it was the proudest day of his life, and though I suspect he was honestly proud of himself, I feel he may have been exaggerating a little bit. At any rate, it was a fabulous evening topped off with a half-hour ride home with 8 people in the back of a pickup.
The rest of the weekend has been fairly lazy, but I am feeling confident of my work ethic for the rest of the day. I'm loving the Scarlet Letter, and many of my students are surprisingly into it, too. Thanksgiving's 5-day weekend is a mere 8 school days away, and I'm eager to get help for the future. I know depression still has a hold on me, but it has loosened its grip for several days and given me breathing room enough to hopefully make a significant change in my life.
I appreciate the prayers you all have been sending up for me; I believe that this bright point in my time down here is a direct result of them. Please keep them going, and I will do my part to hopefully continue improving.
I am depressed; there is no denying that. I can barely control my use of the computer for relatively frivolous things. People I haven't known before coming down here can tell there is some sort of pall over me; despite my best efforts to be the wacky and punny guy I've been since high school (and relative success, for a depressed version of that guy), it's apparent to people that there's more where that came from, but I'm just not in a position to let that out these days. How much more effective of a teacher could I be if I were able to let go of this incomprehensible weight of depression on me, my mind, and my personality! How much more creative and authentically dynamic could I be in the classroom if the chemicals in my brain were at the proper levels! How much might I actually want to be here if I didn't have extenuating psychological circumstances at work in my head!
I had an extremely meaningful conversation on Tuesday with a fellow English teacher who actually has struggled with depression herself for many years. She assured me of the difference therapy and medicine can make, and assured me of the difference I could make in my students' English experience if I could get myself healed. She opened up the possibility of communicating with a therapist and physician over the internet, an idea I had never before entertained. (As tech savvy and internet-oriented as I may be, I very much prefer and value face-to-face contact.) So this weekend, I am pursuing a couple of leads I got from other friends back in the states, hoping I might be able to get recommendations on how I might wisely foray into the world of depression medication, which I can obtain down here without a prescription.
Don't worry, fair readers. I will be prudent. I won't rashly embark on this psychological renovation. I do, however want to expedite it as much as possible. I want assurance that I can positively change while down here and embrace my situation before I have to return home for Christmas. If I don't see promise of improvement, I may have to remain home and seek more intense help. But if I can get the help I need from a distance, then that is certainly the way to go.
At any rate, life this past week has been a vast improvement over the week previous, which led to my most recent blog post.
It all started on Tuesday, when I tied my bow tie as perfectly as I ever have on my first try and my hair fell in an acceptable manner without the use of product (yes, my vanity has a great effect on my outlook on life). I taught a great lesson on voice in writing that included sharing with my students an ancient blog post some of my readers from Xanga days may recall (though I will not share here - suffice it to say it was girl-angsty and left my students with sundry questions about my past). I had the aforementioned conversation with my fellow English teacher.
Wednesday's school day concluded with a "pep rally" for the school's basketball teams, who competed in a tournament this weekend. I was filled with disturbing (for my students, at least) amounts of pep.
Thursday I talked to my stepmom on the phone and enjoyed the night's television offerings as well as the radio offerings of Super100 (100.1 FM, your source for music from the 70s, 80s, 90s, and 00s in surprisingly apt playlistings, not to mention commercials no more than every half hour), which consisted of a solid 3 hours of Billy Joel music. When they say Three for Thursday (they don't say Three for Thursday, they speak Spanish down here), they don't mean three songs by an artist, but three hours of an artist, apparently. I've said before how much I appreciate hearing a song I like on the radio; well, imagine this appreciation multiplied by who-knows-how-many times.
Friday evening, five of us embarked on a food-and-basketball excursion. I had food plans all lined up and they were a surprise to almost all of my compatriots - I'd learned of a restaurant called The Wing Factory, and my friend Kristin had had an unfortunate turn of wing events the previous weekend, so I was hoping this would make up for it. It did. The Wing Factory is now my favorite restaurant in Tegus, with its triple play of food, ambiance, and musical choices. I shall return shortly. It is also relatively close to the American School, where the basketball tournament was held. We forewent the possibly-prudent taxi ride and walked the perhaps one mile to the school, balancing on the curb along a busy boulevard, racing across a deceptively not-busy intersection right in front of the one car turning onto it, hike up a ridiculous hill, and then pass through the beautiful-even-in-the-night campus of the American School. Our varsity team was playing a team from San Pedro Sula, and getting creamed even in the 2nd quarter. It was 2-22 when we walked in.
Honduran basketball is something to behold. Every pass is lofted with the strength of a half-court shot, simple breakaway layups are missed, and ball-handling is so clumsy I truly believe the players wouldn't do much worse if they were trying to do everything with their feet. The cultural preference of soccer is painfully apparent when watching this U.S.-created game. However, I had a blast cheering on my students, one of whom scored half of his team's total 8 points by the end of the game. (The other team ended up with 50-some points.) Despite the blowout, Nelson told me after the game it was the proudest day of his life, and though I suspect he was honestly proud of himself, I feel he may have been exaggerating a little bit. At any rate, it was a fabulous evening topped off with a half-hour ride home with 8 people in the back of a pickup.
The rest of the weekend has been fairly lazy, but I am feeling confident of my work ethic for the rest of the day. I'm loving the Scarlet Letter, and many of my students are surprisingly into it, too. Thanksgiving's 5-day weekend is a mere 8 school days away, and I'm eager to get help for the future. I know depression still has a hold on me, but it has loosened its grip for several days and given me breathing room enough to hopefully make a significant change in my life.
I appreciate the prayers you all have been sending up for me; I believe that this bright point in my time down here is a direct result of them. Please keep them going, and I will do my part to hopefully continue improving.
Monday, November 2, 2009
This weekend I decided to honestly, seriously consider the possibility of staying in the States when I come back home for Christmas. I have started talking with the people who are most important to discuss this with - tomorrow I'm hoping to talk with my principal about possibilities and feasibility, as well as call home to my dad.
I am simply not happy here. I have started feeling more successful as a teacher in the first week and a half of the new quarter, but my apathy still runs rampant. I know things I have to do and don't do them. I cannot rely on the excuse of ignorance any more and must simply come clean that I am shirking responsibilities.
However, despite how much I may complain about school and teaching, that's not the reason I want to return home. I understand that I would be complaining and toying with the idea of quitting right about now no matter where I'd be teaching. I have said numerous times that I truly do love my kids. I can't stand them at given times. But given the choice between loving them and not loving them, I have to go with loving them. All of this is not pushing me home.
I am depressed. I honestly think I am suffering from depression. Clinical, pill-popping depression. I would really like to be examined and diagnosed. Despite all the good in my world that I can acknowledge, I am not happy. I do not feel content, and I have no concept of what direction I could take in search of contentment. My free time, deserved or hacked out of time that should be spent working, is almost constantly spent on the internet, trying to connect with U.S. culture - reading news, watching TV shows, investigating new music or movie releases that I don't even have a hope of listening to or seeing - or sleeping. Over the last couple of weeks, I have really started feeling far too tired for my lifestyle. I am not overworked like you may expect from a first year of teaching. Yet I feel constantly tired. I am taking naps without even intending to - falling asleep while doing other things: I'm turning into my father!
Now, I'm sure I would feel depressed, be depressed, whatever terminology you want to use, even were I in the States. However, I would feel much better and comfortable in my situation to be depressed in the States, where I can surround myself with family and be in familiar territory than to be depressed in Honduras, where everything is still needlessly frustrating and I have yet to feel like a part of the community down here. I appreciate the people down here - nearly all of them are wonderful in their own regard, and the others are probably wonderful but I just can't see past the faults I have set up in my mind relating to them. But I have not felt, or let myself feel, like a part of the community. I don't love them like I love my RA staff or my Project Neighborhood house. I know those communities took effort and time to feel the way I remember them, but this is most certainly different.
I begrudgingly followed God's call down here. I honestly think something that could be called "God's work" has transpired because of what I have done down here. But I am looking for, hoping for a new call back home. I have not been able to rest in God's peace while down here. I feel more distant from God than I have in a long time, to be honest. I have not truly been able to possess a worshipful spirit while down here. Certainly these problems are not God's; he is infallible. But I believe he wants me to be able to feel close to him. I believe he does not want me to feel plagued by depression. I believe that by returning home I will be in a better position to work toward this.
Certainly this is not a done deal. My decision at this point is to simply actually discuss the possibility with people that matter rather than just let my fancies grow in my mind. Perhaps these discussions will lead me back to Honduras. Perhaps not. I'm once again seeking God's call, and I pray I will be able to hear it.
I am simply not happy here. I have started feeling more successful as a teacher in the first week and a half of the new quarter, but my apathy still runs rampant. I know things I have to do and don't do them. I cannot rely on the excuse of ignorance any more and must simply come clean that I am shirking responsibilities.
However, despite how much I may complain about school and teaching, that's not the reason I want to return home. I understand that I would be complaining and toying with the idea of quitting right about now no matter where I'd be teaching. I have said numerous times that I truly do love my kids. I can't stand them at given times. But given the choice between loving them and not loving them, I have to go with loving them. All of this is not pushing me home.
I am depressed. I honestly think I am suffering from depression. Clinical, pill-popping depression. I would really like to be examined and diagnosed. Despite all the good in my world that I can acknowledge, I am not happy. I do not feel content, and I have no concept of what direction I could take in search of contentment. My free time, deserved or hacked out of time that should be spent working, is almost constantly spent on the internet, trying to connect with U.S. culture - reading news, watching TV shows, investigating new music or movie releases that I don't even have a hope of listening to or seeing - or sleeping. Over the last couple of weeks, I have really started feeling far too tired for my lifestyle. I am not overworked like you may expect from a first year of teaching. Yet I feel constantly tired. I am taking naps without even intending to - falling asleep while doing other things: I'm turning into my father!
Now, I'm sure I would feel depressed, be depressed, whatever terminology you want to use, even were I in the States. However, I would feel much better and comfortable in my situation to be depressed in the States, where I can surround myself with family and be in familiar territory than to be depressed in Honduras, where everything is still needlessly frustrating and I have yet to feel like a part of the community down here. I appreciate the people down here - nearly all of them are wonderful in their own regard, and the others are probably wonderful but I just can't see past the faults I have set up in my mind relating to them. But I have not felt, or let myself feel, like a part of the community. I don't love them like I love my RA staff or my Project Neighborhood house. I know those communities took effort and time to feel the way I remember them, but this is most certainly different.
I begrudgingly followed God's call down here. I honestly think something that could be called "God's work" has transpired because of what I have done down here. But I am looking for, hoping for a new call back home. I have not been able to rest in God's peace while down here. I feel more distant from God than I have in a long time, to be honest. I have not truly been able to possess a worshipful spirit while down here. Certainly these problems are not God's; he is infallible. But I believe he wants me to be able to feel close to him. I believe he does not want me to feel plagued by depression. I believe that by returning home I will be in a better position to work toward this.
Certainly this is not a done deal. My decision at this point is to simply actually discuss the possibility with people that matter rather than just let my fancies grow in my mind. Perhaps these discussions will lead me back to Honduras. Perhaps not. I'm once again seeking God's call, and I pray I will be able to hear it.
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