I know that this is being posted on the 28th, but I wrote it the 23rd, thus the title.
I know that at 22 years old as a
white American girl who’s been financially supported her whole life and has an
astoundingly large support system, I am the last person eligible to expound on
the nature of life, love, and all the silliness that comes in between. What I’m
really saying here is that I have as many qualifications to run a blog as a
banana does to work at the Ritz Carlton. Even if you put the banana in suit.
But, as you may or may have not noticed, the glaring lack of credentials has
yet to stop me from jumping on my (occasionally amusing) soap box. I’m also
aware my last couple of posts have been rather melancholy, and I can’t
necessarily promise a change in the scheduled programming. But today, at least,
I think I can give you a small snap shot of what life is like without getting
too bogged down in my own ennui.
The last, oh, three-ish months
(July, June, May) have been intermittently plagued with fear in one form or
another. Fear of not finding a place I fit, mostly. I’ve made a conscious
decision to be nomadic, devoid of any roots to a physical place, in the face of
a constant longing to belong. Am I looking for a place whose roots will swallow
me, anchor me in place? Or am I attaching to nothing because of a nebulous fear
that I might latch onto the wrong something? Perhaps I swallowed the Hegelian
declaration “Something is nothing,” an existential crisis of nihilism I’ve
logicked myself into, and cannot follow Hegel out. That bit right there about
Hegel I actually wrote in my Marxim class in May, and it’s basically been truer
this last month than it was when I wrote it.
Perhaps I should backtrack. I’m
currently taking a TEFL course at The Language House, and it’s… intense and a
little cult-like. I mean, it makes sense, logically. We spend eleven to twelve
hours together in some capacity or another, we’re all going through THE EXACT
SAME THING, we’re supporting each other while simultaneously competing, there’s
a very strict methodology we have to imbed in our brains, we’ve been instilled
with a terror of failure, we’re never quite certain what’s going on, and the
two people in charge are charming as all get out. The owner and the director,
who are best friends and charming men in their own right, are at the head of
all this, and (shockingly) have become something like supreme leaders. That’s
not to say it’s not an excellent program – because it is. The progress everyone
has made in a month is nothing short of miraculous, and while I’m loud,
comfortable in front of crowds, and full of enough bullshit I could have
feasibly gotten a job teaching without this certificate, I’m so glad I did
this. By now, this teaching thing is old hat. The first week was rather
discouraging, as I sucked in
comparison to another girl in my group and was having such a hard time keeping
all the balls in the air (don’t be filthy). The second week, though, it really
clicked when I had a group of advanced students who were incredibly forgiving
and a great observer. This week – the last week of teaching – I’m with a group
that “does not have the fantasy.” This is one of those weird in-jokes that any
small, tight group comes up with, or in our case, one of the clever things our
supreme leader says and everyone latches onto because it’s so damn right. The methodology we’re learning, we try to end
classes with a role-playing game. Not like Dungeons and Dragons (which I’ve
recently started playing!), but the students have to be willing to play along
with roles or silly scenarios you give them. Last week I had my advanced
students pretending to be hobos, complete with crumpled up (paper) beer cans.
This group, though, they do not have the fantasy. They won’t play. Had I had
them the first week, I think I would have cried. This week, fuck it. I’ve also
found that applying the survival mechanism I used at Chili’s (feign stupidity
compensated for by overenthusiasm) is an excellent way to be less intimidating to a
group of skittish students.
If you look at the last two
entries, you’ll also notice that my own self doubt isn’t being assuaged by
being back in Prague. It feels terribly clichéd to be disillusioned in Prague of all places – stalking around
the Old Town, weaving in and out of tourists who have the balls to be enchanted here – but as I have pointed out to more
than one person already, it’s not like personal crises exist only inside the
borders of one’s native land. In short, because we’ve covered the topic enough
already, I don’t know what I’m doing here, but I wouldn’t know what I was doing
in Denver, either. As a very goal oriented person, I have no goal beyond “pay
rent,” which is not a goal that helps me sleep at night. The goal being
repeatedly suggested to me is that I make traveling as many places as possible
my goal, but that’s not exactly a life plan I can see myself being absorbed
with for more than a couple months. I suppose the easiest solution is “find a
man, start a family, choke your inner monologue with a substance abuse habit.”
Which also isn’t something I’m interested in.
There have been, though, some nice
moments. Having this whole teaching nonsense click was a one. This time around
I’m intentionally staying single, and being independent in a foreign city,
challenging though it may be, is a short and excellent path to empowerment. And
when people say “intentionally single,” most often they actually mean that
there are no options worthy of their romantic affections. Or, even more than
that, I think, there are simply no options to be had, and “intentionally
single” is one of those little fictions we tell ourselves to make the empty
side of the bed seem less cold. I promise you, though, that’s not the case. I
realize this is sort of bragging, but it’s a big step for me, as a person, to
intentionally choose “single” over “taken.” They aren’t exactly beating down my
door (maybe because they don’t know where my door is), but there is already a
small smattering of gentleman who if given a half an opportunity, would try
their damnedest. Which is all you can really ask when English is their second
language. So that’s a nice confidence boost, as well. Though how much of it
comes from who I am as a person and how much of it is me being a pretty
American paying the least bit of attention to them is a matter of debate. On
the flip side of that, all the relationships I had here the first time around
are comfortably concluded. It’s nice to not have any open doors letting a draft
into this new chapter, as I cannot fathom having the energy right now to
definitively close or open them.
So, if you’d like, I present to you
this small snapshot of what my life is like. I live in the Lucerna building,
which is basically a small mall on the main street, and puts me in the middle
of everything. During the week, I walk about ten minutes to the school, where
we take our classes until 1, at which point we have free time to plan until
class at 5. I’ve made a smattering of friends, and for the most part everyone
gets along and it’s not an unpleasant place to be – even in the face of all the
stress. I spend most of my time with Ian and Casey, a couple with plans to move
to China in September, and Helen, the British girl who’d lost her luggage and
has an excellent sense of humor. Fridays we go out with the program, and
Saturdays I work as a club promoter/bar crawl tour guide, which has given me
ample opportunity to be charming and/or embarrass the hell out of myself
(sometimes simultaneously). Sundays we try to play D&D, then Monday the
whole damn thing starts over. Of course, the program finishes Friday, so god
knows what happens on Monday.
And fyi – I still have no idea what
I’m doing.
