Why? Are You Writing a Book?

Picture this: It's the end of a long day of teaching, you are absolutely tuckered out and can't wait to get home. Ahead of you lies an hour-long commute by various modes of transportation. To pass the time while sitting on the bus, you are texting and playing games on your cell phone.

Suddenly, a woman gets up from her seat and walks towards the exit door. She rudely shouts out to the driver, "Stop the bus, please!" You glance up to see if the "STOPPING" sign is illuminated; if it is, the bus driver made a mistake. If it isn't, the woman is just crazy and rude.

The sign is illuminated, but further glancing reveals that we are not actually AT the stop yet. Unexpectedly, the bus screams to a halt. This is no ordinary okay, driving here is a bit crazy and the cars come within inches of each other and swerve to avoid all manner of things kind of stop. This is a slamming of breaks, oh look, there's a car IN FRONT of the bus and we're about to hit it and I can see the driver because we're about to T-bone it kind of stop.

But just as suddenly, your attention is diverted from the near-accident. The woman is standing in front of you, and you have the following conversation:

Woman: "do you have a cigarette, luv?"
You: "no, sorry."
Woman: "do you smoke?"
You: "no."
Woman: *pauses*  "how old are you?"

I'm sorry, is that relevant? But you're a bit taken aback by her blunt questioning, and it seems impolite not to answer. Plus, she is now leaning uncomfortably close to you and she reeks of cigarette smoke with undertones of gross-ness. So you answer her, thinking it might be the most expedient way of ending the conversation.

You: "um, I'm 27."
Woman: "what do you do?"
You: "I'm a teacher."
Woman: "a teacher?" 
You: "yes"
Woman: *pauses*  "clever girl"

At this moment, the bus pulls into the stop and the door opens. The woman abruptly turns around and exits the bus, at which point she asks the first person she sees if they have a cigarette. You wonder to yourself if she's going to have the same interrogative conversation with every person she attempts to bum a cigarette from.


As the bus pulls away, one other thought crosses your mind: in the immortal words of my Poppo, "Why? Are you writing a book?"

A Walking Disaster

In case I've been giving the impression that my life here is just peachy and everything is wonderful all the time, I'm writing today to set the record straight.

Truthfully, there are a lot of aspects of my life here that I do quite enjoy. There's always something going on, if I feel like checking out the town. I'm quite happy to be forced to do so much walking (and so is my waistline). My roommates are great and I've made a few more friends. My room is spacious and my bed is pretty comfortable. Life in London is good!

But I have to be honest, there are darker moments. There have been minutes / hours / days when I question myself, my choices and my vocation. I wonder if I'm really meant to be a teacher (or rather, whether I want to be a teacher anymore). I wonder why the heck I thought it was a good idea to move so far away from everything I know.

I'm not homesick. At least not in the way I've felt homesickness before. Heck, I've only been here two-and-a-half weeks; my heart is still in vacation-mode! But there are things I wish I still had. Friends' faces I wish I could see. Dinners with my family I wish I could share. A job I left that I'm only realizing now how much I loved. If only I could somehow mesh my lives - all of the best parts of Canada magically shipped over so that they existed here.

Apart from that, I'm still me. And, true to clumsy-Angela form, mishaps occur.

~~~~~

I was on my way to work on Friday morning, purse on my shoulder, my "everything I need today" bag in my hand. The first few portions of my walk-tube-walk-train-walk-bus-walk trip was complete, and I was about to catch my bus. The only glitch was that my bus stop had closed down the day before, so I was searching for an alternate stop. Crossing the street at a crosswalk, still craning my eyes to search for said stop, I was distracted by an approaching car that screeched to a halt at its red light (which the driver clearly noticed at the last minute). In that moment of distraction, my foot found a pothole in the ground and BOOM, I was sprawled in the middle of the street, belongings (and shoes) strewn around me.

Now, for those of you in Canada, I need to paint a bit of a picture for you. This is NOT North America. Pedestrians do NOT have the right-of-way in any and all situations. If you are crossing the street by foot, and a car is coming, it will NOT slow down for you. It will careen past, nearly missing you, honking all the while. And if you REALLY get in the way, the driver will stop the car, get out and yell at you for being in the way. Plus, the green-walk signs at the crosswalks are VERY short, so there's really no time allowance for crawling across a street while strangers pick up your belongings and you try to put your shoes back on.

In a panic, I managed to get to the side of the road, reassemble myself and my bags, and assure the friendly people that I was fine (I was not, but that's what you say when you're mortified). Still on a mission to find the bus stop (and still not knowing if it's going to even be there), I hobbled a block up the street. Fortunately, it wasn't too far, and the bus WAS listed, so I breathed a sigh of relief and sat on the tiny bus bench (picture a slightly slanted metal bar about 6 inches wide).

Immediately, nausea and panic swept over me. It's hard to describe what came over me, but a wave of black seemed to take over my consciousness, and I thought for sure I was going to pass out. The only conscious thought I could form was that I was NOT okay and I could not take care of myself. I began to worry about what would happen to me and my stuff if I did pass out at the bus stop. I considered stumbling into a nearby shop to seek help, but then the bus came. After a moment's consideration, I decided that a bus driver (in my eyes, a member of public service) could in fact be the best person to turn to if I did come to the point of not being able to care for myself.

It is a strange feeling to know that you are not well and not able to help yourself. I'm such an independent person that it is inconceivable that I might not be able to do things for myself and that I might need to put myself in the hands of a stranger in order to be okay. Frightening.

Anyway, I got on the bus. By this time, I had remembered the bottle of water I was carrying so I was drinking that. After about 20 minutes, I started to feel a bit better. Mind you, the pain in my right ankle (and my left knee, and my right thigh) was throbbing and I was constantly worried that someone was going to jar it again. I was sweating and peeling layers (scarf, jacket, etc.), with nowhere to put them but my own lap. Needless to say, it was probably the least comfortable 20 minutes of my life!

Finally my bus reached my destination. Gingerly testing my ankle, I hopped off the bus and limped up to the school. I've been there for two weeks now, so I'm well-known by the staff. My partner teacher and TA helped me with plasters (band-aids) and an ice pack. By the time the kids came in, the cold pack was wrapped tightly around my ankle, secured with my bright pink scarf (that's hot...).

The students were all my "helpers" for the day, retrieving items and putting things away. They were also very sweet about making sure I was "okay" and asking how I was doing.

The teachers urged me to go to the Hospital to get it x-rayed and checked out. Apparently, I can write to the Council for compensation if the hole I tripped in was "larger than a 50p coin" (which it DEFINITELY is). But I don't have my National Insurance Number yet (which means I'm not registered as a local to receive health benefits). I could use the travel insurance I purchased in Canada before I left, but it just seems like too much of a hassle when the doctor is just going to tell me to ice it and keep it up. I can think of those things all by myself...

Two days later, I'm still not walking properly. I'm a lot better than I was on Friday, but I'm still limping and don't have full range of motion in my ankle. Hopefully it's better again tomorrow, since I won't be able to sit around all day to rest it!

Overheard by a Canadian: Episode 4

In a Year 1 class, while discussing "double number sentences" (eg. 2+2=4, for those of you non-teachers!)

Me: "Could you make a double number sentence with the answer being 5?"

Student: "Yes."

Me: [giving the 'try again' face]. "Really?"

Student: "two-and-a-half plus two-and-a-half equals five."


These kids are just too smart!

Things I Just Don't Think I'll Get Used To

When you move to a new country, it's your job to fit yourself into the culture. It's not acceptable to me that locals here will "understand what I mean because it's American and they're used to tourists or they've seen it on TV." I moved here, and I should adapt myself to my surroundings. Not the other way around.

But there are a couple of phrases I'm having a particularly hard time with.

#1: The Toilet. As in "Miss, can I use the toilet?" while I'm at school. Or "Excuse me, where is the toilet?" when I'm at a restaurant. In Canada, it's considered pretty low-brow to refer to it thus. We're much more accustomed to asking for the "bathroom" or "washroom." And to be honest, I have felt a little uncomfortable for my whole life even using those terms. I'm too dang Canadian, and it seems impolite to mention by name the room in which we do things which we do not mention in polite conversation. But here, they just ask for the porcelain throne itself! I have to physically force myself to use the word toilet. In fact, I rewrote that last sentence three times because I didn't even want to type it. I didn't want you to read it, hear my voice in the writing, and listen to me say toilet. But I suppose if you were here with me, you'd hear me say it out loud. So there you have it. I've said it. Toilet. Toilet, toilet, toilet. Perhaps if I repeat it several times, it will become more comfortable and roll off my tongue with ease? Perhaps not.

#2: "Are you all right?" This is the default question over here. It's akin to "Oh, hi! How are you?" back home. Each and every time I walk into the other Year 1 class, the teacher says "Are you all right?" Every time my Agency consultant calls me, he asks "Are you all right?" It's CRAZY, I'm telling you! In Canada, you only ask someone if they're all right if you think they're not. It took me a full week to understand that they weren't actually concerned about me. I wasn't walking around looking like I was going to fall down or burst into a rage. It's not concern people are expressing, necessarily. It's just the way they greet you.

#3: The Light Switches. They're all upside down! Upon reflection, I suppose it doesn't make any more or less sense to designate "ON" as "up" or vice versa. But I've spent 27 years walking into rooms and flicking a switch up. So it's hard to adjust to flicking it down every time. I think this will be the thing I just get used to over time. Turning something off by flicking up will become second nature; then, when I return to Canada, it will feel wrong again. Oh well... c'est la vie!

Overheard by a Canadian: Episode 3

During a Year 1 discussion (at a Catholic Primary School) on why we need to Bible to help us remember things about Jesus.

"It's because we weren't ... well, maybe YOU were, ... but us kids weren't alive when Jesus was."


Yeah, 'cause I'm 2000 years old. Previous to today, the oldest a child had guessed about me was age 40. But now apparently I'm pushing 2000! Gotta say... I look GOOD for my age!

Overheard by a Canadian: Episode 2

In a Year 1 class, during a unit on "where our food comes from".

Child 1: "Miss, how can you tell between the eggs that we eat and the eggs that have chickens in them?"

Child 2: "The hens can't have eggs with chickens in them unless they have husbands!"



Um...yes...sort of...

A SECOND Day in the Life

Day 2's recap requires a little less explanation:

• not raining
• not late
• totally organized
• crazy-kid-that-I-was-warned-about pretty much did a 180degree turn in behaviour, largely in part to the sticker-reward system implemented by his TA and followed-through by me
• HOWEVER, two other kids started acting out like crazy, because they "wanted a sticker chart too"
• actually had time to EAT my lunch during the break
• HOWEVER, got just a few too many details about a staff member's current attempts to get pregnant right now... ah, well, it was nice to have someone to chat with! 
• met my new "from-Victoria-now-living-in-London" friend Anna for delicious (and cheap!) pasta dinner.

It's aaaaallllllll goooodddddd.....

A Day in the Life

A record of my first day of UK Supply:

6:30am: Alarm rings. I am tired. VERY tired. I still have not fully adjusted to the time change, plus I was pretty ridden with anxiety last night over my first day ("will I get there on time? will the students be as difficult to manage as everyone says? what if it's crazy but they like me and I have to go back all week? what if they DON'T like me? what if my alarm doesn't go off in the morning? what if...? what if...? what if...?"). So it's an early morning. I still feel all of those insecurities and worries as I get ready to leave the house, but I also have the "I can do this" calm that I get every morning before tackling a new teaching assignment. Most of this anxiety isn't new - I felt it when I taught in Victoria too. But there are a few added stresses doing it for the first time here.

7:15...well, 7:20am (okay, I admit, I was running a tad late): Leave the house. And, for the first time since I arrived, it's raining. Of course it is. I'm carrying my shoulder bag, my lunch, my teaching bag, an A-Z map of London book and a tube map. Oh, and an umbrella. I look (and feel) ridiculous. And I'm getting wet. Of course, I'm also getting warm, because, for the third time in four days, I've worn too many layers before hoofing it to the tube station, and I'm sweating already. Now that's attractive.

8:40am: I'm lost. And late. The first few legs of my walk-tube-walk-train-walk-bus-walk trip (seriously, that's the easiest route to the school) go pretty well. But apparently there's a difference between Kentish Town West (on the Overground Line) and Kentish Town (on the National Rail Line). Who knew? I find myself at the wrong end of town, searching for a bus station that is nowhere to be found. I must look pretty distressed at this point, because a very nice man asks me if I need some help. He directs me to Kentish Town Road, where he says I'll find the station I'm looking for so that I can find the bus stop located outside of it. His directions aren't exactly correct, but miraculously, the bus I need goes up this street and I am able to get on it (after some more help from a couple of teenage girls who don't really know much more than I do). Phew, I'm on the bus. I check with the bus driver, and yes, I'm definitely on the right bus.
But wait, there's more. Because of the mix-up and all of my extra walking around, I'm now sure I'm going to be getting to the school JUST in the knick of time, if not late. I am feeling TERRIBLE about being late! I can deal with everything else, but I've NEVER been late to a school placement and I can't believe I'm starting now! I phone the Office so they can phone the school to let them know. He asks me if the stops are being announced, because that's the only way I'll know when to push the STOP button on the bus. And yes, that's right, I'm on the one bus in the city whose announcing mechanism STOPS working about halfway through my trip. So I have no idea when to get off the bus. Time to bug the bus driver... again. "This is the bus to Meadow Drive station, isn't it? The announcement will come on for Meadow Drive, won't it? I haven't missed Meadow Drive station, have I? This woman DEFINITELY knows where I'm going.
Finally, we get to the right bus stop (she announces it personally with her microphone, even though I'm sitting 2 rows from the front), and I get off (still carrying loads of things, trying to balance an umbrella and hitching up my pants so that I don't arrive looking completely like a drowned rat with wet pant-bottoms).

8:50am: School starts. Oh, and I arrive at the school at the same time. Awesome. As any of you teachers reading this will understand, this is pretty much stress-central right here: I'm walking in unprepared, every adult I speak to warns me that this class is "chatty" (which is universal code for "misbehaving"), and they've had 3 supply teachers (TOCs, for those of you in Canada!) in the last 3 weeks. Awesome. Luckily, I have a prep for the first 30min, so I'm able to get a handle on things (a bit, but not nearly enough, as my 9:30 lesson requires set-up).

12:00pm: Lunch. The kids leave the room and I embrace the sudden quiet. You don't realize how loud they are until they aren't there! I assess how I'm doing at this point. I've been a bit haggard this morning, running to keep up and not really feeling on top of my game (and no, I don't give myself any leeway for it being my first day - I'm a professional and I should always be my best!). I couldn't find some of the materials listed in the lesson plans I was given, so I just made do with what I could. The other Year 1 (Grade 1) teacher touched base with me in the morning and mentioned that it was okay for me to deviate from the lesson plan as long as I covered the topics in a similar way. So that's what I've been doing. They learned the right things, just not the same WAY they would have from their teacher. And that's okay.
I take full advantage of the 1h15min lunch break to get myself ready for the coming afternoon.

3:20pm: Dismissal. The afternoon has gone much smoother. We've all had a chance to get comfortable with each other, I was much more on-the-ball after that lunchtime cup of coffee, and the students were engaged and working hard. Aside from a lot of chatter (and I don't necessarily mean misbehaviour this time, just noisiness) and the two kids who decided to punch each other during the afternoon playtime (recess), things went well and I'm feeling a lot better about the day (and about myself as a teacher too!). And you know what, those cute little British accents made it all okay in the end :)  (How CUTE is it to hear "Miss, can I go to the toilet?" about 15 times while supervising the break?) And the kids and I are enjoying each other. One student walked straight up to me, gave me a big hug and said, with a huge grin, "Miss, I like you!". Another made me a card: "Miss Corni. I like you." Pretty darn adorable!

4:00pm: Call from my Agency. A woman from the agency calls to ask how my first day went (I have to say, they have been quite helpful and supportive today!), and to let me know that the school would like me back for the rest of the week (there's a couple of those anxiety points taken care of - they like me AND I want to go back!). So I spend another half hour in the classroom getting ready for tomorrow. There are a few things I'll need to get ready in the morning, but I'm pretty much ready to go and feeling much better.

4:30pm: On my way home. I've morphed back into a tourist (ugh!). Determined to figure out the CORRECT route between the school and my house, I take out the A-Z map (it's a book filled with all of the street maps in London) and follow the bus's route with my finger. Eventually (with a little texting help from my super roommate), I make it home unharmed (ah, so THAT'S where the Kentish Town station is!). Oh, besides the giant puddle I walked beside at the same time someone drove through it. Awesome. Now my feet are drenched with puddle water.

6:00pm: I'm home. A couple of Skype dates with Mom and Teci (yay!), and my day is officially over. I close my bedroom door, hibernate inside watching old episodes of The Big Bang Theory and work on crocheting a hat (and I think I'm actually going to keep this one for myself). This is my happy place. And hopefully I'll sleep better tonight!

My, How I've Changed

I came to London for the first time 9 years ago. I was young, I'd never seen anything of the world, and I was very excited to explore it. Monica and I share many memories of being young and silly while on our 6-week backpacking trip through London. When I think back to that trip, I just have to shake my head at us. Seeing Big Ben and not realizing it until later that night, going to bed most nights around 9:00pm, our homesick breakdown in Belgium... oh, how young we were!! But we were also very excited about everything we wanted to see: Loch Ness (too bad we didn't actually make it - wait, that's another silly moment), David (oh, no, we didn't see that either, did we?), Pisa (yes, we did actually make it to that one), Stonehenge, Trinity College in Dublin, Piazza san Marco in Venice, and all the other beautiful things that we saw, took pictures of and created memories of. We were bright-eyed and keen to explore it all, to make the most of every single minute we were in Europe. It was the trip of a lifetime!

And now 9 years have gone by. Naturally, I have made comparisons between that first trip and this one. While London remains virtually the same, my experience of it has been quite different thus far. The following are a few of my thoughts on various aspects of "London life".

On Being A "Local":
It's a different experience moving to a city you've only ever been a tourist in. I felt a bit of this when I moved from Langley to Victoria, having been a tourist there many times during my childhood. It was different and fun to transform myself into a "local", getting to a point where I was looking slightly down my nose at those pesky (but highly amusing) tourists who took pictures of everything, walked around with maps in their hands and actually waited for lights to change before crossing the narrow streets of downtown.

And now here I am, doing the same thing again. Except this time I feel a yearning to be a local. I don't WANT to use the tube map; I just want to have it memorized already. I don't WANT to look the wrong way when crossing a street, so I just shift my eyes and slightly shift my head to check BOTH ways (I don't want to get hit either!).

I'm also spending a lot of time and energy adjusting to a new life, trying to be responsible and attempting to feel as normal as possible in an unfamiliar setting. I'm attempting to curb the effects of jetlag by going to bed at normal times (although last night's trip to a pub and the hour-long commute home didn't help!) and getting up early too. I'm eating as healthily as possible (which is helped by the fact that all my body seems to want these days is yogurt, toast and apples). And today I spent the morning wandering around my area, visiting the grocery store, dollar store and library. 9 years ago, I would have spent the day hopping from Leicester Square to Buckingham Palace (making jokes, getting lost and taking pictures along the way). But I just have this calm sense that I'm going to be here for a while, those attractions aren't going anywhere, and it's more important for me to settle than to sight-see right now.

On Being Impressed:
This isn't to say that I haven't seen anything touristy yet. Actually, I had a bit of a funny moment yesterday. I was meeting some friends downtown as we were headed to the War Museum (which, by the way, was fantastic, sobering and massive - we were there 3 hours and didn't come close to seeing everything). When I exited the tube station and came up at Westminster Bridge, the London Eye was there in front of me. I turned around to see Big Ben looming overhead (and yes, I knew what it was this time). My heart lurched a little bit seeing these famous sights, and a load of memories and emotions washed over me. In a flash, I thought back to the first time I had seen it, I connected with my UK ancestral roots (and thought of Nana), and the first coherent thought that came to mind was "Hellz YEAH, I live here!". It was a pretty exciting moment. Then I strode off across the bridge (camera-less) and dodged around the hoards of tourists taking pictures of both sights. All this is to say, even though time has gone by and I'm older and a little less keen now (see that British slang making its way into my writing already?), the sights, as they say, are priceless. And no less exciting to behold.

On Double-Decker Buses:
The one thing we did NOT do in London 9 years ago was ride a double-decker bus. I can't even remember why, but it probably had something to do with being too shy to ask how to use a bus. Again, we were young and silly. In any case, it has always been one of those "I can't believe we didn't do that" things (akin to not riding a gondola in Venice). Two nights ago, I rode a double-decker bus, on the top deck, just like I'd always pictured myself doing once I arrived here again. And I thought to myself, "hmm... This feels just like a bus in Victoria. Why have I been waiting 9 years for this?". I have a feeling returning to Venice and riding a gondola won't carry the same disappointment (at least I hope not!).

On Noticing My Own "Accent":
For the first couple of days here, I really spent an inordinate amount of time hearing my own voice and noticing how different it was (no jokes about that being related to how much I talk, please!). And yes, clearly I sound different from the Brits around me. But honestly, there are so many people speaking so many languages and with so many international accents, it's not that weird that I have one too. It helps that I live with a Canadian, and that half of the friends he's introduced to me are not from Britain (they're from Canada, Slovakia, Italy and New Zealand). Shopkeepers and servers have varied accents too. So I'm feeling less and less "different" as the days go by.

~~~

Life will go on, I will eventually see all of the sights and museums (most of which are FREE! I don't remember it being that way when we were here before!), and I will begin the working life on Monday (yes, I'm already booked to teach a full week). And I'm sure my impressions of living here will change a thousand more times before I head back home. Or perhaps I'll move on elsewhere, only to form new memories and create a new life in yet another new city?? We shall see....

Velkominn til Ísland!!

So far, the best trip decision I made was extending my layover in Reykjavik, Iceland. For about $25 (plus the cost of everything I did there), I got to add another country to my list (which is currently at 16, the goal being 40 by age 40).

In true Angela fashion, I proved to be a giant clutz as soon as I got on the plane. When the seatbelt sign turned off, I stood up to retrieve one of my bags from the overhead compartment. Unfortunately, I dislodged someone else's bag, which fell right on the head of the man sitting beneath it. He looked at me like he wanted to take my head right off.

Fortunately, I was able to sneak back into my seat, stretch out on the seat beside me (hooray for an empty row!) and cover myself up to hide from my unintended victim (I thought my jacket and neck pillow made for a pretty clever disguise). Okay, maybe not. But in any case, I fell asleep and was out like a light for the duration of the flight.

The bus drive in from the airport to my tiny (and I mean TINY) hotel was fairly uneventful, especially given that I arrived at 7AM and the sun didn't rise until 11AM! However, I WAS able to notice that there are a ridiculous number of Christmas lights (and Menorahs!) still lit - everything from house lights to publicly displayed Christmas trees and garlands. Good grief, people! We're in mid-January here, let's get a move on!

Once the sun finally did come up, I went exploring. The thing I most wanted to see in the town was the Church of Hallgrimur (The Hallgrímskirkja). It's the tallest building in Reykjavik and the tallest church in Iceland. It can be seen from 20km in any direction (which was a helpful landmark, since my hotel was just down the street from it!) - thus, it's the best place to see a top-down view of the city! From above, the town looked really quaint with lots of colours.

In the afternoon, I went on the Golden Circle tour. This took me to various geothermic and other popular sights around Reykjavik. I saw a huge waterfall called Gullfoss, the original Geysir (after which all other geysers are named), the place where the edges of two techtonic plates meet and have shifted away from each other (forming a valley and massive cracks in the rock), and the covered pipes carrying geothermically heated water in from the surrounding area to the city (it's used to heat homes and swimming pools). All in all, a very informative and interesting tour!

I have to say, the tour guide was a bit dry, and with the jetlag I found myself dozing a couple of times... But he did have one line I remember, which I have to say called into question some of what he told us during the tour. I think I'll be incorporating this philosophy into life: "Never destroy a good story with the truth." Good theory, hey? Still want to read my blog? Still trust that I'm telling the truth? haha!!

Unfortunately, the Northern Lights tour I had booked was canceled due to weather conditions (it was really cloudy and we wouldn't have been able to see anything). So that was a bit disappointing. But I still feel like I got my money's worth from Iceland. Glad I did it (and HUGE thanks Jenn for helping me find somewhere to stay! I will be calling upon my personal travel agent again in the near future...Love you!!)

Overheard by a Canadian: Episode 1

So there's this Facebook group called "Overheard at UVic." It chronicles things people overhear, often taken out of context, and is quite funny. I used to read it all the time but never posted. So I thought I'd start my own series here.

An Australian discussing her trip to the United States: "Vegas wasn't my favourite city. But the Grand Canyon was gobsmackingly beautiful!"



"Gobsmackingly." What a fabulous adjective.

It starts...

I left Canada this morning. I packed up 3 suitcases and moved my entire life halfway across the world. Insane? Yes. But also totally awesome? Also yes.

For the past few weeks, everyone I know has said a variation of the following sentence: "Oh, you must be getting so excited!!!" I knew I was socially expected to return this statement with a similar level of voice-squeakiness and enthusiasm. But I just wasn't feelin' it! I wasn't really feeling any great emotion at all! And because I was expected to express this feeling I wasn't having, it was only natural for me to begin to doubt myself and my intentions to even embark on this trip.

Let me explain: when I say I wasn't feeling emotional, it's not because of the absence of emotion. Rather, there were (and are) so many different things I feel in my heart that they are all sort of neutralizing each other. I'm excited, but I'm scared. I'm looking forward to a new world and a new life, but I'm hardcore missing the one I've left behind. I'm equal parts happy and sad. Hence, I'm neutral.

And please don't get me wrong. I am endlessly grateful just for the opportunity to work abroad and to discover a new city. I look forward to teaching again after a month away from children. But there's a tug on my heart. A little voice that's not even located in my brain that says, "Why are you leaving? What was so wrong with the life you left behind?"

And so, I'm conflicted. There's the bare-bones honesty of how I feel about leaving all of my friends and family and the things I've known.

Having said that, there is one thing I am VERY excited about: the key to my flat in London! I know, that sounds silly... but it's one of those old-fashioned skeleton keys and it looks like a maple leaf if you turn it to the side!

All this is to say, I've now officially started the blog. Feel free to check it out at your leisure. I feel like blogging is the thing to do when you move to Europe... And it beats mass emails or Facebook Notes. I'll try to do it as often as I can - but no promises on its regularity!