Amber and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day

Okay, it wasn't really that terrible or horrible. By some standards it was very bad, but in the scheme of the whole world's problems, it isn't anything to write home about. There was, in fact, even some good that came out of the day. But "Somewhat Crappy, First World Problem Day" doesn't make for a very good blog entry. So, I went for the dramatic route.

My first week teaching in China was all about survival. I was pretty stoked about the fact that I woke up every morning, got to the bus at the right time (it has a sharp 5:50 AM, 6:55 AM, 3:30 PM, and 4:40 PM departure time... more on that later) and ate approximately three meals a day. I was content with the fact that my students had learned something, that nobody had thrown a pencil at me (which has happened to me... oh, the subbing days), and that I hadn't gotten the You have 5 heads look.

I rose the stakes a bit during my second week. I gave my first test and wrote my first sub plans (for my 4 hour field trip to open a bank account). AND I began to try organize my grade book, lesson plans, and unit plans into picture perfect, standards and curriculum-based educational tools.

Day 2 into this process, I realized that the middle school English standards had absolutely nothing to do with what I was teaching, or the textbook I was using. I had spent 10 days studying the subject and predicate of a sentence with my students and had just started a unit on nouns, matching my lessons to the notes and units from the book. When I searched 17 page PDF for the matching grammar standards, however, I found nothing related. I planned on grounding my ESL students with a firm foundation in grammar, but when I looked at the English standards, there was nothing but a few sub-sections of one standard (3b.1, 3b.2, 3b.3, and 3b.4... you know you are in trouble when you have no option but to add letters and numbers on to the standard to get it to match months worth of curriculum) that had anything to do with what I was planning on teaching.

OOPS.

I continued on with the day a little more overwhelmed than usual, but I survived and entered Professional Development still standing tall. A few minutes in, however, the requirements of matching standards, attendance, lesson plans, and grades in multiple programs made my head spin and the free, sub-par, knock-off Chips Ahoy cookies no longer served as a sufficient bright spot in the afternoon.

As soon as Professional Development wound up, I packed up my computer alongside the math teacher and the principal, asking a few questions and picking up the two books that I hoped would help me to catch up to my peers. On my way out the door I checked my watch for the time and was surprised to see the time had flown; it was already 4:59, just one minute before the end of our school day. And departure time.

"Whoa! 4:59? You don't think the buses..." I started to say. "Nahhhhh, they won't leave without us," I mumbled as I hurried out the door.

I scurried down the hallway balancing my computer, water bottle, and stack of books, all of which I quickly dumped into my bag upon entering my classroom. I ran/slid around the recently cleaned, tile-floored room, shutting off the air conditioner and unplugging the air purifier. Then I picked up my bag and textbooks, hit the lights, and power walked down the hallway. The eerily quiet hallway.

When I reached the main entryway, I sensed the lack of life that normally fills the school walls. I walked out the door and saw the guard... and no bus. I looked at the guard confused; he looked back at me with pity.

After the initial shock, I choked out, "Bus?" and began to point. He pointed the opposite direction and I felt a momentary sigh of relief. Perhaps on PD days the bus picks up on the opposite side of the building. After all, that's where it drops off on the early van. It must be the early morning/late afternoon side.

I pointed towards the other doors of the building. "Bus?" And he pointed once again, but not to the other side of the building. He pointed towards the cluster of sky scrapers, making a waving motion. A motion signifying movement. Not stagnant. Not waiting.

My jaw dropped, the tears began to sting at the back of my eyes, and something began to weigh me down, either my heart or the load of Teacher-Edition (aka THICK) textbooks. I walked over to the steps and sat down, my head in my hands and my thoughts racing through my brain.  

I don't know the address of where I live. I still don't have my phone fixed. Gosh darn it, I should have figured that out earlier. I wonder how comfortable the couches in the lobby are. I can't believe the others got on the bus without me! They knew I was there. I couldn't have gotten there any sooner. I was in a work meeting for crying out loud! I don't speak Chinese. Where do I even pick up a cab around here? Not that I could tell them where I live. Maybe the guard knows? I could show him my apartment key and ask him to write something that would tell the taxi driver what I wanted. Wait, ask the guard? How will I ask him? I don't know Chinese! Shoot. Do I have money? I still haven't gotten my bank card figured out. All of those bottom of the list items are suddenly getting way more important. I might end up spending the night here. It probably wouldn't be that bad. I would get a lot of catch-up work done. I can't believe ---

Suddenly, the guard started waving his arms. I looked up and saw it.

THE BUS.
The bus that waits for no one.
It was coming back for me.

I raced to the door as if I was scared that they would change their mind and drive off again. I clambered up the stairs, tears slipping out of my eyes, and fell into the seat next to some poor male veteran teacher who hadn't planned on sharing his space with anyone on that bus ride home. We pulled out of the driveway and my co-workers apologized, recounting how they had only gotten a block away when they realized that I hadn't made it on the bus. I finally let out the air that I had been holding in my lungs involuntarily, as if I had thought that letting it go all at once would have blown me home.

Then it began to rain.

When we made it back to the apartment complex, it was 5:35 and I was to meet Liz and Krista at the gate of my apartment at 5:45 to head over for pizza night. Considering it takes me a minimum of 5 minutes to get from door to gate, I had just enough time to get there, drop off my stuff and turn around.

I tried to hurry through the winding pathways of my qu (section), but the rain poured, weighing my leather sandals down, wilting my books, and turning my white pencil skirt into an undesirable shade of sheer. By the time I finally made it to my apartment lobby I was sopping wet; my hair was half-plastered to my face and excess water dripped off hair and fabric to recreate the storm inside for those who were missing it.

That morning, I had struggled with my elevator key. Rather than beeping once and allowing me to select the floor I wanted to go to, it beep beeped and didn't react to my floor choice. In the morning I had sucked it up and taken the seven flights of stairs, but you can bet that in my state, I was convinced I was going to get on that elevator.

You know, sometimes you are convinced and wrong.

Three Chinese people stared at me as I tried to reenact my elevator, beep beep, stairs experience. I motioned and made questioning facial expressions until it was clear that I was not going to be using the elevator. They tried to tell me what was wrong, but - OH YEAH! - I don't speak Chinese. Goodness gracious.

I trudged up the stairs with my sopping sandals, wilting books, and see-through skirt, letting the tears flow free. And as the tears hit my already damp face, I laughed out loud at the utter ridiculousness of my situation. I was safe, I was healthy, but I was having a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day. And boy would it make a good story when I got out of it.

When I finally reached my apartment, it was already 5:45, the time I had promised to meet Liz and Krista. Seeing as it was still raining, I changed into running clothes that would dry quickly and ran back down the stairs and out into the rain. Shoeless.

I had figured that my shoes would get wet in the puddle and it was better to carry my Birkenstocks as I ran through my qu. When I got to the gate, I stood in the acid rain as Liz and Krista looked at me in bewilderment. They donned rain boots, rain coats, and umbrellas - all of which I have, none of which it had occurred to me to put on.

"Do you have an umbrella? Do you want me to get you one of mine?"
"Oh my gosh you are soaked!"
"Here take my raincoat!"
"Where are your shoes?!"

I assured them I was fine, not thinking (as they were) of the dirt and grime of China's streets or the acid rain that I was letting soak both me and my clothes. I recounted the story of the past 15 minutes and Liz looked at me and said, "You've had your first China day!" And then... "When it rains, it pours."

Between the start of this episode and about 14 hours later (7 of which I was sleeping), I cried about 10 times. Stress and loneliness emerged as tears at the most inopportune times. But as I blubbered, bawled, and whimpered, Eskimos showed up.

Eskimos? Okay, Amber... you've really gone off the deep end. It gets cold in Shenyang, but it's still early September. It's not cold yet. Let me giving you some context by quoting a story from Anne Lammott's book Traveling Mercies.

A man is drinking at a bar in Alaska. "He tells the bartender how he recently lost whatever faith he'd had after his twin-engine plane crashed in the tundra. 'Yeah,' he says bitterly, 'I lay there in the wreckage, hour after hour, nearly frozen to death, crying out for God to save me, praying for help with every ounce of my being, but He didn't raise a finger to help. So I'm done with the whole charade.' 'But,' said the bartender squinting an eye at him, 'you're here. You were saved.' 'Yeah, that's right,' says the man, 'because finally some [darn] Eskimo came along."

I admit that I had let the thought creep into my mind that maybe this was a mistake. I'm far from family, I'm missing Spain, I'm insecure about my ability to succeed in my position, and I'm feeling quite alone in my spacious apartment.

But recently I reread some journals that I wrote during senior seminar, when I dealt with these doubts in preparation to launch myself into the real world for the first time. During that time I thanked God for the countless friends and community members that had showed up as Eskimos and played vital roles in my life in Holland. I celebrated God's creativity and ability to create new things for us. I praised God for the way the changing seasons reflected the seasons of life, a natural cycle of letting old things pass away and watching the spring of new life.

I reflected on another quote from the short story, The Conversion of the Jews, "'But making light… I mean when you think about it, it’s really something,' Ozzie said. 'Anyway, I asked Binder if He could make all that in six days, and He could pick the six days he wanted right out of nowhere, why couldn’t He let a woman have a baby without having intercourse.' …'I mean no kidding around,' Ozzie said, 'that’d really be nothing. After all that other stuff, that’d practically be nothing.'

God has the ability to create something new for me here. He already has it planned out and though I have no idea what it will look like, who it will include, and how long it will last, I have faith in a creative God. A God who can create something better for me than I can ever imagine.

A God who created the two Eskimos that came over to my apartment with ice cream just to check in on me. A God who created an Eskimo that encourages me with homemade cards that brighten my classroom wall and my spirits. A God who created Eskimapp (aka Whatsapp), the application that keeps me in touch with my friends and family stateside. A God who created an Eskimo that gave up her taxi book to me so that if I ever get stranded again, all I'll have to do to get home is flip open to the page with my apartment complex name and address written in English, Pinyin, and Chinese on it.

The day seemed terrible. And horrible.
But I don't think that it was no good.
Because I have learned and I have been blessed and I am ever-challenged to be the light to others that He and others have been to me.

Much love from China,
Amber