I think I secretly thought that if I didn’t write this blog post, it wouldn’t really be over. I think I thought that after summer vacation I’d be headed back for another round of Fulbright, IES Ramiro de Maeztu, and Global Classrooms. I think a small part of me thought that when I got on the plane to China, I’d get off in Madrid.
Whatever I thought, I thought wrong. Because here I am in China, in a whirlwind of trying to get my personal and professional life settled and there is no Spain in sight.
Saying goodbye, why is it sad?
Makes us remember the good times we've had
Much more to say, foolish to try
It's time for saying goodbye
- the Muppets
Makes us remember the good times we've had
Much more to say, foolish to try
It's time for saying goodbye
- the Muppets
In Spain, I dreaded the goodbyes for days, weeks, months. I didn’t want to think about the routines that would be broken, the people who would be missed, the places that would no longer be frequent stops.
But to be honest, when the day came to go, it wasn’t so bad. Goodbyes were overwhelmingly unceremonious: students ran out of our last class without saying goodbye; I yelled farewell as friends ran to catch the last metro of the night; my roommate of two years left for home without realizing that I would be gone before he got back.
These goodbyes made it easier to walk away. There were tears on only one occasion and I didn’t feel any sense of guilt because no one had really expected me to stay. Everyone knew from the get-go that it was temporary; no one blamed me for moving on. Yet It felt odd to admit to myself that Spain would continue on almost exactly the same without me. My time there had changed my life drastically and I yearned to know that I had changed it in some way. Even in some small way.
And in the same way that most of the goodbyes gave me the reassurance that it was okay to go, a few memorable goodbyes gave me the reassurance that I had been known, wanted, and loved. A few special goodbyes told me that I would indeed be missed.
A loving goodbye from Karen Taft.
My last class at Karen Taft
On my last day of class, I laughed nervously with friends as we proceeded through the warm-up, each little movement seeming to be of the utmost importance since it was the last time it would be part of that particular sequence, with those people, in that place. I took my turn doing the exercises and clapped as I watched others execute the choreography. And as class wound up, I heard, “Y ahora vamos a dejar a una americana muy especial bailar la coreografía por la última vez.”
It was my turn to dance. Just as I had leaned up against the mirror two years ago, watching another student dance her last choreography in Barbara’s class, I would now dance my goodbye. Barbara and I both knew that I wasn’t near as flexible as I had been a few months earlier and that I didn’t know this particular choreography like the back of my hand. This time I wasn’t dancing the piece to showcase the choreography… I was dancing the piece so we could celebrate me. I turned, tripped, and jumped, holding back the tears with every movement. I finished the piece and was applauded for a piece that was far from beautiful. They lifted me up both physically and in spirits as we took a group photo for the books, a memory of the group that saw me on days that I could nail a triple turn and on days that I struggled to make a plié look good. A group who had let the chica americana into their club and loved me like one of their own.
Preparing for the group photo
A sweet goodbye from students.
Goodbye to 2° ESO
During my Fulbright years, I taught more than 300 students a week. I struggled to remember all of their names in the same week and when I got frustrated with them, I had to wait a whole week to make amends. There were classes who disliked my weekly visits (After all, I was the assistant who required them to participate in class AND turn in homework.), but there were also classes who looked forward to my time with them.
"Thank you for your work, your classes are like the best ever! You can have a free dinosaur."
"I think you've been one of the most if not the most thoughtful teacher I've got."
The students from this 8th grade class decided to take a class photo and have it printed on a mug for me. Now I think of them every morning as I drink coffee out of the only mug that I brought with me, the one from my "pupils at Ramiro de Maeztu." But neither the sentimental mug nor the heartfelt notes nor the TWO cakes were the most important gift I received that last Wednesday.
The biggest gift they gave me that day was a reminder of why I love to teach.
The one chalkboard drawing all year that I refrained from erasing
A well-wishing goodbye from staff.
Part of the recreo crew
Last year I decided I wasn’t going to fall into the comfort of spending recreo with the other English assistants every day. I was determined to branch out, even if it meant sitting by myself some days or standing at the bar alone to open myself up to chit-chat with teachers I didn’t know.
Thanks to Joe, this was much easier than expected. He joined me in my commitment and we spent breaks chatting in Spanish with an older math teacher, a collection of English teachers, and whoever else happened to be sitting near or at “our table.” It was wonderful to be an integral part of the school community, even when that meant going through the ups and downs of the year: meeting a newborn and mourning an unexpected and tragic death of one of our friends.
Over coffee and snacks, we shared daily life together. The group helped me sort out my options for the future and wished me the best in my future adventure to China. And perhaps most notably, they converted me into a true Spanish woman: by gifting me a fan and teaching me how to open and close it with the flick of a wrist.
Joe and me with our parting gifts
A noteworthy goodbye from the principal.
On my last day, the principal of the school stopped me in the hallway, concerned that she hadn’t gotten a chance to write me a letter of recommendation for future jobs. Having already signed my contract for China, I wasn’t too worried about it. After all, her English wasn’t very good and I doubted I would have a use for her letter in Spanish.
Yet she insisted. Mid-afternoon I went to her office to say goodbye and found her with one of the most touching letters of recommendation I have received. I don’t know if I’ll ever end up using it for professional uses, but as challenges arise in my new job, I am reminded of a job well done in Spain and reassured that I can conquer the challenges to come.
A final stamp of approval
A cook-out goodbye with Sendas.
My last Monday with the whole small group, we had a goodbye cook-out in the patio behind Chris and Kara’s apartment. We chatted and ate, reminiscing and letting conversation move with the light evening breeze. We played frisbee until my “skills” failed me and I knocked a glass over and then we sat down to eat some more.
That night we stopped to look up at the deep blue sky that God had painted for us and tried to pick out the constellations amongst all of the stars. I felt tiny and distant from the grandness of the night sky. Yet with the body of Christ around me, I was reminded that I am an integral part of something much greater than I could ever imagine.
A fun goodbye with friends.
The goodbye party Lauren and I threw for ourselves
In Spain, if you want a party, you throw it yourself. And you pay for it yourself. So in a tribute to being two years Spanish, Lauren and I decided we would throw a goodbye party for ourselves (paying for part of it… after all, we’re still U.S. passport holders) and see how many people would come. Surprisingly, it was a lot.
We acknowledge that most of the visitors came because they wanted to hang out and say goodbye to each other, but still, we felt special. Fulbright friends, Spanish friends, dance friends, church friends, and roommates came to the same place to bid us a nonchalant “hasta luego”. We strategically threw the party two weeks before our actual departure date so the goodbyes would be sweet, formalities out of the way with only bonus hang out sessions ahead. It was the best (albeit only) party I’ve ever thrown for myself.
Post goodbye party, the YOFTers reunite stateside
A last goodbye with my students of the English language, teachers of the Spanish life.
My last day in Spain, I had lunch with the group of teachers that had been studying English with me for one or both of the past two years. Most teachers will say they don’t have favorite students, but I'll admit that I definitely did. My fellow teachers.
I remember struggling my first week with these Spanish adults, attempting to find some grammar concept that would fine-tune their English skills and make the two hours they spent with me worthwhile. But as I talked to my friend Liz about it, she encouraged me to go another route with the class. “Most adults just want to practice speaking. So just ask them things you want to know.”
So it began… “What is beauty?” “Is anger ever justified?” “What services should be provided to people who are homeless?” “What is the importance of time?” “Can we stay away from danger?” “Is it ever okay to give partial truth?” “Is it disrespectful to argue with your eldest?” “What should be private?”
At first, they humored my questions, unsure of who I was and what I was trying to get at. But slowly, we began to build trust and debates became open and honest. They also became quite heated, giving the Spaniards an opportunity to figure out how to express themselves clearly in English on topics that really mattered to them. Often we timed ourselves to see how long it took the room full of educators to relate a topic back to our students. And weekly we chuckled as Juanma invented his own words, not caring about grammatical correctness... only that everyone agreed with his idea.
Throughout the two years, this group of teachers gifted me with a deeper understanding of Spanish culture and history. Over time, they gifted me with wonderful friendships. And at our last meeting, they gifted me the watch that made the first impression on my middle school students here in China.
“Miss Rogers… I like your watch.”
“Thanks, Min Ju. It was a gift from some friends in Spain.”
“Cool! You lived in Spain?!”
The second hand ticks away against a colorful background, taking me farther from the times that I laughed and chatted with my Spanish teacher friends at the green desks that fill every public school in Spain. The seconds mark the growing gap between now and my last caña and my last dance class and my last metro ride.
But the seconds also mark the moments that are spent building relationships here in China. They bring the days to completion, converting the novelties of my first few days into normalities. The seconds tick through the sad moments towards a laugh or a sigh of relief. And though they drag when everything seems to be going wrong, they are already flying, surprising me at how few it takes to make it seem like I have been here the whole time.
And the adventures continue.
Much love from China,
Amber
