Reflection                               1   2   Next

Rebecca Li

People have certain expectations for summer vacation. After school lets out, most kids are just happy to be free again—free to finally sleep again, take a trip out on the lake, or “go up north” for awhile. This past summer, I decided to do something different: I decided to spend my entire summer in school.

Two weeks after school let out, Drivers’ Ed began. It was early in the morning, as boring as my worst history class, and filled with immature eighth graders. Though it only ate up two hours of each weekday, I was more than happy when that class ended at the end of June. My freedom only lasted a little while—in twelve days, I was on a plane headed for Taiwan, off to teach English for another four weeks.

I had no idea what to expect. The website was rather confusing, and information had to be carefully excavated and interpreted. My mother had done most of the digging for me, and, not trusting my memory, had carefully printed and highlighted instructions in both English and Chinese. The English version was my guide, the Chinese, my grandmother’s.

After an exhausting twenty-three hours spent traveling between terminals and airplanes, I arrived in Taipei, Taiwan. Suffering from jet-lag, teenage irritability, and a major headache, I was not the happiest camper when my Uncle greeted me in the airport. We dragged my two very large suitcases (for I had packed everything A.I.D. had suggested), to the car and drove to my grandparents’ house. Here, I spent two nights trying to downsize my luggage into something a bit more manageable. It didn’t really work.

When I arrived at the train station on the 15^th, I was afraid my suspicions about the program had been correct. Asian volunteers with somewhat official looking nametags held up hand-drawn paper signs that said, “A.I.D. Summer 2007.” American-Asian students took up the East entrance—they stood in small groups, alone, or with their families, clutching gigantic suitcases filled with everything they needed “to survive.”

The lack of organization was alarming—none of the other students knew what was going on, and the “leaders” didn’t appear to know much more than we did. As the hour dragged on, and no buses appeared to take us to the Tauyuan Training Center, I grew more and more aggravated. This was supposed to be the opportunity of a lifetime that would give me something fantastic to write about on scholarship applications. Where was the “experience” that was supposed to amaze me? I groaned, rolled my eyes, and exchanged small talk with the people with whom I would spend the next week. We were all quite upset.

Well, the buses came, we got “trained,” and we were shipped off to our various small cities. The food wasn’t great, the weather was miserably hot, and the organization never really got any better. However, none of that mattered once I got to my school. In Chengong, we had eight teachers—eight kids. Eight American born Chinese kids. None of us had had any formal training; none of us knew what we were doing. But we all had one amazing skills that made the teaching work.

Kevin had the best Chinese; he could understand the kids’ slang and communicate intelligently with the headmaster. Stephanie and Sophia were the best teachers: their kids actually learned English. Victor could dance—he choreographed the opening ceremony and entertained the kids when they got bored. Jeff was a natural at games; all of his ideas were a hit with the kids! Phil was a comic genius; his lame jokes had us all laughing after an exhausting day trying to teach. Tiffany was patient; whenever the kids got too rowdy, she was right there to calm them down without freaking out herself. I was the artsy one—I made our posters and drew the games that Jeff created.

As a team, we worked together to give the kids an experience that was fun. In the process, we all had our own experiences—mine was amazing.

Now, back home in the States, I miss that place. I miss the friends I made, and I miss spending hours with them. Phil and I used to go on runs at five A.M. every day. Now when I run, I miss having him by my side. Tiffany was my teaching partner—I miss working with her every night on what the kids liked/disliked about our lesson for the day. I miss Jeff’s smile, Victor’s hair, Kevin’s laugh, the way Sophia did her makeup, Stephanie’s dorky peace signs, and our mentor’s silly Chinglish jokes.

Looking back, those four weeks were the best of my life. I still talk to the other teachers, and they agree. Taiwan was the haven we were all looking for. Back in the States, we have a different sort of school to worry about. We have college applications to write, grades to keep up, races to run, and curfews to make. Life back here is so constricting—we miss the freedom Taiwan gave us.  

Thank you, A.I.D. for giving us that experience.

1   2   Next