The Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day

Preceded by a weekend where I was unable to travel to Hong Kong due to my own forgetfulness and obtuse-icity, I endured one of the most defeating days I've encountered in my working life. This day is entirely odd because my feeling of complete defeat did not come from loud noises, surprise work obligations or the gremlins that take control of the 'lil stinkers that make up my class. It was a Monday, which is a shame because I like my Mondays so much.

Thing started on the wrong foot when I found my clean underwear had not dried overnight on the line. After a hasty (and I do mean hasty) attempt to dry them with an iron, I was forced to don my moist clothes and embark on a new week. I had taken my saxophone to school, as I usually do on Mondays, and things began to unravel from that point onwards.

Arriving at the school, I usually go to the 3rd floor office (I have an office desk in addition to using a classroom that I share with a Chinese teacher) to grab my plans and any things a secretary/admin will leave me from time to time. The doors to said office are tall and heavy glass doors that swing easily the first 75% of the way, and then prove to be quite stubborn. I reach the office with saxophone in hand, and apply the sufficient amount of force that allows me to slip through before it quickly closes behind me. Only today, I don't slip through quite so easily. My sax catches on the long door handle while I'm halfway through and jerks me to a sudden halt (a distressed 'UMPH' may have come out). Now, I'm mentally committed on getting through this doorway because there is no way that I'm going go out and 'try again'. That would admit defeat, and that cannot be permitted.  I am also physically committed because my entire left side is in the office and I am kind of unable squeeze back through the now much smaller opening. My response to this situation is to power through and force open the door, which at this point is at that 75% marker where it refuses to go any further without warranting a sufficient shove that may endanger coworkers or office materials. As a result, I am now pinned between my saxophone, and the doorway, my arms either committed to holding an instrument or lodged themselves. I can't go back, I can't go forward. I simply can't even.

Grunts and curses are uttered, coworkers turn to look, I'm becoming increasingly disruptive and noisy as I helplessly shake my saxophone to try and dislodge it while trying to push the door open with no free hands. More coworkers are now watching, some distressed, as I twist and shove more vigorously. Teachers are now behind me waiting to enter the office, watching the back side of someone shaking in the doorway with no visual explanation as to why. At this point, I've become aware of the fiasco that is unfolding and decide avert eye contact with anyone and give 'er the full brunt of my feeble morning strength. I finally manage to push (now using my face fore extra force) the door open just enough for the rest of me to stumble through, my freed saxophone case banging on the doorway with a thud as the final, previously oblivious coworkers turn to witness my seemingly endless struggle. 

This was before the kids even arrived...

Period two was computer class. I usually dread computer class because there is always some new surprise lurking in the lesson that will rear its head and derail the entire class. Some days it's that one of the computers won't turn on. Other times it might be that one of the students can't remember their login and needs to get to their files but can't because they forgot like the little turkeys they are. This past Monday, however, was going suspiciously smoothly. So smoothly, in fact, that I let my guard down. FIRST MISTAKE OF LIFE STUART.

I go to help one of my students at the computers, and to do this I get down to their level because nobody likes someone three times your size towering over you trying to tell you to learn things the right way. So I'm crouched beside Kiddo #1 who needs help navigating microsoft paint (No, I'm not training a small team of MS Paint animators so my 'FantasticFeenstra Promotions' side business can be outsourced to China-Not-China upon my departure, but that's a very interesting idea...). I send him in the right direction with a polite version of "literally look at the board and read the instructions" and an encouraging pat on the shoulder (see picture below), only to hear another high-pitched "MISTER STEWWURT" coming from across the room. I respond by springing up to try and find the source of the cry for help, only my phone, which is sitting in my breast pocket of my favourite purple shirt (that happens to match my favourite purple tie) catches on the lip of the table I was previously crouched against. 

With a sudden "rrrRRRTTZZ" my chest becomes a little cooler and my spirits sink a little lower when I look down to find a gaping hole. It's 10 am. I now have to continue at school for another 6 hours wearing the evidence that many have suspected from my earlier ordeal in the doorway; I am a dingus.  


The onslaught perpetrated towards my clothing didn't stop there. I even got pen on my tie, luckily it wasn't my favourite purple tie that I had forgot to iron (that is an entirely other planet of 'things I should take care of but simply cannot'), but now I don't know what to do with this tie I paid real money for but only used for a grand total of THREE times (yes I try to keep track of how many times I wear my ties because I like a good variety of ties because it's FUN OKAY).

I was even invited out to dinner with a pair of friends, only to embarrass myself and others with a relentless tide of rude table manners in the form of spilling beer, spitting food and being a butt in a public space. I will save you (and myself) from that story.

Now it's mid-October and I'm running out of money and my OSAP loans are almost due.
Did I mention that I've had a fish bone stuck in my throat for a week and a half now? It doesn't bother me as much as it used to but it's still chilling out, jabbed into my neck-tube esophagus and waiting to be dealt with. "But Stuart you should really have th-" SHHHH. I'll take care of it when I can be bothered, and I am also hoping I can just have a big bite of something and hope it goes away. Perhaps I'll visit the hospital this coming Wednesday when I've got the day off. Thank all things good in the world for days off during the working week. 
Watching the office off-and-on since September, I am slowly coming to the realization that I am very much like Michael Scott. A man who's life is both propelled and hampered by a relentless stream of barely-manageable crises. Much like Michael Scott, a bit of luck, a handy favour, and the rare grain of clever thinking lets me continue to the next day relatively intact. Perhaps if you send a letter my way (or at least your address) I can share some of the other many stories that come along with being the kind of hopeless person that I am. The next batch of letters will be sent in only a short time. 

Pour Mangia - A Vencadora

Today is Saturday, a day used for shopping. I can use this blog as a self-assuring explanation for not yet leaving the house. If I put on Prokofiev's Peter and the Wolf, eat some dark chocolate, and open the window to let the fresh Chinese-not-Chinese air in, I can even convince myself that I am enjoying an accomplished day of much productivity. I've decided to start the sub-blog dedicated to some of the tasty restaurants to be found in town, entitled 'Pour Mangia'. 

So it turns out that eating out is a popular thing here and there are plenty of restaurants to choose from. Kitchens are typically small, food in restaurants is relatively cheap, fresh and tasty. As long as you're able bodied and not burdened by dozens of squirming, crying babies, you're likely going out for dinner (although some people might still try). On a given night, you'll find plenty of young couples, families, middle-aged workers, and grey-haired retirees dining (I suppose this is also the case back at home, but considering that people tend to congregate amongst people more like themselves, it was remarkable to see such a diverse crowd in just about every local restaurant). The local joints are about 80% Asian (Cantonese, Korean, Thai, Vietnamese, Indian, Japanese, etc), 15% Portuguese (Which may be the next setting of 'Pour Mangia'), and 5% other things. You can hunt down something else if you're really looking for it. Eating out is a great. I don't know if it's good FOR me, but here's the first installment of 'Pour Mangia'

Yesterday, prior to a night of birthday celebrations for one of our art teachers, a few friends and I went over to Macau side for a bite to eat at a proper Macanese restaurant, 'A Vencadora', apparently opened in 1918. (I borrowed this and the next picture from another blog because I had forgotten to take a good shot of the front and inside).

To my knowledge, when defining 'Macanese food', I believe it's the mixture of Cantonese/Chinese food and Portuguese/European food. There are plenty of restaurants that serve traditional food from both of those previously-mentioned cuisines, but Macanese restaurants are a little different from them both.  

This is what your typical local place will look like. Simple furniture, fluorescent lighting, draped in a soundtrack of clinking, laughing and Cantonese chatter. 

This is what you'll find at your table. White pepper, salt, vinegar, and toothpicks (at some places they'll even have chili oil and some kind of tasty sauce). Pretty common stuff in these types of restaurants. 

While we take our time ordering, a beer is in order! Tsingtao beer, probably the most popular brand in China, as well as China-not-China. You can get them as cheap as $1 CDN for a can in your (well, my) local supermarket. Not entirely bad stuff, or maybe I'm just used to it. You can trick your inexperienced friends into ordering the big ones (500 ml) instead of the small ones (333ml) for a fun evening in the name of not-wasting-any-beer. 
Menus will usually have pictures, or have English names. Ours had both, but they were separate, so we used the old 'point and grunt' tactics that seem to help me along so well. See that chicken in the middle below the tomato-y thing and above that long fish-with-a-face? Well, prepare to get a better look shortly. 

Something distinctly European about this restaurant (or perhaps, Macanese) was the pre-meal serving of buns, butter and peppers. This is what you'll usually get to start a meal at a Portuguese restaurant, so it gives a bit of a clue towards what you're in for (sort of). 

Oh baby. Here it is. This chicken was one of the best kinds of chicken there is. A simple, slow-cooked masterpiece with all the tasty juices for dipping your potatoes and bread. Our other dish (aside from the rice below) was a curried beef brisket that was eaten so quickly I only had a chance to snap a pic of the almost-empty plate (it's the first picture of this post, at the top of the page).  

This is an example of Macanese fried rice. You've got ham, you've got eggs, and you've got your rice. Sometimes you'll find some chorizo sausage or vegetables in there too, depending on the restaurant's take on the dish. As you can see, everything is served tapas style, and dishes are shared throughout the table. While I'm used to doing this after being here a while, I really think it's the better way to do things. 

All in all, the four of us had a full meal & drinks for about 100MOP each ($16 Canadian), a pretty good price considering we live in a packed city with a uncomfortably-close-to-Toronto property & rental rates. At those prices, there will be plenty more meals out, and with that, more blog posts to come all about the delicious hidden treasures scattered around the country/city. Until then, I will leave you with that tingling desire to visit, eat and lay on the beach (but not go in the water) in Macau. 

How about a Video blog? A Vlawg?

Here. I did this. Watch this. Watch it so I don't have to type things. Also thank you for your input with the videos. I'm sifting through them to see what I can use and what the kids will understand (words can be hard for some of the kiddos).

Edit: "GOOD GRIEF STUART HOLD THE CAMERA STEADY. Those effects make me feel like I have vertigo"

TL;DR: This week
I did a lot of marking, TOO MUCH MARKING. I have to hand out fewer things or get the students to mark for their elbow partners to mark. Or just... Make a super computer..... I also had a three day work week which left me extra time for activities, like forgetting to pick up the first of many books in a book club I've joined, and neglecting to practice my running (practice running? Like, getting in shape. I know how to run. It's like walking but with like an anxious hastiness to it, like when you see the bus you need coming to the stop but you're too far away so you set aside your pride to make a sprint for the stop and hope you don't fall or get your picture taken as you make faces and sweat profusely for the sake of saving 10 minutes). Yup. I'm going to be running a 1.7 K (LOOK AT ALL THE KILOMETERS) during a teacher marathon thing. I said yes because I thought it would be a good idea. Now I'm not so sure. I also had duck for the first time in a long time, maybe in my life, because I can't remember if or when I've had duck. DUCK. Like a cross between lamb and chiggin. Ho baby, I'll have to go back there. 

I'm thinking I'll do a food post next week because food is interesting and tasty and something I do a lot. Miss you folks. Unless I get to see you every day, then you're doing pretty well.

Trying to do what Joan McDuff said

Today marks no significant anniversary whatsoever. At this point last year I was about a month into teacher's college. My calendar says I had to 'find a group for my Gym presentation', 'do an information book talk' and 'go to a job market lecture' (hah, I ended up getting a job. Good work, past Stuart). But today I have come home from a pretty good day of work to ponder a ponderously-worthy situation.

The world of 'work stuff', I am finding, is a bigger and bigger intertwined thing with every week of work. I now split my spare time doing things here and there (mind you, I still owe 'work stuff' a bit more time per day, since the classroom isn't quite set up the way I'd like it, and I can still put more effort into just about everything I do). At the end of a work day, I have the time to do the following things:
- The Blog
- Writing Letters
- Cooking + Re-watching a TV series (right now it's The Office. Next is Peep Show)
- Doing household stuff reluctantly (although my roomie takes care of that preeeetty well)
- Throwing cat treats into the empty lot across from my place to try and befriend the local strays

But at the same time, I am finding each passing week is getting less and less cumbersome, draining and disorganized, and is slowly morphing into a manageable and really satisfying job that I feel like I can handle in good conditions. However, there are still plenty of challenges that come from being less disciplined than I'd like to be. People told me that my first year of teaching would be hard. I forgot. I forget most things people tell me, and so I've had to learn for myself what kind of difference it makes to put the extra time into my planning, organization and sleep. Mind you, that extra time takes away from other places, and I often can't remember to get back to people on what'sapp or facebook half the time (Murray, I have become you). Which leads me to my next question, am I boring now? (I put myself on my own wall of awesome to drown any sense of such a notion encourage my students to do the same)

 One of the most diligent, determined and dedicated people I've met in my moral life, Joan McDuff, said to our class, "Make friends who aren't teachers". This in no way is intended to support any notion that I am in any way dissatisfied in any way with my current teacher friends. In any way. Any way. Anyway, I mean that it's very easy to be sucked into the teacher world and talk about teacher things and think about teacher stuff. Which is good if you're a teacher and you want to become a better teacher and teacher teacher teacher. TEACHER. TEETCH-'ER. But I'd like to keep up with my hip jazz friends and lovely camp friends and the other friends who do things other than plan, and photocopy and make sure Jamber isn't trying to sneak away to use her locker for the 9th time today.

I suppose I still do a few things: I go out for dinner a couple times a week ("Fish with a face" pictured below), we've been doing a Sunday dinner routine with food and hangs and perhaps the odd board game. I also stumble down to Coloane and do neat things (oh that's right, you don't know about Coloane yet. That'll be a future story for sure), but it's by no means life-changing. Other recent and meaningful accomplishments include:
- Going to trivia night at a pub and coming in second last
- Packing my things to play volleyball at school and then doing plans instead
- Cancelling my ambitions to go to Vietnam this weekend because I can't even

Am I upset about this? Not really. I know there are things to be done, and I kind of enjoy doing these things. Well, as much as one can enjoy marking, reviewing and doing the more trivial things that will take up your time. But I like the feeling (and the gradual progressive actions) that you're helping these kiddos get better at doing life things. Maybe they'll learn to PLEASE STOP TALKING WHEN I'M TALKING so I don't have to get upset and we can slowly build a community in the classroom. I miss that about the end of last year (although my predecessor was kind of a champ who set those kids up to be champs so I had it pretty easy). That's the hope for the future anyways. I suppose I've just got to find the balance between "Do the best job you can possibly do" and "Be as interesting and NEAT as you can possibly be", but in the meantime I suppose I'll just keep eating tasty Chinese/Macanese/Portuguese food and skyping with home friends after marking.

Right now I just have to deal with the prospect that I must behave myself in public and not be a general nuisance to others. All the more reason to be extra rammy when I return to Canada. 

Tales of Treachery: Inside a Grade 4 Classroom

Now that I've spent three weeks together with my kids (I will continue to say my kids as I am responsible for them), I have enough ammunition of stories to share with you to get a load of my chest while keeping you entertained.

And with that: I'm going to say right off the bat that... well I suppose this isn't a warning to you as much as it is a rule for myself that you'll get to hear. I like my kids. I like my job. I like my coworkers. I would like them to keep being my kids, job & coworkers. If you (any many friends, not just the teacher-y ones) ever think "Stuart you should calm your body and use your brain before you post something like that", please feel free to use CTRL+C > CTRL+V and send that statement my way. Mind you, in Canada the social tone is QUITE a bit more strict about this sort of thing (whether it is good or bad I leave to you. I have my opinion but I'll leave it to conversations I have with you in person). You're my friends, but I still want to respect everyone at the school. Just sayin' 

First off, Grade Four is a big step up because it's the boundary between lower primary and upper primary. A cynical Sally may think to themselves "What the heck kind of difference does that even make? It's probably some arbitrary thing where the kids get a sticker that says 'I'm growing up and now a part of the global community' and then they give the kids passages from meaningless poems and do a reading on circle of life" Well Brant Cynical Sally, that's not the case at all. There's tons of new things for a kid in upper primary to wrap their heads around:
- Grades (that's right! First year you get you-must-do-well-in-school-or-you-don't-pass evals!)
- Exams & Tests (which go hand-in-hand with grades)
- Studying & Homework (Like these kids do more work than I did in grade 4. Perhaps the homework & practice thing actually helps kids learn things...)
- Lockers (wooden cupboards with keys that lock. Much quieter and more civilized than the scrap metal we seem to use back in Canada. No slamming, no bent doors, etc)
- Desks that don't have a flat bottom (they have to organize their things or the junk just falls out. Very clever move School...)
So it's quite the step up from rinky-dinky grade 3. And with that, it's time to put the brakes on the 'Teacher Talk' (actual job parameter things that can easily degrade to hours of debate over testing, grading, meetings, the annoying wifi logins for the staff, the time the coffee is made in the staff room in the morning, the quality of the rice offered in the school lunch,  etc). Now I'm even over my limit so I absolutely have to stop. 

And this week, there was this. On Tuesday I gave my kids something they've been waiting for since the start of the year. They asked me every day since September 1st, they've asked their friends in the other grade 4 class if there is any word of their arrival, and every morning with envious eyes they see the grade 5s use them with pride and responsibility. I'm talking about lockers. I can honestly say they were happier in the moment I was handing out keys than any other moment I've seen in my teaching career (spanning 3 months). I gave them their lockers, and they repaid me with CHAOS. I'm talking about loosing keys, leaving keys at home/in gym class/in the art room/in their BUTTS FOR ALL I KNOW BECAUSE THEY CAN'T FIND IT AND IT'S BEEN TWO DAYS, waving their key chains around like medieval weapons, taking 15 minutes to put a backpack away because "I want to make everything fit nicely" constantly forgetting things they need for EVERY CLASS SO WHY WOULD YOU PUT IT IN YOUR LOCKER, and the INCESSANT requests to use their newly-gained storage boxes at every turn. 
>"Can I get my pencil case from my locker?"
>"Can I get my library book from my locker?"
>"Can I go and.... open my locker?"
And then comes the tide of complaints that you only from locker newbies
>"Jamber opened my locker because I couldn't lock it in time for my class"
>"Billy was trying to make his key work with mine"
>"Chippy said she would put our group work in her locker because she likes hers better"
>"My tape on my locker key is coming off, can I have more so I can make my own label for it?"
>"Can I go to... the bathroom?" Proceeds to make sure Jamber didn't, in fact, re-open the locker to see if it was different

How EVEN do teachers do it. HOW. I didn't know what I should have done, but then my grade four compadre swooped in and called both classes into her room for a lil meeting on "HOW NOT TO BE A BUTT WHEN USING A LOCKER". She laid out the rules, told them what and what not to do, how to be able to function in life, you know, all the things. She's got her poop in a group, and I am really pleased to have her around to help me continue to have my job (I live in a constant fear of "What have I forgotten/neglected today?"). So I'm pleased with that.

So that's the first installment of "the things that will make my hair fall out faster", and I expect there will PLENTY more on the horizon. I'll leave you with that, because I need some Porch-uh-geeze food and cheap drinks to wash off a week of teaching. 

Frands Back Home

I suppose I've reached the point where I become aware that this is a very one-way conversation. I report on instances in my life where I have thoughts or feels, and you give it a good ol' look-over, say 'neat' and move onto the next activity. But for this post, I'd like to use my efforts to reach out to you and see what's going on in your life. 

A year ago today, I was at a rib festival in Kingston, getting food with people I didn't quite realize would become my good friends for the entire year (guide posted for your information). Through a couple nights of trivia, a few rowdy classes with my section, and a few more rowdy rounds of Dutch Blitz, Kingston become a really nice community (if only for a short time). Yadda yadda, I come to the part where I say that last year I was basically hopping between Kingston and Hamilton, and when in Hamilton I was hopping between there and Turonno. I now realize that the 365 days have been my biggest heap-ful of friend-to-Stuart contact yet. Now I'm kind of on the other side of the planet, and it's hard to keep up with you. I suppose that's not an unfamiliar feeling, a sort of mix of winding down from school and and rolling into all the mentally taxing things of trying starting a new year on the right foot (that is, if you're wearing shoes and pants and if you're planning on leaving the house this week). Now most of us are out of that school thing, graduated, maybe working, maybe at home, and largely struggling to comprehend what our twenties are for. I know a lot of you have changed gears in life. September has a habit of being that time when life reaches down to the gear shift and jiggles the handle, and before you know it you're going a different speed (just as you were getting used to how life was going before).

You know, I'd really like to know how you're doing. To have a proper conversation, sometimes the kind where I would barrage you with questions like "What is your favourite thing" only to immediately forget the answer. The kind of conversation one has over the following...
- A pitcher of Rickard's Red and a pound of suicide wings from a certain pub in Hamilton
- A pitcher of Amsterdam Blonde & a burger from Woody's
- $4 pints at the Lakeview
- A Saturday off in Bruce county
- During a sloppy game of pool at the Griz
- Outdoor dinners at my place in Hamilton just before my mom comes out with dessert and some awful story from my childhood
- Nerve-racking rounds of dutch blitz*
*It should be noted that the friends I have made in Hong Kong (who are mostly native Hong Kong-ers), find Dutch Blitz generally relaxing. I was entirely underwhelmed and unimpressed at their attitude. They say it's "simply a matter of data management and concentration, isn't this supposed to be aggressive?" .... >:[  They still like it, and I still do pretty good against them. However, I've still a few friends who are remarkably skilled I've yet to beat. 

I tried to cover most people by going for groups & stuff, but I know it doesn't do everyone justice so don't get your jimmies rustled if you've done none of those things (but if I haven't blitz'd with you, shame on me). Still, my apologies if I wasn't able to fit you into all of the pictures I possibly could.

Guh. Going through these pictures, the pain that comes with the memories is potent. My insides hurt. This is feeling I knew awaited me in Macau (mind you, the new year has also brought a lot of excellent people along with it). Does anyone else have trouble leaving the fun times of the past behind, knowing that life ahead won't ever return to that fun-filled hectic stage, even though those people & places still exist, just in many far and varying places around the world. Just. JUST GET OVER HERE. I'll feed you Portuguese food and take you to the beach and let you sit on my couch and drink scotch you just have go BE HERE TO DO IT! COME ON!

I hope that we'll all just age really well and grow up to be cool people with neat things going on in our lives. When I say cool people, I mean those I respect and care about, which is you, since you're able to read this. And when I say grow up, I mean we're both in our fifties and our lives have progressed and many things have happened (perhaps I give up teaching at 29 and decide to buy & sell collectible motorcycles online while touring east Asia for only the most precious and nifty classics. You, in the meantime, are close to retiring after a long career in working at a small company that specializes in modernizing people's homes in an energy-expensive mid-21st century. You now live with your family & significant other in a small town where you bring efficient technology to local schools, hospitals and community centers. We both meet up after many decades apart of divergent but equally neat lives, and lo and behold, we still thoroughly enjoy each other's company and enjoy the fact that we have a long established history as cool people who know each other and enjoy sharing the same time space in mutual respect (as we sip beers in a cozy setting of your choice). Before we get to our fifties though, I have some work to do to ensure that this becomes a reality and not just over-ambitious community preservation: 

A) Hosting fantastic taco-fuelled parties at the beginning of every summer in Hamilton.
B) Buying antiquidated cars on kijiji and using them to tour the country visiting as many people as I can dig my claws into during the course of a given summer.
C) Using my abilities as a person in Asia to meet up with you in the most fun Asian country of your choice. You can expect that in the coming years I'll do only my very best to forcefully and benevolently pry my way into your life and 'liven it up' in the best ways I know how.

I know it'll be a little while until I get to see you again, but that doesn't mean I'm not thinking of you. Let's chat soon. 

Here Goes a New Year

As you will see from reading this, I made it back to Macau just in time for the new school year. I had exactly one day of in-school planning before the kiddos arrived, allowing me to hastily churn out some first-week plans in coordination with all those pesky standards I've got to meet. With a new year comes a new class, and I've got quite the bunch. I'm glad I have this bad boy on hand for basically everything.  This might give you an idea of what we've got:

- A student who cannot keep himself from screaming answers the moment he even thinks he knows what question I'm asking
- A student who drinks water at a record rate and needs to go back to the fountain every.single.class
- A class-B, fully certified space cadet who lives on a planet of their own, far from the world of our classroom
- A student who wrote his name 5 times on their name tag, so I now say their name 5 times every time I want his attention
- A student who's father is the head chef at the best Indian restaurant in all of Macau (And yes, I can get my hands on the goods without unscrupulous requests)

I love all of them. We've got a way to go but they're going to be a real good bunch one we get our poop in a group (my version of getting one's shit together). So far this week has been, very very hectic. VERY hectic. You might have well put squirrels in the classroom it was so hectic. They're all in the neighbourhood of 8 years old, and are a rowdy bunch that can't line up if they were.... um.... I don't have a slang saying for that one...  I've really got to help them group up that poop because Grade 4 is a proper make-or-break year. The first 'serious' grade as far as the way my school does things, it's the first year of proper exams and tests, full grades and the need to study & be properly organized. The vast majority of them still come into grade 4 with solid literacy and math skills, but we've got some work to do if we want to be ready for the real world. 

I've now got myself fully room-mated. This gem of a human being is taking a picture of her first egg tart and not first bubble tea, shortly after arriving in Macau. This will be my first time living with a roommate that isn't a group of European students in Kingston. She even does all the dishes and cleans up the house pretty regularly. I repaid her with a grilled cheese once but I think I will have to pull up my socks and not be a filthy child to the best of my ability. 

One last thing. A new school year has brought in a cool group of new staff. It's both refreshing and rememberful, remindful, attention-pointing-to the fact that this overseas teaching thing can be fleeting for some. New schools, new jobs, & new countries can snatch away your friends and leave you with a new pack of people you don't know, all the while a new year begins and you've not really got a proper idea of what you should even be doing. Either way, it's likely you'll find some quality pals somewhere in the mix, but that's life no matter where you are, isn't it?