the wonderful, horrible infamous Veasna

November 4

Today, I wandered the streets searching for the fastest way to get to Tuol Kork market, and of course, I went the slowest and worst way possible, walking in circles for miles on end. My legs aching, I waited several seconds on a sheet of cracked plexi glass, trashed on the dusty road. Just thinking to myself, the only place I really want to go is up. Maybe the sheet will turn into a rocket or a magic carpet or a hover craft, and I can be just like Michael J. Fox, and blast on to the future, where I can look fondly back at the valuable year I spent in Cambodia, where I touched so many lives, and helped so many children break free from the chains of illiteracy. Not. And after those few moments of laziness and apathy (where you want the work to be done, but you just don't feel like being the one doing it) had passed, I bought toilet paper and some lemon juice, and spent the next half an hour, ruled by my horrible sense of direction, wandering roads that all looked to the same to me. I did buy Zenya from a street vender, and spoke only Khmer, buhn man? oh, pi poon prom? Nonethless, I was proud of myself, I am making progress. I am learning to take it one day at a time. I am learning it is okay to admit your limitations, to ask for help. When I returned to my apartment, Sengphor arrived minutes later, inviting me over to eat some duck curry they had made. Community is nice.

I am running out of ideas to do with my student Veasna. I took him to the office the other day, and carried him the whole way, out of the classroom, through the hallway, up the stairs, waiting out his horrible tantrum, tears literally wet on my arms, legs kicking, arms flailing, I was scared we might break through a wall in the third grade classroom, as they are horribly weak and thin. Sharon told me to keep a log book of all of the things he does in class, which if I had made a list in the past, would have included things such as: stealing from other students (money, school supplies), hitting, speaking bad words, attempting to choke others, using the middle finger, not to mention I can't keep him in his seat, he's always running around the room, and none of the other kids want to sit by him (and when I move his desk and start to move him by them, they say, literally, "No teacher, no, please, no Veasna!" and who knows all of the things he says that I can't even understand (another disfortunate factor in the language barrier). On Friday, he picked up the plastic stick from the dustpan, which is pretty thick and probably about 3 ft tall and started hitting girls with it like a baseball bat. And yet, the other day, he hugged me from behind, as he usually does, and I kiss him on the head most days (where his hair always smells like old meat) and Thida laughed and said aloud, "Veasna loves teacher!" And it was the highlight of my day. Maybe I can find a way to get through to him. I love my kids, I'd bend over backwards for any of them. And right now, I am laughing, out loud even, because I am lost, I am out of ideas, out of my mind.