Sunglasses Always Fit

It’s been 20 days since I somehow purged or packed seven years of a life into four bags, threw my guitar on top and walked up to the oversized baggage desk at Hong Kong airport. 

“Wow, this is a lot. Are you moving, or . . .” the agent kindly asked. 

It was then, despite having known the moment was coming for five months, and the excitement I feel about my next step, despite having weeks earlier, several times, thoroughly and not so quietly losing my shite about leaving, I found myself losing it all again. Lip wobbling, snot dripping, apologising while searching frantically for the passport I’d just cleverly tucked somewhere moments before. 

“Yeah, yes, uh-huh, I am moving,” I managed. Thankfully, unlike many Chinese people I have encountered in customer service in the last few years here, she was not allergic to my public emotions. She spoke so sweetly to me, asked questions to keep me distracted, helped me tag and weigh everything, and did not flinch as I lovingly whispered “be safe, see you soon,” to my guitar. She even met me later at the gate to check my ticket and told me “good luck.” Which is something I needed for the flight, for the summer, and definitely need for these next two years.

Let’s dive in to why, shall we?

First – I’m letting you know now that this is a really vulnerable post. I almost didn’t write it at all. Because. Well.

Because it actually wasn’t my choice to leave my job in Hong Kong.

Lemme ‘splain: Hiring and recruitment season for international teachers begins in about October, for the following year. You usually have to indicate you plan to stay at your job in October, and contracts to stay at your current job are generally signed in November/December. Hiring Fairs are in November-December-January, and you’re usually signed up and settled by the end of January in a new position. 

Our school has been, to put it nicely, an unorganised hot mess for a few years, for a variety of reasons both inflicted and self-imposed. But it’s been one that I loved, had lots of leadership and autonomy at, had created lifelong friendships at, a walking commute, did a job I felt was important, etc. I felt quite comfortable and wanted and planned to stay at least another year.

However, the contracts were coming late. 

Our principal blamed management, etc. etc., but I had signed intent to stay ages ago, I do a lot, have a lot of seniority, lead things, and walked confidently into the formality that was an ‘interview’ for next year on January 16th ready to have a nice chat with my boss.

I answered the routine questions about my strengths, my initiatives over the last year, what I think we needed to do better, etc. I accepted their compliments and mention of my service and contributions to the school with a smile, heart full. Some jokes. Possibly a hairflip.

When asked if I had any questions, I just asked “where will I be next year?” as my position has been changed at last minute before. And all of a sudden, the mood in the room shifted.

Friends – I did not imagine their answer would be, to summarize, “despite our best efforts, not here.”

It’s almost okay, I can almost laugh about it now. Basically, they explained that because our enrolment was shrinking, they couldn’t afford two classes in our year group. It came down to logistics – I had signed a one year contract, my colleague was on a two-year contract, so despite all that (they very kindly acknowledged) I bring to the table (literally, he referred to me as “a part of the furniture.” But in a nice way, I’m sure) I was the unfortunate cut in the situation. 

I walked out, directly into my bestie’s room and fell apart. Walked to another friend and fell apart. Walked to another friend and fell apart. Then went home, took off my bra, drank a LOT of wine from Club 7-11, sat in the only chair I have and cried for hours, punctuated by lots of “what in the world” “Can’t believe” “so unfair” with bestie.

I called in for an expected heart-sick the next day, buckled in and dusted off a resume I hadn’t looked at in eight years, wondering how one applies to teaching jobs these days in a hyper-digitalized, post-COVID world. And this was also mere days after the hiring fair in Hong Kong had happened (stab to the heart), and well after most major hiring around the world had already been completed. 

However, this is where, despite the humiliation I sometimes still feel about the deep unfairness and poor timing about the situation, the profound loss of control over my life I had to experience, I can look back now and see it’s been a lesson and a blessin’ in a lot of ways.

Within a week of applying to about twenty jobs, I had three polite rejections (international schools favour commonwealth teachers over Americans, and prefer IB experience, which doesn’t exist in America, so I have a lot against me to start) and one interview with a school in Guatemala.

Coincidentally (or was it?), every time I had a bad day at work, Guatemala was a country I’d look and see if they had any jobs going. And at this wee school in particular.

At 10pm my time on a Tuesday night, just days after being made redundant, I Zoom-terviewed with the Guatemala school. I got an acceptance email within hours of the interview.

And I said heck yeah. Heck yeah to volcanoes and lakes and friendly people and colours and slow slow slow and eternal spring weather and transitioning from one of the three most expensive places in to the world to one of the least. Heck yeah to closer to home, no more jetlag, a language and culture I understand.

Heck. Yeah. To change.

I’m excited – I backpacked there for a few months in 2008 and it’s always been one of my most favorite countries. I’m pumped to be fluent in Spanish again, thrilled for a slower pace of life with more nature. I want to swing in a hammock, belly full of corn tortillas and avocados, and feed all the street dogs and teach kids from tiny mountain communities who really deserve the kind of heart and attention I’m willing to give.

There will be many challenges, of course. I mean . . . don’t know anyone in Guatemala! I don’t have a place to live! It’s a small school where I will supply everything myself! All the kids are on scholarship and English is their third language! (The school serves mostly indigenous children to lift their families out of poverty through the power of education.) I’ll be teaching fifth grade, which I’ve never done! On a new curriculum! Without a teaching partner! And the spiders and bugs are of significant and unusual sizes in Guatemala!

There are VOLCANOES! EARTHQUAKES! HURRICANES! Our pets’ HEADS ARE FALLING OFF!*

I don’t know if they will like my large collection of costumes, or if I can buy cottage cheese there (a Rachel essential), or if the dating scene is any better than the dumpster fire that is HK finance bros looking to cheat on their families back home for a few months. Travel will be harder, infrastructure unreliable.

Also a big factor in the challenge – I am technically a volunteer with a living stipend – I won’t be making a salary. This will be a big change, so I hope you all look forward to filling my teacher Amazon cart this Christmas :).

But, as I type this, I remind myself that we can’t grow if we don’t change, and we don’t change without challenge.

I remind myself that I didn’t know anything about Hong Kong, had never even been to Asia before I arrived in 2017, and that became a home.

I remind myself that God has a great sense of humour, and this could possibly be my funniest story yet.

I remind myself that I am brave, and I can do hard things. With some effing aplomb, usually. Always with flair.

So that’s the story, folks. That’s the general, edited, much better told in person over some wine, with my full-body reenactments of every emotion I felt at every moment. But I think it wraps it up for this blog. I’d be honoured if you follow along – we are exactly at midpoint – 20 days until moving!

Until then – stay cool and stay in touch and please subscribe.

*A great line from “Dumb and Dumber,” which needs to be reintroduced to daily lexicon.