Life is a Catch 22

Sitting at my newly assembled desk from Amazon, that an ex helped me build two days ago (I say helped, I didn’t really do much at all) listening to my “writing music”. The music I used to put on and listen to through my headphones in Korea when the world seemed like a chaotic mess of people talking a language I didn’t understand. Somehow, it annoyed me. I hated hearing the different intonations. I hated that I understood some of it and for that reason, couldn’t block it out but instead trying to configure what they were saying all of the time. I though the world would be much better surrounded by a language you did understand.

The desk is bare holding only a few items. My MacBook, a pencil case, a notebook, a can of Coke and my packet of anti-depressants. I wonder if life has actually changed that much at all? I spent a few moments before attempting this post, something that I hope turns out at least half decent as I am desperately trying to get out of the teaching industry and into something more artistic, making my list in my little book and popping my pills to make me feel better. I don’t feel better, though. My life seems like a catch 22. There is always something that makes me feel horrible in the place that I am in. In Korea, I craved the ability to form relationships with students but it was hard because of the language barrier. I thought the grass was greener on the other side, but I am afraid to admit that I don’t think green grass does at all exist.

Growing up I was often silenced and made to feel insignificant. It was a feeling, sometimes literal, that I would scream and no one would notice. I feel that way here. I’m not given any respect from the students in this country. For once, I want to be in a place where I am heard. A place physically, emotionally, mentally – where ever. I am sinking in this job and after doing so well every where else, I hate to admit that I feel as though I am sinking.

 

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