chainsaw medic

Even though it’s only been a little over a month, it feels like ages since we conquered Sokehs Rock, climbed up, up, up that ridiculously steep road, littered with precariously loose gravel and mud from rain a night before. It seemed that the higher we got, the sharper the incline became, the grade gradually getting less and less astute. But we made it there, somehow, with heavy panting breaths and faces dripping wet with perspiration. In the last stretch before the summit of the radio tower, the undergrowth seemed to get thicker and thicker, while the path, narrower and narrower, until finally through the thicket a clearing became visible, and when we reached it, there we were with nothing but the cerulean sky surrounding us. The view was astounding. Well worth the effort. And the Japanese guns were impressive, more along the vein of how preposterously difficult it must have been to haul the materials they needed to build those goddamn things. All for what, to shoot a few planes out of the sky? The things we humans do, I swear.

It might be worth mentioning that I ended up breaking the UV filter of my Minolta lens on this trip. While attempting to climb out of an old Japanese trench I slipped on some mud and my camera swung from my neck and smashed onto the nearest conveniently placed rock. When I checked to examine it, I saw that force had pushed my lens cap partway into the lens, and after a minute or two of trying to get the thing unstuck, the damage revealed itself to me. There was my UV filter, cracked beyond repair. I unscrewed it to check if the actual lens had suffered any damage. Luckily, it didn’t. I decided to leave my broken filter there among the ruins of old war machines. It seemed fitting, somehow, like one more thing claimed by this senseless fighting, or something to that effect.

Again, this was maybe six or so weeks ago, but an eternity has passed since then. The end of PST 2, swear-in, etc. – all of that seems like old news, so much so that I don’t feel like bothering to write about it. But I will, if only briefly. Training ended uneventfully and though at the time I thought the transition from my old family to my permanent one seemed too hasty and rushed, looking back at it, well, I’m over it. I’m settling into a groove now, working in a routine, seeking solace in things that keep me from going insane, like the C2 brand ice tea the store across the street from my school sells for a buck a (plastic) bottle, or the absurdity of the giant Mormon church in my neighborhood with its awesome basketball court, or writing letters (or writing in general) using the sweet ass pen my mom sent me, or even just the occasional telephone conversation with a PCV friend.

This has finally started to feel like a “job” and everything that word entails, both positively and negatively. I’m keeping my head up, though, trying to stay afloat as the water gradually rises and sets with the tide, or the latent effects of global warming. Newsflash: teaching is hard. Hell, I should be brewing some lesson plans right now, but I’m typing this shit up instead, not even knowing when I’d be able to post it. And my kids, well, due to a lot of adverse but expected circumstances, are, not surprisingly, at a much lower level than they ought to be for their grade. That’s eighth, by the way. In fact a handful or two of them really shouldn’t even be there. But they just get pushed through the system, one way or the other. Taint right. The smart ones make it all feel worthwhile, though, for me, somehow. It wouldn’t be natural after all to NOT be drawn to some of your students. For me they just so happen to be the brighter ones.

When they say that the Peace Corps experience will really temper your mettle, hone your resolve, force you to learn patience, they sure as hell wasn’t kidding. Being patient will be an ongoing lesson for me here. Working in an unpredictable environment like this, surrounded by kids, it’s tough. Especially for one such as I, who has absolutely no tolerance for the loud, the annoying, the rude, the disruptive – all the behaviors included in the combo pack of characteristics attributed to the average prepubescent child. But I’m working on it. I’m trying to get them to be respectful and honest and courteous and so on, at least during the hour and a half a day or so that they’re with me. Then they can go back to the battle royale that is recess and lunch time for Pohnpeian kids. Culture note: horseplay is just normal play here. These kids are rough on each other, regardless of age or gender. They push, shove, slap, choke, and kick to their hearts’ content. But in a funny way, I kind of wish I’d grown up in that environment. At least they always have an outlet for their aggressions and frustrations, instead of letting it all bottle up turning them into broody, angst-ridden emotional wrecks. There certainly aren’t any emo kids on this island. Pretentious wannabe gangsters? Oh, we’ve got plenty. But no emo kids.

It’s hard to believe that it’s already December and the winter holidays are upon us. Living on a tropical island obviously does not lend itself well to giving any indications. Here it’s always rain or sun. Or maybe more accurately, rain AND sun, as both tends to happen frequently on the same day. I’ve heard rain in Pohnpei be described as having the likeness of turning a faucet on full blast, then shutting it off as immediately as it came on. I’d have to agree. But, well, like anything else, you get used to it. And honestly, it’s one of my favorite things about this place. The pitter patter of droplets on tin roofs along with the surge of wind rustling through the trees – these are sounds that will stay with me long after I leave this place, and sounds that will always take me back here no matter where I am or where I’ll be.

And on the subject of where I’ll be, this has already begun to endow me with personal realizations, mainly about what the hell I want to do with my life. To be more specific, I’d always thought that I would end up being a teacher. But now that I am, I don’t know if it’s something I’d like to make my long-term career. Really I just want to write and travel. And live poor – poor in material wealth, but rich in experiencing the beauty of the world. There’s still so much out there and in here to search and discover. But anyway, this is just what I’ve been thinking lately. There is still an abundance of what this experience can teach me – two years left for more personal growth and realizations. So who knows, maybe at the end of this I will still want to keep teaching. But more than likely I still won’t have a clue of what the hell I want to do with my life. But hey, at least I’ll be two years wiser and two more years grown.