August 21, 2013 § 2 Comments
OK. I am aware that it has been forever. I’m sorry. I don’t have an excuse, except that I don’t like talking about my visits to America, which is what I did this summer. It’s just a really emotional (I hate that word, but as a girl, I’m forced to use it sometimes) experience and if I tried to actually write about it I would probably not be able to stop sobbing for roughly two years so let’s not go down that road.
However, I really have no excuse for the past few days, since school started on Monday and I have basically the most bizarre story ever.
So, last year in the early spring I visited an international school in a town about 20 minutes away from where I live. The language of the school is English and I had it in the back of my mind as a backup plan.
This summer I decided to stay in the German public school though, so I sort of forgot about the international school.
Monday was the first day back and it was just not a good experience. When I got there my teacher acted extremely surprised to see me and said that the international school had contacted him over the summer and asked him to transfer all my paperwork because I was going to their school that year. My whole class was confused, as was I. I sort of brushed it off though, because honestly, I don’t have the highest opinion of the organization of the German school system. As far as the rest of the school day, it was the same story with the girls not being friendly and my feeling awkward about the language. At break I went down to my old Polish classroom to see if I could meet the new students. My old teacher saw me and she was also very surprised and thought I was going to the other school. At that point I was really confused, but again, German school system. What are you going to do?
So I then completed the day, growing more miserable by the second.
Somewhere around mid-way through first period an idea began to form in my mind. By the end of the day, I was pretty sure.
When I got home I told my mom that I was not going back to the German school and I wanted to go to the international school. My brother was going there anyway, so it wouldn’t be too much of an extra hassle.
After a long afternoon of crying and debating and talking, my mom and I came to the decision that I would transfer as soon as possible.
My Dad then called the schools and informed us of something astounding.
After I had visited the school last year, we reserved a spot for me for this year, because they told us that we could cancel it at any time and there would be no extra cancellation fee or anything like that.
As it turned out, we had forgotten to cancel it after I decided to stay at the public school, so technically I was enrolled at the international school.
They never sent anything in the mail or any confirmation email or anything, but apparently I was announced at the opening ceremony on Monday and obviously was not there, which must have been kind of awkward.
The general effect of this was that it was extremely easy for me to “transfer” on Tuesday, since it’s not even really a transfer.
If all of that was very confusing to you, I am not at the public school that I was at last year anymore. This means no more Polish stories.
Let us have a moment of silence.
Fortunately for you all, as I told my dad on the phone, my whole life is pretty much just one awkward situation, so there should still be a decent flow of stories.
Tuesday and then today I was at the international school, and I already have some good stories. I actually have no idea where to start. There’s such an overload of information that I feel like I NEED to address first, so sorry if the rest of this post feels really disorganized and all over the place.
It’s because my whole life, in addition to being one big awkward situation, is also really disorganized and all over the place.
I’m in the same class that I visited in March, so I already vaguely know some of the kids.
In my main classroom, I’m sitting on the end of a row right next to a boy who I don’t really know. Unfortunately for me, a fair amount of our teachers love to present us with an idea and then tell us to “discuss it with the person next to us.”
This is a painful enough experience when I’m next to an actual friend, but next to an equally gawky adolescent boy… There are no adequate words. I’m pretty sure all the people within a 10 mile radius are affected by the awkwardness that we emanate.
Half the time we just sit and stare at the floor, attempting to pretend we’ve suddenly gone deaf and mute. Because there are only so many feasible solutions to such a problem. Then the teacher gives us the hairy eyeball to the point where today, I turned around and said to my would-be conversational partner, “Let’s just pretend that we’re actually talking about this.”
This was the best decision I’ve ever made.
Now I think I’ll try to start from the beginning of the Tuesday to the end of Wednesday. On Tuesday, I got to the school and my mom took me to my classroom. The teacher hadn’t arrived yet and the whole class was waiting outside the door. I then asked her what I should do. She told me to sit down somewhere and then she left me all alone. A couple of people said hi, but for the most part they just ignored me.
When we got into the classroom, the teacher asked me to stand up and introduce myself. Once I sat down he asked the class if anyone wanted to volunteer to be my “friend” for the beginning and show me around. There was a long awkward silence until finally one girl slowly raised her hand.
She still hasn’t even said hi to me. I feel like I’m on my own on this one.
I actually have enjoyed all my classes so far, except for the Spanish. I’ve been learning Spanish for a few months and my class has been learning for 2 years, so they’re obviously way ahead of me.
Other than that, yesterday was good.
Today was interesting. I had first two periods English and I really like the class so far.
We’re doing a unit on friendship and why it’s important. The teacher had passed out a magazine article that was split into four sections. Each section asked a particular question about friendship and we were told to highlight the key words of each section. I was finished a full 10 minutes before the rest of the class, so I took out my little notebook that I write my in-school diary in. I did this all of last year and I firmly believe that it is the reason I am still sane.
I’m also planning on keeping these forever so that one day when I grow up I will find them packed away in a box in my attic and I will read them to all of my friends and I will be so embarrassed at what an idiot I was when I was a teenager and it will be hilarious.
This is the only thing that I’ve planned about my future at all. I don’t even know what continent I’m planning on living on. I do have it narrowed down to two though, so that’s pretty good progress.
Anyway, I got it out and started writing in it as the teacher started passing out the next worksheet. When he got to me he attempted to subtly read over my shoulder in the most non-subtle way known to man. So I closed the book and stared at the wall until he left.
The worksheet wanted you to summarize what the article was saying and then give your own opinion about the topics.
I’m pretty sure I finished that first as well, so I started writing again. He came over and proofread it and there were a couple of places he wanted me to give more information, so I did that and went back to my writing. I did that for about 10 or 15 minutes until the last people finished up. Then he passed one more sheet out. It was a fill-in-the-blank about the article we had read, but it was pretty hard. I finished it and then glanced over to see that the boy next to me was on the first word and that the girls in front of me were on the second. Then one of the girls raised her hand and asked how to spell the word “reciprocate.”
The teacher wrote “recipricate” up on the board and everyone continued with the handout.
This gave me agita, but again, I took out my notebook and started writing. Then the teacher came over again. He crouched down, but before he could say anything I said, “Uhm. Isn’t “reciprocate” spelled with an “o?” He stood up, looked at it, and said, “An “o?” Where?” Then I said, “Uh. R-E-C-I-P-R-O-C-A-T-E?”
He looked at me and said, “No. I don’t think so.”
So, instead of dropping it, I got my dictionary out. It’s because I knew I was right. I looked it up and sure enough, “reciprocate.”
I showed him and he looked shocked, but he went up to the board and corrected it.
He didn’t seem offended or anything, which I guess is one of the signs of a good teacher.
I thought he was gone for good, but he came back and asked me what I was writing. I couldn’t bring myself to say “a diary,” so I just handed him my finished worksheet and as soon as he glanced over it he stood up and told me to follow him.
He took me over to his desk and showed me a painting on his computer. He told me that he wanted me to describe it to the class in as much detail as I could when they finished the last worksheet.
He then let me awkwardly stand at the front of the class for about 10 minutes, giving no explanation to the rest of the kids.
After this experience, I am almost positive that I have been (probably correctly) labeled as the intelligent one who is somewhat socially challenged and secretive. As well as sarcastic and back-talky.
I’m slightly concerned about the rest of my classes with him, but I think it should be OK.
I just wonder how many lectures about being social and so on I’ll get from him by the end of the year.