Apologies

Thanks everyone for visiting my blog in the past. I know that typically blogs are supposed to be updated every week or month...I had taken a break because I was still sorting through some things. First, I would like to extend my gratitude to everyone who has been a part of my journey for the last two years. You know who you are. You spent your time with me at a coffee shop going over our mid-twenties' life issues, or you shared your family with me by allowing me to spend some time with you, or you encouraged me to keep my chin up. After my internship in D.C. I was pretty hard on myself on not finding a job right away. I moved back to my parents' home in NJ, and I spent numerous hours trying to fill up my time with music, art, and dance, my childhood activities. I reminded myself that God would never give me something I couldn't handle...that he was testing my patience, my faith, and my love.
I want to share with you now that a little over a week ago I received word that I landed a new job in D.C. I can share those details with you another time, and what's worth saying is that my reaction was unusual. I was more than anything, grateful, but I was also in disbelief. It is a job I truly wanted, and maybe that's what all my waiting was meant for...for this job. Did God answer my prayers? Who could have delivered such a happy outcome? Whether you believe or do not believe, I can say this much...that something (for me, God) is looking out for us; and, that I did not give up and God did not give up on me.

Reinventing Room Part II

So I've been MIA for a while. I finally turned my room around.
Four days: Painting of boy on boat in Bohol, Philippines
One week: Walls
Two-three days: Finding curtains and bedding
I went for a job interview a few weeks ago. I miss Bangladesh and my students. I'm thinking of turning this blog into an academic one to have accountability for a grand self-study plan. Two months into year 27, hopeful for things to start coming together with more...grad school applications. If successful, that puts getting back to China at about two years (summer of 2012). I can wait.

Emerging bedroom of an emerging adult

(pic is of my girlhood bedroom) For those of you who have read the recent article in the NY Times Magazine “What is it about 20-somethings?” I am the female counterpart to the 20-something archetype* who hangs his new PhD in his boyhood bedroom (except it’s not a PhD hanging on my wall but a Fulbright certificate). I have finally taken it upon myself to own my Jersey upbringing and have started to accept that I might just be living at home for now and the foreseeable future. Hence, the emerging bedroom, the end to my girlhood bedroom and the beginning of my 20-something sanctuary. If I am going to be job hunting for the next few months in my bedroom, I might as well do it in a minimalist, sophisticated solitude. You can’t see the clutter on the ride side of the bedroom in this picture, but I barely had enough space to place two tiny candles on a bookshelf so I could pray and meditate.
A good friend once told me that I should let go of things and not get stuck in the past. But, how could he know what my albums of China and Taiwan meant to me, or my collection of track medals, or my neon yellow lava lamp? Ok, I guess it's time for detachment. As I started painting over the purple walls of my memories, I started feeling less attached to the objects representing my past. It is my hope and prayer that I can fill this room with new dreams and aspirations.
Get ready for pictures of my new bedroom…however long it will take!

*"A cover of The New Yorker last spring picked up on the zeitgeist: a young man hangs up his new Ph.D. in his boyhood bedroom, the cardboard box at his feet signaling his plans to move back home now that he’s officially overqualified for a job. In the doorway stand his parents, their expressions a mix of resignation, worry, annoyance and perplexity: how exactly did this happen?"(Henig NY Times Aug 18, 2010)).

My letter to life

Before I joined family to car pool to Jaden’s baptism this morning, I heard the voice recording of the century’s pop star king, Michael Jackson, and the radio show hosts went on about the world’s loss of a legendary singer, musician, and peacemaker. I couldn’t help but think for a moment that everyone somehow deserves MJ’s level of recognition and honor, that is, we live each day among important and loving friends and family who might not be there from one day to the next.
Jaden’s baptism is a celebration of life. We are celebrating Jaden’s life today especially, and I feel that we are truly celebrating everyone and everything that brought him to this world, from his grandparents and parents to every breath he inhales and exhales and to every person who pinches his cheek or smells the baptismal oil and incense in his hair. Why do babies make us feel so close to purity or truth? They just are…they drool, giggle, laugh, cry and show emotions that we can all express, but as we grow into children, teenagers, and finally adults we tend to protect or mask ourselves. Society makes us believe that displaying our emotions in public are shameful or inappropriate. But, if we open ourselves and allow a tiny beam of emotion to penetrate the outside world, then we would slowly be letting others to share, in truth, our joys and sorrows with us. And, wouldn’t that give people the opportunity to make us laugh when we are down, listen to us when we are lost, or wipe off our drool when we are sick or dying?
Today is also the ten-year anniversary of a friend my high school friends and I lost to sickness. How precious life is, and how is it that we think we have control over our lives from one minute to the next? No, we cannot always be in control. We cannot predict if we will live to 18 years old, 27 years old, or 80 years old. But, we can try to live for today and remind ourselves that we are given the opportunity each day to show our loved ones who we are and how we love. Each day is precious because of life.

Bryn Mawr College and Pai Mei

Yesterday I stepped foot on Bryn Mawr College soil for the first time since I walked out on graduation day in May 2005. I vowed to myself that before coming back to my alma mater (in Latin, “nourishing mother”), I would have to do something with my life. Well, within the past five years I know that at least I lived up to my goals of earning a Master’s and traveling and teaching more, but now I was back to visit the Career Development Office (CDO) with the hope of hearing some words to nourish and encourage me as I embark on Job Hunt Take II Act I. As I turned on Yarrow Street and caught a glimpse of the Bryn Mawr College sign, I was overcome with nostalgia. Bryn Mawr College’s Gothic architecture is quite old, but it never felt that way as a student because as I lived in it, its stones, steps, and walls lived with me. However, having aged five years and not returning even once in that time span, I felt like I had seasoned with the architecture and as I walked on the cobblestone and passed through the main archway, I was walking through my history. I paused in front of Pembroke archway where there was a little door that led to a small spiral staircase into the main dance studio. Modern dance classes with Linda and Mady and jazz and hip hop sessions with Yasmin flashed in my mind. As I walked towards Thomas Great Hall I could almost hear the a cappella songs and orchestral music as well as the poets and writers I used to listen to in that hall. During my CDO meeting, my advisor’s last words were “don’t be too hard on yourself.” And, this evening after fb chatting with a friend, I gave her a recap and she replied that we Mawters always have difficulty easing up on ourselves. When I visited the alumnae office where I worked, I was happy to find that many of my former advisors were still there, enthusiastic and never missing a beat. One of my advisors gave me the name of an alumna of Chinese heritage who I will try to contact soon. Her name sort of reminded me of a character in the film I re-watched last week, Kill Bill Vol. 2. I am now on a mission to find her and speak with her so that she can give me the secrets of the job hunt and the five-point-kill-the-interview technique. I hope that this job search does in fact lead somewhere. Take it from Pai Mei in the movie, “It’s the wood that should fear your hand, not the other way around. No wonder you can’t do it. You acquiesce to defeat before you even begin.” The world is my wood (or the wood is my world), and I am ready to live up to my Asian stereotype and karate strike my way into it!
(Pembroke arch)
(sitting on senior steps at Taylor)
(Thomas Great Hall)

Introducing Baby Jaden!

Jaden, the firstborn of my first cousin, Jenna, was born on May 24, 2010. I missed congratulating Jenna and her family because I was in Bangladesh at the time. I took this picture of him in the car seat. I’m amazed at how a baby changes everything. As Jenna clipped his fingernails while he was asleep in the car seat, I thought about how Jenna’s primary responsibility in this world now was to care for her baby…that’s mindblowing. Jenna always had a love for children and so she’s a natural at motherhood.

Oscar's 1st Birthday!

I went to north Jersey to celebrate the first birthday of my inaanak (godchild)! He can walk now and with each step he get's better. He's ready to grill zucchini, peppers, and sausage for his birthday! I once watched a Russell Peters' clip in which he talked about multiracial babies. My little godchild is French Filipino, and so in Peters' borderline inappropriate but hilarious style, I would give Oscar the first prize for being the cutest Frelipino on earth!

Namesake

Archbishop Angel N. Lagdameo and I share the same birthday and it was special to attend his Mass for Bukas Loob Sa Diyos (Open in Spirit to God) in Rahway, NJ this evening. My middle name Angela also comes from my grandma’s name, Angelina, and the bishop’s. The brother of my father’s late father, I haven’t seen the bishop since my childhood visit to the Philippines. I greeted him with a big hug and, after being instructed by my father, diligently executed “mano po” (taking the hand of an elder and touching the back of the elder’s hand to your forehead; a sign of respect). When I entered the Divine Mercy Parish, I was overwhelmed by the number of Filipinos in attendance. Bishop Lagdameo’s homily on Christ and perseverance was meaningful, and he talked about the “Christian moment” when we are challenged to have faith and push on. At 70 years old, he certainly continues to push on with his youthful charisma, Lagdameo smile, and generous spirit.

Paul Klee (1879-1940)

I visited the Phillips Collection two days ago for the first time. Among the Rothko, van Gogh, Monet, Degas, and Renoir, I found Paul Klee's "Printed Sheet With Picture (Bilderbogen)" (1937) the most personal. I liked the background with short paintbrush strokes and little geometric shapes, suns and stars. And, if I were Buddhist that red circle would be my mandala. I also admired the way he created a three-dimensional feel to the piece with these two-dimensional anthropomorphic creatures. You get a sense of reality floating in a dreamworld, or dreams being grounded in reality. (OK, yes, I saw Inception recently).

"As their talent develops guide your pupils towards Nature into Nature. Make them experience how a bud is born, how a tree grows, how a butterfly unfolds so that they may become just as resourceful, flexible, and determined as great Nature. Seeing is believing--is insight into the workshop of God. There, in Nature's womb, lies the secret of creation." --Paul Klee

W.B.Y.

"The Coming of Wisdom with Time”
Though leaves are many, the root is one;
Through all the lying days of my youth
I swayed my leaves and flowers in the sun;
Now I may wither into the truth.

“He Wishes for The Cloths of Heaven”
Had I the heavens’ embroidered cloths,
Enwrought with golden and silver light,
The blue and the dim and the dark cloths
Of night and light and the half-light,
I would spread the cloths under your feet:
But I, being poor, have only my dreams;
I have spread my dreams under your feet;
Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.

Life puzzle

It’s the eve before my 27th birthday. I’m not sure what to write. Maybe positive pieces of the life puzzle, considering this year was full of ups and downs.
1. Lola’s funeral. All my first cousins and I were together for the first time in a long time.
2. Taking care of Oscar, my godchild, for three weeks in DC.
3. This summer marks the ninth summer since I’ve met Paul.
4. Teaching ESL at the Asian University for Women in Bangladesh.
5. Spending the snowmageddon’s of MD and DC with friends.
6. Chillin’ with Mom, Dad, and DD at home in NJ while job hunting.
7. Realizing the value of true friends.
8. Having job interview opportunities.
9. Doing mission work with Mom in the Philippines.
10. Realizing that we only have one chance to live life on earth to the fullest and we need to learn to take care of our own, that is, ourselves and the people we love.
Picture of mural taken in Baltimore, MD.

Job hunting

I sit at home wondering what happened in the past year. Since my grandmother's death last September, I took it upon myself to "live a colorful life" in her honor. Lola Angie had immigrated to the U.S. to work two accounting jobs in NYC in order to support her children, one of whom is my mother. She was a strong, determined woman and during my tough days in Bangladesh I would pray for her inner strength. My desire to live a colorful life brought me to the Philippines, Bangladesh, and now home. Today I started job hunting again...exactly the same situation as of August 2009, but I am not exactly the same person.

Two days later...

I'm hoooooooooome. After almost two days of travel (including layover time), I finally made it home. I traveled first by rickshaw, then by CNG, plane, and finally bus (I am reminded of my thesis writing days outlining the many modes of travel for migrants). Suffice it to say, reading DHS and customs security instructions at Newark airport upon my arrival reminded me of the privileges I have as an American citizen. For an unabridged version of what happened to my identity information in Newark, please wait to see me in person. When I got home I was prepared to roll on the grass in the front yard, but because of the lack of rain it wasn't as green as I expected it to be, so I skipped that and immediately made my way to my mother's garden. And, when I woke up in the middle of the night, I listened to the calm, evenly measured staccato notes of the crickets and feel back to sleep, peacefully.

Rewind: Graduation was a blizzard of emotion, but I was happy to know that I'll be back in August. I've already ordered new course books for Reading and Writing!

Rain Walking and After

I discovered this past week the best times to take a walk. I decided that I needed to take a thought-walk at least every other day if I was going to keep my head on straight. After a day or two of feeling the beginnings of a cough, I sloshed through the rain and mud puddles towards the nearest pharmacy. The mud impeded rickshaw drivers from testing their wheels, people stood under storefronts or whatever shelter they could find, and people driving cars scrambled to find their way home. The road was left for me and a few pedestrians to walk on. I had to keep myself from doing a Gene Kelly number on the sidewalk (the slight fever might have had something to do with the experience). I would probably take a rainy thought-walk again as long as the rainwater doesn’t pass my ankles. The second best time to take a walk is immediately after a rain, such as this morning. People have the same idea, but the streets are not overcrowded…yet. I grabbed my camera to see what I could capture. Across the hospital, a man who was selling mangoes caught my eye. I snapped a photo and hopped away, delighted because I love taking pictures of fruit sellers. Then my courtesy light bulb went off and I hurried back to him and asked to buy a few mangoes. I got SIX MANGOES for a little over 1 USD!

Let me eat cake

Last night Fatima’s mom arrived at our place for a visit, and it was her birthday yesterday! I was quite amused a few weeks ago when Fatima celebrated her birthday and fed bite-sized portions of cake to her students. I found the gesture intimate and sweet. In the states, we commonly witness feeding cake with one’s hands during a wedding. However, it is a custom to eat with one's hands in Bangladesh (and still in some parts of my parents' home country, the Philippines). At the time, I was set on sticking to my habit of using forks to eat and declined to let Fatima essentially stuff cake, icing and all, into my mouth. In this picture, I am meeting an “elder” for the first time, and what do you know? Five weeks have flown by and I feel comfortable enough to obey Fatima’s mother’s wishes and eat cake from her hand.

The Red Thread

My students write one journal entry per week. Little do they know that I love reading their journals. Two weeks ago I gave my students the topic "objects." One of my Cambodian students wrote the following: "Buddhist people in Cambodia consider the red thread that is from the elder people, priests, monks or their parents is the holy thing. They believe that the red thread could protect them from evil spirits, disease or bad things that are about to occur to their lives. Also, it could give them good luck and bring success. Therefore, people often asked each to these people, monks, priests or parents giving sermon and tie for them around their wrists. Mostly, people often tie the thread in many different circumstances. For instance, when students are about to take their final exam, they often go to pagodas and ask monks the thread to reduce their fears and to bring good luck during the exam. Sometimes they could ask their parents to do for them because in Buddhism people consider their parents as Gods. Also, the Cambodia traditional wedding ceremony, a groom and a bride are tied the read thread by the elder relative or their parents for love and happiness. Furthermore, when a child who is just born, parents often ask grand-parents or holy people to tie the red thread on their wrists to prevent the evil spirits and disease. And, they keep doing this on the next birthday. In brief, it has become to a custom in Cambodia, and nobody knows how long it has been existed."
I've taken a course on Buddhism, visited museums with Buddha statues, traveled across China and saw several Buddhist temples, and still I had no idea what red thread signifies. Thanks to my student, now I know!

Pineapple Rice

I guess my blog has become a foodie blog. Pineapples are expensive in the U.S. but not in Bangladesh, so I tried cooking pineapple rice Dai-style. As a study abroad student in Beijing in 2004, there was a Dai ethnic minority restaurant in the lane behind our university, Beijing Foreign Language Studies University. We had the opportunity to visit Yunnan (yun- "cloud" nan- "south") later that year where the Dai people live. Basically the recipe calls for cooking the rice, stuffing it into the pineapple, and then steaming it. I’ll never forget my 6-ft Caucasian, Californian classmate who went to the Dai restaurant to learn how to cook the dish himself. Perhaps I can try to learn how to cook a Bangladeshi dish from a restaurant owner if I become daring enough!

Chittagong (Jiadagang in Chinese)

It’s raining, I’m finished with classes, and yet I continue to nerd out. Here it is you history buffs: Chittagong’s population is just over 2.5 million and its area is 71.4 square miles. A port city on the Bay of Bengal, Chittagong is home to diverse ethnicities. Bangladeshi and Tibeto-Burman populations are the main ethnicities, and persons of Arab, Mughal, and Afghan backgrounds as well as descendants of Portuguese settlers live in Chittagong. The Chittagong Hill Tracts (13,180 square km) is the main hill-intensive region of Bangladesh (a Chinese Buddhist monk traversed these hills during the Tang dynasty and the practice of Buddhism remains today). Abu-Lughod would probably depict Chittagong as an important trading location that facilitated the increase and spread of human, economic, and social capital in the region and beyond during the 13th century. The city has been occupied by Portuguese and Magh pirates and the Mughals in the 16th and 17th centuries, and the British during their rule in SE Asia (1858-1947). A teacher by the name Surya Sen led the anti-British movement in Chittagong during the 1920’s and was subsequently silenced in 1933. Chittagong was a military base for the Allied Powers during WWII. The Japanese attacked Patenga in 1942 (I’m standing with my roommate on Patenga beach in the photo). Australian and American forces joined the British in Chittagong, and some claim that the British are to blame for the famine of 1943. The British forced locals to join the army, and I’m guessing this resulted in the famine-- hunger, sickness, and death. Chittagong became a part of East Pakistan after the partition of India in August 1947. The Bangladesh Liberation War from March 26, 1971 to December 16, 1971 was the war between East Pakistan and India against West Pakistan. West Pakistan launched an operation in East Pakistan against the Bengali military and civilians who wanted independence from West Pakistan. Civilians, armed groups, and the Bengali military formed the Mukti Bahini "Liberation Army” and used tactics of guerilla warfare against West Pakistan. India sided with the Mukti Bahini and military conflict ensued on the western border of India (hence, the start of the Indo-Pakistani War of 1971); the Mukti Bahini and the Indian army defeated West Pakistani forces in December 1971 and Bangladesh was established. Chittagong is famous because it was where Major Ziaur Rahman declared independence on March 27, 1971. Under rehabilitation and reconstruction programs, Chittagong recovered and became operational within a few years. And, nerd time has run out. No, I'm not going to cite properly (I'm teaching citations next week). Got my info online, Wikipedia, http://www.muhammadyunus.org/About/chittagong-professor-yunus-hometown/, and for the Buddhist monk, Xuan Zang, http://www.zeenews.com/news269722.html. Yes, please notify me if I have inaccurate information.

A Peace of Home

Before leaving the U.S., Tita Sit (“tita” means aunt in Tagalog), who immigrated to the U.S. wearing a scapular herself, gave me one to protect me from danger. My mom had me blessed by our parish priest and made sure I had a rosary in my pocket, and my dad carefully wrapped two crucifixes in my luggage. God must be watching over me…on my first Saturday here the nurse introduced me to students who attend weekly Mass. In China and Taiwan, I made a concerted effort to attend Sunday Mass but I didn’t have a community to keep me accountable. Since coming to Bangladesh, I have become a regular Mass goer with two students from Vietnam and another student from Sri Lanka. I learned that the majority of Catholics who attend this church, Immaculate Conception, are from Sri Lanka. Whenever I set foot in church the conflicted pangs of peace and loneliness envelop me. I think “I am home, I am with two or three people who come in God’s name to worship Him,” and I think “I am so far, so far from home.” The hour I spend listening to the Gospel, praying, and remembering what kind of a person I want to be for God helps me get through the week. Whatever challenges that lie ahead of me, I know they are possible to tackle with the strength of God.

Fuchka, Fish, and Mangoes

Probably all you foodie friends out there are wondering where my pictures of food are. I was debating what to display-- fuchka (a typical street food), fish, or mangoes (fuchka won out; it’s pronounced “fooch-ka”). Today I woke up a little homesick and had a sore throat, so I decided to cook some familiar foods today. Breakfast- French Toast. Lunch- Oatmeal. Dinner- Fish adobo. Dinner was a project. First off, I had to walk 25 meters to the nearby market while avoiding rain puddles, swerving rickshaws, and impatient drivers. Then, I wasn’t sure whether the store was open because it seemed dark inside, but soon I remembered the frequent power outages here and discovered that it was, in fact, open. When I approached the fresh meat counter, I debated between chicken and fish. Since the fish eyes looked fresh, I decide on a 12-inch, 700 gram fish. When I got home, I knew I had to gut it somehow, but I was too scared to gut it fresh. I let the fish simmer a bit and then took it out of the pan, and holding a dull knife against its stomach I made a cut. To my surprise, red liquid squirted out; at least it was fresh. I added soy sauce, a whole head of garlic, and finally, a little vinegar (but no bay leaves). Fortunately, my roommate and her friend found the fish tasty. I know all you Filipinos out there would be proud that I shared our ethnic food today (especially you, LL)! After dinner, we ate some fresh mangoes and now I’m feeling MUCH better. Miss you all!

Empowering women through education

As many of you know, I’m teaching in the Access Academy, the pre-college prep program at the Asian University for Women. The classes I teach include a two-hour reading and writing (R&W) class (picture), and two, one-hour grammar sections. My students come from Sri Lanka, India, Pakistan, Vietnam, Cambodia, Afghanistan, and Bangladesh. During the first week, I assigned a short story, the “American Odyssey,” to R&W and asked students to write a journal entry on their odyssey from their home country to AUW (and I thought my total air time was long!). One student traveled for two days on the train to get to Chittagong; and, for a few it was their first time riding a train.... I respect their courage and the sacrifices they made to come to AUW.
For week 2, I gave my students “The Men We Carry in our Minds” and we discussed differences between men and women, and between educated and uneducated persons. The first time I learned about Islam was during high school when I wrote a paper on women and Islam. Since then I learned a thing or two about Islamic traditions, culture, and practices, but this was perhaps the second or third time I came to learn first-hand, young women’s feelings about their positions and attitudes in life. I posed the question, “Would you rather be a man or woman?” A couple of students would choose to be men because of their status, privilege, and power in society. “We must be the change we wish to see,” said Gandhi. Asian University for Women students are changing and will change this world! Some of my students’ life goals include:
“My future goal is [I] want to be a social leader in my Tamil community. I’ve plans to take [a] documentary in the future.”
“My future goal is to become a rich, successful engineer and to help the government in my country [Afghanistan] to create new ideas for helping the poor.”

Tea and Rubber

Today, I taught my grammar students the word “mirage.” Wait, let me put in a comma after the word “today” in the previous sentence. [pause] I believe I am seeing an illusion right now—a nice, cold Poland Spring water dispenser. After two cups of coffee and turning on my lifesaver, the electric fan, I am still struggling to stay awake and hydrated in this hot and humid environment. I am slammed with work, but I would like to continue sharing my experiences with you.
Last Saturday, I took a two-hour bus trip with the Access Academy ESL students to the Baramasia tea estate in Chittagong, Bangladesh. As we traveled farther from the city, we entered the more serene countryside and the air quality also improved. At the Baramasia estate, a local guide gave us a quick tour of the rubber trees and told us how every morning, workers collect rubber drippings and pour them into pans to meld together. So if you become a local in Bangladesh and wonder where the soles of your rubber sneakers come from, you can take a quick tour of the Baramasia estate to find out!
We climbed a little further up the hill in order to see the tea plants flourishing on Chittagong’s hills. According to my academic director, it was perhaps the nicest place she’s seen thus far in Bangladesh. Additionally, we observed how Baramasia’s black tea was processed and refined. Entering the factory would be a tea-lover’s dream come true—the scent of fresh tea was raw and redolent. I get two daily “tea breaks” throughout my work week, so maybe some of my tea comes from this very tea plantation.

(I haven't quite figured out how to post more pictures...see fb for photo updates.)

Prom Night in Bangladesh

I have arrived safely in Chittagong, Bangladesh (after traveling for over 1.5 days)! On my way from the airport to the Asian University for Women (AUW) complex, my driver, Mr. Jane Alam, pointed out Chittagong’s oil and garment making businesses. The tropical scene of palm trees, traffic, and air reminded me of the Philippines, and somehow I felt right at home. As we turned into the AUW complex, some students were sitting and chatting on a wall outside…welcome to a women’s college Part II (Part I is undergrad at Bryn Mawr College). My apartment is surprisingly spacious—I have my own room and bathroom, a large dining area and sitting room, kitchen, balcony, and there is another vacant bedroom and empty room, so there is more than enough room for guests (just in case you feel like popping by). The apartment building is situated directly across the main university building that is rented for classrooms and meeting rooms.
Fatema, a recent U Mich grad and Bangladeshi native, invited me to dinner at one of the best Thai/Asian restaurants in town. We took a CNG to the supermarket and restaurant. My excitement suppressed lethargy, and Fatema and I talked enthusiastically about teaching ESL at AUW. When we returned, I heard the strangest sound…American pop music. [ASIDE: Most of the teachers are on break so the majority of people who are around are students and their form of recreation on breaks is dance parties.] Can you believe the students were having an 80’s themed “Prom Night” bash on the top floor of the university building? I walked into the dance room and found some 40-50 AUW students pressed against the edge of the stage, cheering on prom night queen contestants. Teachers sat in a small row of chairs and asked the contestants questions in English. I really can’t express how surreal everything felt. Fatema graciously introduced me to some of the university teachers. Meanwhile, students cheered teachers’ names individually, urging them to dance onstage. Was that a scarf a teacher was twirling around onstage? Did I mention how surreal this was? Most of the students were dressed in their traditional outfits, including the sari, salwar kameez (Bangladeshi outfit) and looked BEAUTIFUL; however, I was a little surprised to see some students in sequined tops, skirts, and Western style dresses. As the bass rhythm of the pop music grew louder, I walked away from the disco-lit dance party and into my quiet apartment. I thought to myself, “I’m in for a FUN year.”