The main reason for what seems like the premature abandonment of this blog isn’t because I’m over it already, but because I just didn’t know what to write. I didn’t want this to be a Let-me-list-what-I-did-today blog, because I think that’s the function of Twitter, Facebook statuses, Foursquare, Yelp, etc. Yet, as each day passed and I felt more and more acclimated with my new home, I still didn’t know what to write, other than literal accounts of my actions. In a way, it almost makes my ~2.5 weeks here seem somewhat robotic and lacking of feelings, and it wasn’t until today that I realized that actually, they were.
Of course, my time here so far has been a good experience, but subconsciously, I was stagnating my emotions in order to hold back the one emotion that I didn’t want to feel, but was there and growing with each day: fear. Underneath all of the fun I’ve been having, the triumphs of figuring out the different metro lines, the amazing adventures my palette has been experiencing every single day, the confirmations that I’m socially capable to have amazing times in NYC bars & nightlife outings… lie the fear and insecurities.
I’m terrified of not only failing at being a teacher, but also hating being a teacher. I’m terrified that all of my classmates will be infinitely smarter than I am. I’m terrified that I will meet students pursuing Masters and PhDs in journalism, creative writing, English literature, leaving me with feelings of regret and inadequacy, because I’m merely learning how to teach all of that on a high school level. I’m terrified that I will befriend business, economics, computer science, chemistry graduate students who will all graduate into 6-figure jobs, leaving me behind to scramble for any job. I’m scared that at the end of this Master of Arts journey, I will simply let out a deep sigh and admit defeat to everyone (and oh, how many there were) who told me, “You know you’re not going to make any money, right? You’re going to school to be… a teacher?”
I’m scared of regret, and I’m scared of failure. And to take one step further: I’m scared of hurting my pride. I’m scared of being humbled as a small fish in a big pond. Because let’s be honest, as important and essential as humility is, the process of being humbled really hurts. It’s supposed to hurt, because a part of your self, your prideful self, is dying, being chopped off, and then disposed of. Good, yes. Excruciating, yes.
I’m questioning whether or not I should be publishing this entry as it is. Not because I’m embarrassed about what I’ve just written, but more because I also wanted my first entry to have photographs as a way to say, “So maybe I’ve been neglecting this blog, but oooh look at all the pretty pictures!” But that entry will have to wait for another day or two because I’m still waiting for my DLSR’s memory card adaptor to come in the mail. So until then, I will speak to you all very soon, and thank you for joining me on this journey.
dorsu 