Week 9: "Prayer Call"

Week 9:
Feb 27 - Mar 6

It is 7:30 pm and the distant sounds of prayer call lull me into a state of calm. No matter where you may be in the Kingdom of Saudi Arabia you are always within earshot of prayer call. The elongated vowels undulating up and down in a hypnotic rhythm have no meaning for me intellectually or spiritually, but emotionally they are a powerful source of comfort.

Five times a day, no matter what, the muezzin sings a prayer up into the heavens and into the homes and hearts of all of the country’s inhabitants. Most Westerners curse the call to prayer, for at the very moment the first “Allah” is chanted, all stores and banks and restaurants shut down immediately. Doors are locked, screens are lowered, gates are shut and people are shuffled out into the streets and corridors of offices and shopping centers. When in the middle of running errands this scheduled interruption can be quite irritating. I have often found myself sprinting through aisles, plucking cans and boxes off shelves in a rabid manner, arriving at the cashier red-faced and panting, as the teller slowly slinks away for his religiously sanctioned “break”. Much to the chagrin of the religious police, very few people actually pray during prayer call. Most cashiers and waiters and store clerks leave their positions during prayer call to step outside to make phone calls, chat and smoke cigarettes. They passively stare at frustrated customers attempting to bargain for the opportunity to make one final purchase or complete their transaction. But their efforts are in vain. It is out of their hands, they shrug apathetically.

But I must admit, prayer call doesn’t much bother me (except, of course, for when I have just sprinted to the cashier and missed the chance to pay for my goods by a fraction of a second). I often savior the opportunity to step out of my hurried tracks and just wander about aimlessly, staring into closed shop windows, observing the men, women and children around me who have also had to press the pause button on their lives as well. Some curl up on benches and floor space and just sit patiently waiting for prayer call to pass. Others walk about aimlessly. Many just stand leaning against walls and door entrances tapping away on their cellphones, no doubt playing the newest version of Candy Crush.

Oftentimes, I will wander into the bathroom during prayer call to watch the women shed their veils and abayas and chat and gossip as they touch up their lipstick, eyeliner and curled coifs. As a child it amazed me how beautifully the Saudi women dressed under their concealing, black, religiously-sanctioned robes and veils. I couldn’t understand why they would put so much effort into doing their hair and make up when no one would see it. It wasn’t until I moved back to Saudi as an adult that I began to understand the phenomenon. Appearances are everything in Saudi Arabia. It isn’t only what you look like, but whom you know and whom you associate with. One’s reputation is everything. Though Westerners care about their looks and reputations as well, in Saudi these things rank supreme. It is difficult to explain, but it is a way of life that is deeply rooted in traditional tribal codes of conduct.

Unable to understand the stunning women’s animated Arabic conversations, I slip out of the bathroom after a few minutes and check my phone to see how much longer I have until prayer is over. I have an app on my phone that tells me when prayer call is and how much longer until the next one.  Prayer usually only lasts about thirty minutes, although sometimes (oftentimes) store clerks and owners are slow to get back to work and deal with the demands of others. And truth be told, I can’t say that I necessarily blame them.

The key to surviving in Saudi Arabia as a westerner is to simply embrace the crazy. Ladies, embrace the veil and the abaya. It’s honestly a relief to wear sometimes – no one ever knows that I’m walking out and about in just my pajama bottoms and a sports bra! Bad hair day? Not a big deal with a loosely draped veil over those untamed locks. Prayer call screwing up your schedule? What a great excuse to arrive late to events you don’t want to go to or to catch up on emails or social media. Segregated restaurants and lack of quality food frustrating you? What a wonderful opportunity to buy a cookbook and learn how to make different types of meals. The lack of social opportunities in Saudi can certainly be frustrating, especially for young, single people like myself, but on the other hand, it allows me to spend my time doing more productive and healthy things, like go to the gym, write and cook healthy meals. The secret to happiness, in any country or situation is to focus on the positives. Life is all about perspective. I could easily let the religious and societal rules of Saudi Arabia drive me into insanity, but I choose to focus my attention on energy on the things I can do as opposed to complain about the things I can’t. As a result, I am able to deal with difficult situations in a healthy and meaningful way. Life is what you chose for it to be. So I choose to smile, wander and make the most of the thirty minutes of stillness that is prayer call. 

Week 7: "Renewed Inspiration"

Feb 12th - 18th

This week's post is dedicated to my beautiful mother who turned 62 on February 12th! 

Like any female child, I fought against her attempts to help and advise me while growing up, but as I've gotten older and more mature over the years, she has become a true source of strength and inspiration in my life. I look up to her and admire her and value her judgement and opinion above most others. She is the most humble person I have ever encountered. She works incredibly hard at all things and yet never complains. Her family is her top priority and she loves and takes care of us and her friends, who she treats like family, without question. She makes me laugh and pushes my sister and I to be the best possible versions of ourselves that we can be. She doesn't tolerate unkindness and is a highly sensitive soul. In today's world sensitivity is not a coveted or even largely respected character trait, but she feels with her entire heart and loves all unconditionally. She has taught me that kindness is the greatest form of power. 

Thank you Mom. It cannot be said enough! You bring such light into the world and inspire me to be a better person than I am. I love you!

Growing up, my mother used to always say how much she would love to go to Cairo one day. She fantasized about seeing the pyramids and going to King Tut's tomb. She had introduced me to the film "Cleopatra" starring Elizabeth Taylor and she delighted in watching and re-watching Steve Martin's famous song he performed on SNL about "funky Tut". She is a sincere history buff and surely I have never seen her read anything that isn't non-fiction. So you can imagine her joy at discovering, when I was a senior in high school, that my softball team was scheduled to travel to Cairo for our final tournament. Since our team had done so well all season and because this was a fun and exciting destination, she came on the trip with my father (the assistant coach), my sister and I! It was such an exciting and memorable experience, full of beautiful sights, intense softball games, poolside lounging, my first time smoking shisha, and of course, gold medals and a first place trophy. I must admit, however that the trip was tainted for me by the fact that I was suffering from a stress fracture in my right leg and couldn't help my team win our title. I still shudder thinking about it. It was a terrible moment of weakness for me. I felt so helpless and my confidence in myself was almost shattered. As proud as I was for my teammates for pulling together and winning gold, I couldn't help but suffer with the thought that I was unnecessary. 

Fast forward 9 years and I find myself in Cairo once again. This time, however, I am filled with joy, love, a strong sense of self, and confidence. I flew to Cairo this past weekend to meet up with my childhood best friend of more than seventeen years. We met when we were children in Saudi Arabia and though we have grown up apart over the years, we have remained close and have developed into very similar spirits. We differ in a lot of ways, but our cores are the same. We both love traveling and trying new things and pushing ourselves out of our comforts zone and shaping our own rules. I love this woman as a sister and she constantly inspires me. 

Friends are family to me. Growing up overseas away from my blood relatives in Massachusetts forced me to seek comfort and support among my friends. My friends have seen me at my best and my worst and they love me unconditionally. I am not a perfect person, as I have tried to repeat and shout out to the world over and over again in recent months, but true friends love you for all your imperfections and failures. True friends pick you up when you've fallen apart and will give you space when you need time to heal. They are there. I've always loved that quote about friends being like stars, for as an international traveller, I find it perfectly describes the power that friendships have in my life, 

"True friends are like stars, you can't always see them, but you always know they're there". 

I have a great number of very strong, inspiring and empowering women in my life. They take the form of friends and relatives, but also students, teachers, parents, acquaintances. Though I suffer from feelings of loneliness at times,  I know that I am loved. I live a life of incredible fortune and privilege. 

Being in Cairo this past weekend was a very humbling experience. As Krisztina and I were driven through the city's dusty side streets, shaded by the leaning cement awnings and balconies of partially constructed apartments, I couldn't help but think about how good I have it. Having spent the past two and a half years here in Riyadh, I almost forgot what real poverty looked like.  Most of Cairo is painted over with a layer of sandy grime, trash is stuffed into every crevice and is sprinkle like confetti along footpaths and alleys. Most buildings and mosques seem as though they are all falling apart ever so slightly at the seams. Yet the people are kind, open and giving.  Citizens walk around wearing worn caps and sweaters and shoes splitting at the heel. Though the temperature there hovers around the mid-fifties, Egyptians are as bundled up as New Englanders preparing for a Nor'easter. Beggars clad in oily scraps of fabric sit in the middle of sidewalks, arms or stubs outstretched in hope of receiving a single coin of charity. Tourists stick out like sore thumbs and are feasted after like juicy steaks to stray dogs. 

I felt ashamed remembering that mere days ago I was curled up on my couch feeling sorry for myself as I scrolled through pages of New York City real estate thinking, I am going to be so poor next year. 

"So poor"? Poor because I won't have a rent-free two bedroom, three bathroom villa all to myself? Poor because I won't be making a tax-free salary? Poor because I won't be able to travel to Cairo or Dubai on my weekends? 

I bowed my head in shame. 

On our second night in Cairo, the manager of the hostel Krisztina and I were staying at treated us to shisha and dessert. We drove out to a little cafe on the Nile and were the only people there save the waiters. For two hours we sat across from one another, sipped fresh mango juice,  inhaled the sweet vapors of apple flavored sticky tobacco and talked about politics. The Egyptians love talking politics. Krisztina and I bombarded Atef, our kind host, with question after question about life in Cairo: the revolution, the military, sanitation, recycling, religion, family, dating, sex, marriage, tourism, Russia, the US government, Hillary Clinton and on and on and on. The whole night we were enraptured by his thoughtful and sincere responses to our questions. We learned so much and I gained a deep sense of appreciation for my upbringing abroad. I was amazed at how well-informed and knowledgable Atef was. He knew the names of so many world leaders and their positions with regards to Egyptian affairs. He recalled the days of the revolutions in 2011 and proudly shared that he "was there". He was one of the faceless men in the crowd holding and waving flags and banners, screaming at the top of his lungs in the middle of Tahrir square. I wondered if I had unknowingly seen him on TV. 

"How could I not be there?" he exclaimed, "it is my country!" He smiled as he joked that his vocal chords have only just now started recovering. The hostel he owns, that Krisztina and I called home for three nights, is just a few steps down the street from the famous apex of the revolution. 

"You couldn't avoid it if you tried," Atef cooly replied when I asked if it was frightening being so close to Tahrir square. 

He then assured Krisztina and I that, as tourists, we had nothing to fear in Egypt. 

"This is Egyptian against Egyptian" he asserted. 

Sadly, this information hasn't made it's way to the majority of the Western world yet and Cairo's tourism industry has taken a big hit. 

"I've lost approximately 3 million pounds" (the equivalent of around $400,000) Atef admitted to us when we asked about how badly the revolution has affected the tourist industry. Cairo is a city full of multi-lingual, well-informed, passionate and proud people who make their living by providing driving, touring, and informational services to foreigners. Now most of them are unable to secure work for months at at time. As a tourist, I definitely felt like everyone was trying to rip me off, but truthfully, that is true in any third world country. It was certainly true in Egypt before the revolution and it will remain to be true in years to come.  

Overall, this weekend was one of incredibly joy and excitement. Krisztina and I spared no expenses in making the most of our time in Cairo and we did so by hiring local drivers, eating in local eateries and of course, contributing to the tourism industry by renting camels and being guided by locals around the famous pyramids. Every cent we spent was worth it. We tried to stay as off the beaten path, experiencing the realities of Cairo life, as best we could -- 25 cent falafel pitas every morning, copious amounts of tea and broken Arabic expressions and words of gratitude on our lips at every moment. There is truly no better way to see the world. 

New Donkey Friend at Sakkara

Best Friends Watching the Sun Go Down at the Pyramids

Beautiful architecture in Khan el-Kalili (downtown souk)

Coptic Christian rock sculptures and crosses

Driving up the mountain known as "Garbage City" to see a Coptic Cathedral built into a cliff. 

Typical Mode of Transport in Cairo

Mokattam village, also known as "Garbage City", is where all of Cairo's trash gets dumped, but it is then sorted and recycled by the villagers who live among it. 

Koshary, a typical Cairo lunch of noodles, macaroni, lentils, rice, crispy onions, corn, and a delicious spicy paprika sauce! 

My beautiful friend mounting her beautiful camel, Mike Tyson. 

"Looking up" in Cairo is a vision

Teenage kid getting tattooed on the side of the street

Shisha and tea break with our lovely driver, Mohammad and magnoon (crazy) guide, Amir. 

Sunset camel ride by the pyramids

One of my favorite pictures of the trip....camel serenity

A beautiful end to a beautiful weekend.

Week 5: "Poetic Catharsis"

Week 5: January 28th - February 4th


A poem inspired by the events of this past week: 

I am deep into teaching the poetry of Sylvia Plath.
I caught a stomach bug that has left me feeling weak.
I had to deal with anxious teenagers grade grubbing at the end of the second quarter and omnipresent in my classroom during every single free minute I have.
Report cards due the day I decide to wake up at 2:30 am to watch the Super Bowl (that fortunately resulted in a win for New England, woo hoo) 


"Bone Dry"

I knead my fingers into my skull,
massaging my temples like dough,
inhaling the stale air of the room
that pulses in short bursts
like the throbbing in my head.

It is silent now

But it wasn't always.

Hours ago it was filled with sounds -
papers shuffling like cicadas,
lips flapping like thick guitar strings,
fingers thumping like big bellied drums,
sneakers squeaking like the squeals of pigs to slaughter.

It hurts.
The sounds drill into my bones
filling the room with dust.
I suffocate on myself,
I'm merely trying to hold it all in.

I am tired,
I finally admit to myself.
I look into my upturned palms to see my pale skin
reflect the dull impression of my face
I am alert and drained.

Drained like the blood
spilling from the slit in the throat
of a slaughtered lamb
Sweet, soft, innocent lamb,
who bears no resemblance to myself.

But I did this to myself.
I feed on the need to succeed
to fulfill (fill fill) the needs of others.
Because without it there would never be
a Me to bleed.


I realize that poem sounds incredibly dismal. 
I suppose Plath has infiltrated my mind more deeply than I thought. 

I am just tired, not suicidal, I promise. I am utterly sleep deprived, yet, oddly alert and feeling the need to write. My body is wasted, but the gears of my mind are ferociously turning. I thought about going to the gym to workout and get some blood flowing through these veins of mine, but I think what I need more is sleep. 

I have always been terrible at resting. Every time I get injured I continue to "work through the pain", often delaying my recovery. When I get sick, I continue to convince myself that I can still go to the gym, when in reality that just makes my body work more and delay my healing. 

So as much as it pains me, I am going to rest this week. So long as I still feel a little weak in my stomach and sleep-deprived from grading and football watching, I am going to rest. 

The gym will always be there. 

As will Plath. 

Week 4: "Educational Inspiration and Professional Irritation"

Week 4: January 20th - January 27th 


"Educational Inspiration"

I am a graduate student again! It feels so good to take a few hours out of my day to be a student. Though I am still a full time teacher and don't have the beautiful luxury of being able to dedicate every second of my attention to my graduate school work, it is still so wonderful knowing that I am back in an intellectually stimulating community. 

I poured over this week's assigned reading with gusto! Printing off the pages upon pages of scholarly material and attacked it with my highlighters and pens. I relished in the art of annotation and carefully composed my reflective commentary to share with my peers. It felt so good to type out my thoughts and "publish" them to a forum of readers that I knew would read them. Though my words were merely my own thoughts and musings, it made me feel good to think that my peers were reading them and possibly gaining insight from my reflections and ideas. I know it is egotistical but I like to think that my writing is impactful. I hope that my words are able to reach and influence others. I see it happening more and more with my students, yet I am beginning to fear that my students almost trust me too much at times and are beginning to value my thoughts and ideas over their own. I certainly did this in high school and in university. I wrote down every single word my teachers' said and looked to them for insight and clarity. What I am learning now in my Master's program is that truth, especially literary interpretation, must come from within and we must steer clear of consulting "experts" on matters of interpretation. Only individuals can extract meaning from texts or works of art. Though we can look to experts to reveal more information and facts about a text or work of art, discovering meaning is a purely personal act. While our experiences, relationships and knowledge may influence our judgements, we must accept that all ideas and opinions are valid. 

Getting back into the reading of academic texts was a struggle at first. I found myself worrying about whether or not I was reading deeply enough into the articles and I had to read and re-read passages over again several times before I felt like "I got it". Yet I enjoyed the challenge and reminded myself, as I always remind my students, that reading is a struggle. If it was easy, it would be pointless. The fact that I had to stop to look up words and re-read passages and write down questions in the margins made the act of reading more meaningful and therefore, more valuable. 

It felt so great to post my reflections on this week's reading materials and watch our online classroom start to blossom with replies and additional commentary responses. I feel so fortunate to be a part of this intellectual community. I am so inspired by each and every single one of my peers. We all have unique personal and educational backgrounds and we are all teaching in very different types of schools, but what unites us is our humility and our fierce desires to be better and to question the educational system in the United States. We notice, wonder and connect our ideas to our readings and our experiences and to one another. It is a beautiful collaborative process and one I feel privileged to be a part of. I get to work and think alongside some of the most interesting and innovative minds in America! 

My one complaint is that we are all learning and collaborating virtually....which is not terrible, but I crave the personal stimulus of face-to-face interactions and dialogue. I can "see" my peers in their distinctive writing voices on our online learning platform (Moodle), yet it is no replacement for seeing them in person. We had such a wonderful time together this summer and I miss that carefree, warm and driven environment we had created for ourselves in the hallowed Teacher's College halls.

Oh how I wish I could be in graduate school full time forever.... 


"Professional Irritation"


This weekend, January 22-24, I joined approximately sixty of my colleagues for a professional development conference in Manama, Bahrain. As the days of the week bore on, my colleagues and I squirmed with excitement at the prospect of doing work over glasses of wine in a more liberal Arab nation! Truth be told, we were really all more interested in the social aspect of this weekend's conference over that of the actual professional development. Yet I think we all thought that the conference would be able to provide us with some "take aways" to help us all strengthen our teaching practices and work together as a team. I have always loved professional development conferences. Even though I find most of what is being talked about to be redundant I can usually find at least some good in everything.

That was not the case this weekend.

The keynote speaker of the conference was boring and the subject of her talks concerned information that I already knew about. This surprised me considering that I am only a fifth year teacher and by no means consider myself an educational expert. Yet as I dispassionately stared at her powerpoint presentation I couldn't help but think, I could be giving this speech. I do not say this often, as I pride myself on being a nerd with the belief that everyone has something to teach, but I was utterly bored out of my mind.

My saving grace was the fact that I was attending this conference with my amazing, bright, inspiring, intelligent and interesting colleagues. We call ourselves "The Dream Team" and I do not exaggerate when I say that working alongside these people I can easily call friends as well as co-workers, is indeed a dream. We all ignored the speaker and made the most of our weekend by working together on our own lessons and units. We were actually quite productive when left to our own devices. Something that never ceases to frustrate me about teaching conferences and workshops is the amount of micromanaging that goes on. I am a teacher, I know how to focus and get to work, I don't need to be shuffled from room to room and reminded of the task or to be given "five minute warnings" -- I'm a grown woman, I have a watch, I'll get there. The people who run teacher trainings treat us like children. I resent the fact that I must be told what to do and when to do it. I am a good teacher and I genuinely love my job. You don't need to tell someone to do something when they love to do it. I know I am unique in this regard. There are many teachers who do not find inspiration in what they do (and unfortunately these are probably the ones going off and getting their PhD's and torturing me with their speeches and expensive conferences). 

I do not mean to insult those hard working educators who do get their PhDs and publish studies and findings and books about "best practices" and "strategies for teaching success" but I am somewhat disdainful of the fact that I am spoken at like I am not a good educator. What really boils my blood is to think that these types of professional development "master" speakers probably (most definitely) get paid THOUSANDS of dollars to spew off their theories. 

I typed the following remarks to my graduate school online forum during the conference while in the throes of irritation:

" Its mind-blowing to me. I am in a conference center with hundreds of other teachers in great international schools in the Middle East, all of whom I am sure have great ideas and innovative ways of approaching learning, and yet we must all now sit silently and listen to a PhD (no offense Adam) published educational curriculum theorist talk AT us about what we should be doing in our classrooms. 

I apologize for my disdainful and snarky remarks. We are all tired and exhausted (from nights of poisoning our livers to days of poisoning our spirits). I just find it incredibly frustrating when people who have not stepped foot in a classroom in DECADES tell me how to teach. A teacher friend of mine from Australia said that in her school district there principals can only be principals for five years at a time and then they must go back to a classroom for a year or two and then can go back to being an administrator. I love that! Don't get me wrong, I am a nerd and I love reading articles and would get several PhDs for fun, if I could, but the people that should be making the most money and should be the ones standing up and telling their stories and theories are teachers. Hard working, red-ink stained finger-tipped, bags under the eyes, young, old, white, black, experienced, inexperienced classroom teachers. 

I admit I was a little "heated" and I was writing from a place of frustration, but my general sentiments still feel true to me.

I work in one of the greatest schools in the world alongside the greatest teachers in the world. I have learned more about teaching after working here during the past two years than I feel I could have ever learned in a non-teaching graduate school classroom. To become a better teacher you must teach. You must stand up in front of other students and through trial and error you will find your rhythm and very quickly discover what works and what doesn't. 

While my experiences at this teaching conference this weekend frustrated me, I have learned from them. 

I have learned that those who can't do, teach and those who can't teach, teach teachers. 

But I, alongside my inspiring cohort of Master's candidates at Teacher's College at Columbia, am going to change all that!

2015: Week One (Starting Over)

Write a post a week.

I have proclaimed that as a goal for many years now and I have continually failed to achieve it. My excuses were always understandable: I prioritized my private journal writings over that of blogging, I got too busy with extracurricular activities (theatre, student council, coaching), I had too much grading to do, I was lesson planning, I was on vacation....I live a very busy and active life and it was "understandable" that I couldn't manage to find the time to write a blog post a week. After all, the best excuse I told myself was that it was better to "go out and live life" than to sit around writing about it. 

Well this year I want things to be different. This year I want to take more control over my life and challenge myself to be stronger, smarter, faster, and just better than the woman I was last year. 

We grow and change as people every year. Experiences change us. People change us. Ideas change us. 

This year I learned a great deal about myself: my personal strengths and weaknesses were brought to surface. It was a year of incredible highs and incredible lows. 

A brief recap of 2014:

• January: celebrated New Years single and happy with my girl friends in NYC. The future felt limitless.
• February: travelled to Cambodia and found a renewed faith in humanity and passion to help others. Got accepted to Columbia University Teacher's College! 
• March: turned 26 years old and spent the month surrounded by friends and feeling very well-loved and cared for. 
• April: coached softball for the first time and grew closer to a friend here in Saudi 
• May: helped my first group of IB seniors prepare for their IB exams and the future, juggled several relationships and felt compelled to make some tough choices between men I care about.
• June: moved out of my beloved Al Yamama villa and old AIS-R campus. It felt like the end of an era and I was sad to leave. 
• July: began graduate school and loved every single second of it. Committed to being in an official relationship with a kind and caring man who adored me. 
• August: actually got to see and spend time with the new boyfriend, it was blissful and perfect and every day felt like living in a dream. 
• September: return to Saudi and step "back" into my old life, socializing and partying and acting like a single girl
• October: a close friend of mine leaves Saudi for good and I leave to go to Colombia to visit with my father, we have one of the best and most adventerous and fun vacations ever
• November: a quiet month, I spend a weekend in Dubai to catch the last days of summer, I feel the struggles of being in a long-distance relationship grow stronger but I make the mental commitment to be with the man of my dreams and fantasize about our future seriously
• December: the exciting build up to a short lived engagement, followed by the biggest heartbreak I've ever experienced. I hurt someone I loved and must live with the guilt and try to heal and move on. My family and friends step up and support me with such incredible love, compassion and understanding that I am left feeling breathless with gratitude.

And now we have entered into the first week of January. The first week of 2015. It has been a difficult week. I was fortunate to get to spend New Years with my best friend in New York City, where I have decided to move to permanently this summer. I rekindled a friendship with an old high school friend and she renewed my inspiration to live a more purposeful and healthy life. 

While I dreaded leaving my friends and family in the United States, returning back to my Saudi life was not as bad as I had expected it to be. Getting back into the routine of work was actually very refreshing. Though I struggled emotionally to explain to my friends here about my failed relationship (I had to re-tell the same story of our breakup over and over again, like scratching open the scab of a wound afresh each day), I got through it and now that I've purged myself of the story and the tears and heartbreak and guilt, I finally feel somewhat reluctantly ready to start my life over again.

In addition to feeling gratitude for my friends, my family, my students, my work, my health, my life, I have decided that my overall New Year resolution this year is simply one word:

Patience. 

A great deal of my struggles this year were a result of my impatience. I was impatient to find love. I was impatient to become a "grown up". I was impatient with myself and impatient with others for not being on the same page as me. Impatience leads to making impulsive and selfish decisions. Impatience leads to making mistakes. Impatience leads to not listening to your heart. 

This year I am going to work on this quality. I am going to work on patience. I must learn to wait. I must learn to listen. I must learn to see things through. I must learn to take my time. I must learn to see the big picture. 

But it starts small. 

So today it is a blog post. 

It is my hope that through cultivating more patience in my life, I will learn to be a more committed person. More committed to my personal, emotional, physical and professional goals. I know now that I am not a perfect person (try as I might to act like one). But as Coach Ladouceur says in the film written about his life as a successful high school football coach, When the Game Stands Tall, "We're not asking you to be perfect on every play. What we're asking of you and what you should be asking of each other is to give a perfect effort..."

Perfect effort. 

To me that means I may continue to fall short of my goals and expectations, but I will not stop putting in effort. I will not quit. I will not let my mistakes and failures define who I am. I deeply regret the hurt I have caused someone I cared deeply about, but I am going to strive to be better. I am going to use that failure to fuel my efforts in the future. Every day is a new day. Every day is a chance to put forth a perfect effort. 

Grateful for my intelligent and beautiful Wellesley sisters

They challenge me, inspire me, comfort me, but most importantly......make me laugh

To new beginnings

The sun is always shining

My guardian angel

My father and grandmother. The holiday this year was a humbling experience for me.

Turning the lens outward

On Monday, November 17th I conducted a workshop for my colleagues on the power of writing every single day. Adapted from the work of my Columbia professors, Sheridan Blau and Nichole Callahan, I lead an hour long workshop with several English, Music, Science, Spanish and Humanities teachers about the "Daily Discipline of Writing".  The main message of my workshop was to share my ideas about the power of writing not only in their classrooms, but in their own daily lives. 

Yet right now I feel like a bit of a hypocrite talking about the Daily Discipline of Writing when I have been slacking in my own practice. 

Next week is four days of exam prep followed by exams and as per usual I intend to use that time to write. I always find that I am freshly inspired by the spirit of exam time to write and think more deeply about my own life and the work I do with my students. 

Currently my students are sitting before me writing a practice essay for their exam. The room is quiet and there is a focused feeling in the air. They are my juniors and this is their first year taking IB classes. They are understandably nervous, however, I think it is a good thing. It is healthy to be a little anxious - I think it inspires you to work hard. If we never got stressed or anxious in school (or in life) I doubt we would try so hard. As much as I loved school as a teenager and was very successful as a student, I definitely stressed and worried about tests and essays and exams. Yet as a result, I pushed myself to study and improve and work hard. Yet, there is a thin line between healthy stress and detrimental stress. Detrimental stress is when you feel so anxious about your work that you just give up and stop trying or, as I see many teenagers do - stop caring. I think that is the saddest thing in the world - when teenagers stop caring. I know their reasons for not caring are often numerous and complex, however I cannot help but feel as though the world today is somewhat to blame for this. 

The world today is full of ultra-successful people who flaunt their money and riches for the entire world to envy. When I ask my students about success, they all speak about it in financial terms. They either talk about being successful as "being rich" or "having a job that makes a lot of money" or "not having to worry about money" or "having others do work for you". Nothing is said about personal fulfillment, making a difference or being happy. As sad and infuriating as this is, I don't blame my students for thinking that way. That is the world they grew up in and they don't know any other world. 

Yesterday I stumbled upon the following quote: 

It made me smile, for it is indeed a gem of truth. 

Yes, the world can be a very ugly and disheartening place. Yes, people frustrate me with their selfishness at times, as even I come to surprise myself with my own words and deeds of selfishness. I get very angry with myself when I behave selfishly, yet like an addiction, I often find I can't stop. I am "used to" putting myself first and prioritizing my needs. Not out of any lack of empathy for others but because I have been on my own for so long. As a teacher, I serve my students all day long. I work for them, because of them, and sometimes even in spite of them. I love teaching and I especially love working with teenagers. They inspire me endlessly and I wake up most days excited to go to work. 

Yet when the weekend rolls around and my body and mind are drained from the constant stimulation of human-human interactions, I need some "me time". I've always been told to never feel guilty for this, but in recent months I have begun to feel a little guilty for the hours of time I make for myself. I do socialize and go out with friends to dinners and parties and get-togethers frequently. I also play on a softball team and work out with friends at the gym. As much as I enjoy these things and having "a life", ut truth be told, I absolutely love my time alone. It is when I feel most at peace and most like myself. I would do anything for my friends and will jump at the chance to help them, so as a result I consider my alone time to be more precious than gold. I struggle to say "no" to people because I feel as though it is my duty to be there for my friends and when they need someone to talk to, I have no right to deny them that. While I am the type of person who is comforted by myself, I know many need others for affirmation, comfort and support.


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As I concluded the above thought, a horrible dark cloud of a thought burst into the foreground of my mind....I'm writing about selfishness and as such I am perpetuation my own selfish needs by writing about nothing but ME! Yes, I mentioned my students earlier in this post but in the end, this entire entry revolved around me. 

I need to get away from thinking about "me" so much. Yes, I strive to explore my own ideas and think deeply about the world, however, it creates a vicious cycle of "me"-ness that I cannot escape. 

This is why, as much as I love my life here in Saudi Arabia, I need to leave this country. I need to build a life with another, with a person who is kind and loving and lives to serve others as well. I feel so fortunate to have found this person. This person who encourages me to be the best version of myself and who demonstrates kindness and compassion for others on a consistent basis. As much as I do cherish my "alone" time, we humans are not truly meant to be alone in our lives.