My new job, tutoring, is going really well. I'm shocked by how much I enjoy it. Right now I'm working with two little girls both 6 years old. They are both super sweet and eager learners. In both families only the children speak English, and I have to communicate through them to kids to talk to the parents. But the other day one girl handed me a note she had written down from her mother that said, “Thanks for all the Kind Attention”. That made my day.
But I did slightly embarrass myself recently. When I walked into my student’s apartment for the first time, I noticed all of the shoes were piled at the door. I assumed this was because they did not allow people to walk in their shoes around the apartment (it was pristine). So to be respectful, I took mine off too. I continued to do this every time I came. Now that the girl I’m working with is not so shy, she asked me, “Do you always walk into houses with your feet?” (Meaning do I always take my shoes off first, cute phrasing through). These people must have thought I was insane, or they explained it away as, “She really is a Southerner.” Yes I was just represented the homeland. I wanted to say, “Yes I typically go places with my feet, unless they will just get in the way.” But I didn’t, that might have flown over her head.
The truth is that while I had been over the moon happy to be living with Adam, having moments so perfect that I knew this was where I was supposed to be, the never-ending job search broke me. Never having had a lot of confidence in myself anyway, it made me feel worthless and hopeless. And every week when Sunday rolled around I would be beside myself. I couldn't imagine another week of job searching, and I would spend several hours uncontrollably sobbing. At first crying about being jobless, and then for how stupid it was that I was even crying. I just felt like I was being so gosh darn dramatic. I had sunk into a mini-depression, not bad enough to contemplate hurting myself like in the past, but bad enough that I had no energy or want to even get out of bed.
Friends & family would ask me if I was happy here, and I would say, "Of course." Because to explain how I felt would be too hard and too complicated. How can you put into words that you are completely happy and miserable at the same time? If I let one thing slip out about how I was really feeling, the entire glass facade would shatter, and I would be a hopeless mess. But now that I feel better I’m enjoying my days, even if I don’t do much but clean the house. I’m watching tons of documentaries from netflix: Queen Elizabeth, Titanic, and Jack the Ripper (you name it, I’m watching). I’m just all around happy, and it’s nice to be happy. Truly honestly, not just faking it happy.