Where art thou . . .

 

 

Dear people dear to me in life,

I am here writing a few words, to jolt your memory to my existent as shocking as my existent may seem. It is incorrect to be led by rumours that I have been abducted by aliens, had a mid-life crisis and eloped without notice. I have not fallen fowl and been injured and incapacitated for the last 9 months. It is not true that I have become a hermit and a recluse in favour of reading WW2 novels and watching documentaries repeatedly on how the earth come to fruition; however tempting that is. I have not been taken into a cult or become Amish, which are obviously all plausible since I have decided I want a less materialistic existent where I aim to become a more earthy type of person. It has been said that I am hard to contact. This is not because I have done as mentioned above or fled states or fled to a different continent. It has been said that maybe I haven’t been seen out at engagements like I once so happily attended, where I drank too much, talked too much and shared too much. This year my over-sharing has been somewhat limited due to my absence at social gatherings. It may seem that I hate you all and I like just to hang out with my twin sibling, as I no longer like people who were not spurned from the same egg as me. This all could be true. Is it true? The cold hard truth of it lies in this; I decided I wanted to be a teacher, people warned me against it, people told me it takes over your life. I ignored people’s mutters and decided to forge ahead, as that’s how I roll. I am my own master with a destiny I wanted to grab for. So I applied to a uni and good old Goldsmiths wildly took a punt on me. They taught me allot and my mind was filled with theory to put into practice when I was sent to schools to teach the young. This was all well and good, but it took up all my darn time. I read so much my brain hurt quite a bit. I started to talk about teaching constantly. It became all-consuming; so much so that the sound of my voice made me feel sick.

The fact is teacher training isn’t as glossy as one may think, it takes up all your time still you see the kids and your fellow trainees more than you see your friends or your family. You wake early and early is when the birds are still singing and the sun is still rising. You take to 5 ‘0’ clock alarms and skipping lunch without thought, as your thoughts are on a starter or a plenary or how you’re going make 28 kids progress in an hour when half of them would rather be taking selfies and combing their hair, or punching their friend to see if he really doesn’t have feeling in his left arm. You teach and you plan and go to bed past 12, then you have to do it over again 5 days a week. This onslaught felt okay for a little while until you realized the work was too much and your weekends needed to be given up. So for a while, the last 9 months to be exact I haven’t had a moment to breathe. I have had very little sleep. My loan is somewhat a joke and now I’m stony broke.

The crux of this letter is to say, I am sorry I have been a bit shit, but I have been busy making myself a professional who can teach 11-18. It has been tough, emotionally and mentally. I have cried a fair few times and broke down on mentors and cried in a fair few toilets. I cried after lessons, I cried for fear of not making it, I cried in fear of pupils not progressing, I cried because kids threw stuff at me and hated me for no particular reason. So, I haven’t been captured by foreign aliens in foreign universes and I haven’t eloped to find the biggest ever sand dunes, I have been busy trying to make something of little old me. It takes a good old while to get on ones feet. Please bear with me.

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