Not to mention, being the only native english speaker in the class has its quirks. A rapid tangent burns off negative energy, and leaves students laughing and confused. If I speak quickly enough, students have no idea what I'm saying, a probably for the better. The same goes for them, of course. So any other teachers in the classroom have the benefit of understanding both sides of the aisle and reveling in the jokes offered up by the Turkish collective, and that nutty American teacher. We covered morning routines today, and when it came time to include "putting on your clothes," I stopped and told everyone that this was especially important. My colleague started to tear up, and the students blankly and innocently gawked back at me. It's moments such as those I cherish.
Turkish is coming slow. In an ironic twist, I find myself a decent teacher of language, and a struggling learner. English and Turkish are so different, unlike, say, English and Spanish, which can sometimes feel similar save for a drastic accent change (necessary - necesitar, police - policia, etc. You get the point.)
This weekend, I'm exploring Eskisehir, a city only about an hour south of Bilecik. I'm interested, because this is apparently where everyone from Bilecik goes for the weekends to spend time with friends, shop, visit family, see a movie, socialize, write a book, walk a dog, save a life, shake hands, ....
The night is coming to a close. My eyes hurt because I'm tired and because my computer screen is too bright against the backdrop of the dimly lit cafe.
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