Embrace your true nature

I love video games.

No, really. I love video games. I don't play as much as I used to, and even in the past I didn't play as much as some people I've known. Still, I've been realizing over the last few months just how big a role they've played in my life. Earlier today I rewarded myself for a very productive morning by watching a movie. As I like to do, I chose one I knew nothing about: Wreck It Ralph.

Come on, doesn't this movie look like SO MUCH FUN??

Somehow this animated gem had eluded my attention until it was sent to me on a jump drive as a possible movie to pass along to my students so they could practice their English listening skills. It's not my first choice as far as that, just because I think they might have some trouble with the content – not much frame of reference for monks and nomads when talking about arcade games – but you'd better believe I had a good time. I think it might be one of my new favorites. It's got everything I love: an underdog as the protagonist, pretty graphics, a fun soundtrack, clever storytelling, and lots and lots of nostalgia. Brilliant! This, combined with the fact that about a month ago I was struck with inspiration for a game-inspired business venture that I'd like to test when I get home, got me thinking:

For as much as I really do enjoy the raw simplicity of living here in India, in a place where animals freely roam the streets, where you do your laundry in a bucket, where the power goes out at least once a day and people just go about their lives..... the technical wonder that is the world of video games really does hold a special place in my heart. I love the adventure, the intrigue, the chance to be anyone... and I suppose yes, you could argue that I am actually doing those things right now, “IRL,” but I guess there's a part of me that is still enchanted by the shiny packaging no matter how hard I sometimes want to believe otherwise. I mean come on, I'm also a belly dancer; you can't deny a penchant for glitz & sparkle is part of that. I love to perform. I love beauty. I'm an artist, dammit, and the four right chords can make me cry. Life itself is beautiful, yes... but sometimes, as the late, great Dave Scheidecker helped me argue in my OO freshman year, we need art not just for art's sake but for ours.

I have historically gone through bouts of feeling like my only gift was an eye for art, and art is ultimately superfluous, and therefore I couldn't offer anything useful to the world. One person in particular took it upon himself to valiantly try to convince me otherwise some years back, but I always had my doubts that art really is genuinely important. Or rather, I feel like when other people do it it can be amazing and inspiring, but my own work somehow always falls short.

Then again, that's part of being an artist. You're always your own worst critic.

I think I may finally be ready to embrace that part of myself. I went to college for a degree in Game Art & Design and dropped out after I decided I didn't want to sit in front of a computer all day (and that it would take an ungodly amount of hours outside of class to develop enough skill to be truly great at my work). “Games,” I thought, “are frivolous. We don't need them. When the power goes out, what good have I done?” Art doesn't keep you warm, it doesn't feed you. It's not practical. I should learn to build something instead, or maybe I should learn something medical. I should apprentice and get a technical job, maybe learn to build solar panels or repair wind turbines. That stuff is useful. Right?

I've tried a variety of those things, and I keep coming back to art. Art is what makes me happy. Creation is where I feel at home. Finding beauty in the world and then finding a way to express it so everyone else can see it too is what makes me feel alive. I still don't particularly want to become a game developer (although since I've discovered Steam and since Steam has rolled out their Green Light initiative, I do consider it now and then), but I think if I can find a way to let games back into my every day life, into my own creativity, I might be better off. And you know what? Maybe it's true that games and art and dance and all the other beautiful, fun things in the world don't truly change anything, but if they make us happy for a while and you indulge responsibly – as with any other potentially addictive but otherwise harmless activity – is it really so useless? Someone has to bring beauty to those who can't find it themselves, and why shouldn't that someone be me?

I still have dreams of introducing a responsible waste disposal system to India, and of course I'd love to see freedom for Tibet... I enjoy teaching and knowing that I am directly affecting people's lives in a way that could truly change the course of their futures. Maybe I'll keep doing that too. I need art for my own happiness, though, and if the simple act of watching a well-done animated film about vintage arcade games can literally bring me to tears, if my mind wanders during a lecture and all I can think about for days afterward is an as-yet-secret-project that is also very directly related to game culture, if every so often I can't rest until I've drawn my own version of an NPC because I think the devs dropped the ball on making that one boss as terrifying as she should have been... and especially if something I do can also bring beauty and happiness to someone else, and especially if that someone else is willing to spend some cash to get it, then why shouldn't I? Why shouldn't I embrace my geekiness, embrace the fact that I'm a gamer kid at heart even if I don't actually spend many hours with a controller anymore, and see if I can make a living off of bringing joy to others like myself?

For some of us, games are not just a fun activity to do at parties with friends. They aren't (always) a waste of time. For some of us, games are a part of who we are. I've felt guilty about it and I've tried to deny it, but I've had some time for introspection since I've been here, away from everyone and everything I've ever known, and one of the things I've come to understand is that maybe it's just part of who I am. There has to be a balance, of course, but maybe the world of video games is not as superfluous and unnecessary as I was once convinced. Maybe it's a tool, a stepping stone on which to be inspired to create even more art and beauty and community. Maybe that's not such a bad thing.

My name is Magda Ksiazak, and I am a gamer. I'm an artist, a dreamer, and a creator. I'm through letting people, society, and my own self-consciousness tell me it's immature and something to hide, and I'm going to make it work for me. There is a whole community of us out there, and I think I'm ready to be proud to be a part of it.

Game on, my friends.

Rooftop Yoga

Sometimes when I wake in the middle of the night it takes me a minute to remember where I am. A faint illumination filters in through the window above the balcony door and reflects gently off some of the more prominent features in the room. This morning I woke to just such a scene. I lay there contemplating, trying to mentally crawl out of whatever dream land I'd just been in, for a minute before I remembered: oh yeah, India.

My own place... in India.

I decided that I really do like my room. It lacks some of the comforts of home, but for now, at least, it's ideal. (Close to ideal... I wouldn't mind if it got a little more sunlight.)

This made me happy. I checked my phone and, after finding that it wasn't even 5am yet, rolled back over and promptly passed back out. A few hours later I woke to a considerably brighter room and decided it looked like a good day for yoga.

I threw on some clothes, grabbed my mat and my keys, and scampered up to the roof. I'd been wanting to do yoga on the roof here since I first looked at the place.

And so today I did yoga, on the roof, in the Indian morning sunlight. It was every bit as glorious as it sounds.

Despite the fact that exercise invigorates you for the rest of the day, I've always had a tough time getting up early enough to work out before work or school. The fact that I don't have to teach until 11 is working wonders for my ability to finally make this happen. Add to that the fact that the weather was absolutely perfect – low 70s, just a bit breezy, and without a cloud in the sky – and I felt on top of the world.

The fact that I am literally on a mountain probably didn't hurt, either. You can see so far away from up here. It's amazing.

When I returned to my room I flipped on the water heater so I could get a decent shower and did some push ups; my legs get a constant workout whether I like it or not living here, so I figure it'd be in my interest to make sure my upper body gets some attention, too. Speaking of my upper body getting some attention, I had a couple of people ask me about my tattoo today. It was strange, because I often wear short sleeves and I know they've seen it before. Regardless, it led to some new conversation with my students who are always looking to learn about new topics. Yay body art!

I think I am going to acquire a nice set of maps so we can have visual aids for when we discuss the places of the world. They want to see photos from my home. I don't think most of them can comprehend the phrase “my home in the United States is very flat.” The mountains of Himachal are a far cry from the fields of Illinois, that's for sure. They also asked about deserts today, and which country is the biggest in the world, and what's the difference between Austria and Australia? See, I need some maps. The acquisition of such things is the homework I assigned myself for the evening.

Recently I find myself considering the differences between life in the suburban Midwest and life in northern India. I've begun to realize how little you really need in order to have a pretty decent life. In the US we are always so concerned about appearances and having everything be fresh and shiny and new; here, all but the most upscale of establishments have wiggly faucets, most people seem to wear the same four or so outfits again and again, and if something breaks you just patch it up the best you can and hope it lasts a while longer. The size of your personal bubble is much smaller here. You have to develop a tolerance for – or at least the ability to tune out – all the various sounds the human body is inclined to make, especially on a diet of rice and dal in a very dirty environment. (That godawful haucking noise, though... that is one thing I will not miss when I leave India. Ugh. Have a little tact, people.) There's no deodorant anywhere either, but I have a much easier time dealing with that; it's not that hot, so it's not a big deal. Constantly listening to every other person near you hack and cough and spit, on the other hand, gets really old, really fast.

You have to learn to tolerate being very close to all kinds of people. You learn to understand that you will be touched, you will be bumped into, you will probably be splashed by cars on the road because there are no sidewalks to speak of, and you will have to get used to the incessant honking of horns, and taxis, motorbikes, and autorickshaws passing within fractions of an inch of your person. That's just how it goes here. If you let it get to you, you are going to have a very unhappy stay.

I've decided to just roll with it as much as possible. I came in treating this whole experience as an adventure, and let me tell you, I think that has saved my sanity more than a few times. “It's India,” I remind myself. Whatever that means. It works, though. I remind myself that there are however many millions – over a billion, maybe? – people living here that do this every day, and it doesn't seem to faze most of them. It's just life. It's raw, dirty, un-sugar-coated, honest-to-goodness life, and as much as a pain in the ass it may be from time to time, as uncomfortable it can be, and as much as some days I really, really just want a hot tub or dry sheets or for god's sake a decent salad, I am thrilled to be a part of it.

You learn to delight in the small things, like this deliciously juicy kiwi.

It continues to interest and inspire me also that so many of these people seem happy. The Tibetans especially: despite decades of oppression and exile, through innumerable, ongoing human rights violations in their homeland, they are a surprisingly good-natured people. Many of them seem to be pacifists – all they want is peace so they can return to their homes. Many of my students in particular are very eager to learn as much as they can and to improve their English as much as possible. They recognize that English is the international language and that if they acquire a decent level of proficiency in it they will exponentially increase their options as far as career, education, and travel. Perhaps it's because they don't have much to begin with, and perhaps it's because many of them are monks and nuns, but they seem largely uninterested in material gain; they just want a decent education. It's so different from the mentality in the west, where we want an education, sure, but it's only so we can make a bunch of money and buy a big house and pay off all the loans we've no doubt taken out to acquire said education.

When I first graduated high school I felt I was pushed into going off to college. I was smart, went the reasoning, so naturally “real college” was my next step. I wasn't ready for it. I was miserable, and I moved home after one semester. I just needed time. Look at me now: my first time outside my home country and I picked India of all places! That's how I seem to do things, though – think about a situation until I can't take it any more and then do something drastic. I'm not sure that's a good trait, but there you have it. In this case, I think it's all working out just fine. There is so much more to the world than a cubicle and a mortgage, and I've only just started to explore it.

If you are into the cubicle-and-mortgage thing that's cool, it's just not for me. I much prefer the unconventional, even if it's not as cushy and comfortable all the time. What's that saying? Oh yeah: pain lets you know you're alive. I'm not saying I want "pain," per se, but experiencing a bit of hardship now and then helps keep the balance. We all love to be pampered, but without a little difficulty from time to time we get soft and depressed, and that's no fun for anyone. I've had almost 30 years of relative comfort; it's funny how too much of a good thing can be just as detrimental as not enough, isn't it? I knew I needed some perspective, so I got my proverbial ducks in a row and made it happen. Was I scared? Of course I was. But I wanted to be scared. I wanted that rush. I wanted to feel like anything could happen, good or bad. I knew that if I just stayed home and hung out in Chicagoland I'd always wish I'd taken a chance and gone somewhere new. 

I'll admit I'm just a little bit proud of myself for finally being decisive about something big.

Adventure, ho! (The dogs seem unimpressed.)

Dear Teachers,

Teachers, I am beginning to understand.

I won't say that "I do understand," because I'm sure I don't. I've been at this a couple of weeks now, but I won't claim to have joined the ranks of you who have been doing this for years. But I am starting to get it.

I am beginning to understand what you mean when you say that you work long hours, not just the hours you physically spend in the classroom. I am beginning to understand spending your own money so your students can benefit from better lessons. I am beginning to understand the responsibility you feel for your students, and the desire to see each of them succeed in the classroom, and outside of it.

I am in India, teaching English to refugees from Tibet. Their native languages (some students are from Bhutan, Thailand, and other areas in the region) are very different from English, and so they often have a difficult time with some pronunciations and vocabulary, not to mention the grammar. English is not a tonal language; theirs are. There is no "th" sound in their languages; it's pretty common in English.

Add to this the fact that I'm an American teaching from a British book, and it gets a little confusing.

What's even worse, though, is the fact that the book is not only written in a western country, it's written for western students. The other day we had a lesson in the book called "Practical English: On a Plane." I got smart and asked "Who here has been on a plane?" I was met with blank stares. A few of them shook their heads. So first I had to explain how it works: flight attendants and in-flight drinks and such. Today we had a reading about things that are "Typically British." I had to explain the following terms, because none of my students was familiar with them: pub, cappuccino, espresso, au pair, zebra crossing (a crosswalk), beer, Burger King, and "fish fingers."

So now I'm thinking.. yes, my students should learn what all of these things are. It will make them more well-rounded and able to relate to people in western cultures. But really? I think at this level the cultural gap just makes the lessons that much harder to understand.

We had our Unit 1 test in my Elementary level class on Wednesday. I had a few students (monks, as it happens) who did particularly well -- upward of 96%. I think they've studied English before. It was an eye-opener for me too, because I didn't realize I had to explain what "true and false" meant. I have been writing names on the board because most of the names in the book are ones you don't find here: my students are all named Lobsang or Tenzin or Lhamo or Tashi or Tsering; in the book the names are Marta and Marco and James and Allie and Alessandra. I don't think there's anything wrong with giving them "Marta = woman, Marco = man" on the board at the front, because if they respond with the wrong pronoun simply because they have no idea whether the name is male or female, that doesn't test their understanding of the English language. It was pretty funny how many filled the blank in "Is Magda Polish? Yes, _____ is" with the word "he."

Really, guys? Lol. Of all the western names in your book, I'd hope you'd know that one. And no, I didn't write the test; that's just the one that came with the materials.

I need to find some materials that are geared more toward an Asian classroom. If I can't find any, I might need to make some.

So Teachers, I am beginning to understand. The best of you really do give so much for your classes. I'm only teaching 2-3 classes a day, 4-5 hours total, and I'm feeling it. I can only imagine what it must be like for a new full-time teacher who is just building a stockpile of lesson plans and class projects.

We aren't supposed to make copies except of test materials; there is a sign above the copier reminding us that "all other copies are 2 rupees per page." I've been recommended to collect 20 rupees or so from each of my students to go toward the cost of copying whatever else I deem necessary, but I'm hesitant. Sure, 20 rupees isn't much. It isn't much for me, anyway. Maybe I'll do it and call it close enough, even if I go over it by the end of the semester. I just want them to learn. The book is good, I'm sure, for other students. For mine, though, it's not quite cutting it. I feel like I need to supplement. I want to go online and find articles, flip through books and find passages to use. For the most part, their understanding of grammar is pretty good, and their vocab is pretty impressive. Their reading comprehension is not so hot, though (generally speaking; of course there are exceptions). How are they supposed to improve their English, though, when they are reading selections that they wouldn't even understand the meaning of in their native languages? How can they focus on the language when there is so much else to process, to distract them?

Most of them are eager to learn, though, and sometimes they ask a lot of questions. Whenever we introduce new vocabulary they always ask for more words. We did body parts the other day and they kept asking "What's this? What's this?" pointing to moles and elbows and fingernails that weren't on the list in the book. I have had a couple of students come to me after class and explain to me that they won't be in class for a couple of weeks, usually because they have to go on a trip somewhere. They're not like vacations, they're like "my sister just had a baby and so I have to take over running her shop" or "I need medical care and it's somewhere that will involve me being gone for about 15 days" -- I just had a student come in and tell me that as I sat here typing this entry. I wished him well and told him to study so he wasn't behind when he got back, and he smiled and bowed a bunch of times and thanked me. I mean really, what else can I say? No, you can't go?

I also had to explain to the class on Wednesday that I expect them to do their assignments not because I'm trying to make more work for them, but because I want them to improve. I want them to learn, and learning takes practice. Sure enough, the half of the class that didn't have their assignments in on time handed them to me today. I'm determined to get these students to a point where they can understand and be understood, and I've only got a few months to do it in.

I think I've got my work cut out for me. I better go find some articles.

To hold you over until the next entry, here are some photos.

Old Monk rum, eh? I've never heard of it, but there are an awful lot of monks here, so why not?

Spices and hot peppers for sale.

Veggie burger where you can really see the veggies.

The tailoring shop where we bought fabric to have some pretty Indian outfits custom made. Total price for two full, elaborate salwar kameez? About $30.

The buses and trains here all have sections reserved for women.

Julie getting ready to eat some batura (sp?) and channa (chickpeas and spices) -- yum!

Joe and Steve, I saw this and thought of you guys. Obviously.

Bhagsu is still dirty, but at least they're trying.

This tattoo shop doesn't look sketchy at all!

Preeeeeeeeeeeetty... Bhagsu waterfall.

I feel like I'm on my way to Whiterun...