Poem from Hua Hin

This jungle tree drips
as on this sea ledge I sit
watching the foam of the waves.

Orange lights burn on a black horizon
bobbing twinkles of silent fishermen.
My voice an intrusion on the noisy tropic night.

How long must I paddle until I bridge that silence
with only soft clappings on the bow;
from here on this ledge
to the boats on the reef?
Change is not asked on the sea.

The night dark like the mist between a holy isle and shore;
to get there is a matter of believing.
Forbidding. And we mustn't. Danger, danger. No assurance.
The crossing is completely up to me.

Questions that are making me edgy.

In an IBPYP school you know where, should we reconcile class-ism (which may also thinly veil racism) and sexism?

If not, how do we acknowledge and address class-ism (which may also thinly veil racism) and sexism?

In an attempt at an "international progressive community" you know where, should we reconcile class-ism (which may also thinly veil racism) and sexism?

If not, how do we acknowledge and address class-ism (which may also thinly veil racism) and sexism?

What is the difference between a piece of cloth worn over the hair by choice or by force?

What is the difference between my Granny's babushka and the hijab?

What is the difference between protect and conceal?

What is the difference between to protect and to hold hostage?

What does choice look like?

What does freedom look like?

What does oppression look like?

What does subjugation look like?

What are the similarities between veiling (hide, conceal, ensconce) and oppression?

How might Stockholm syndrome (disambiguation) apply to the lives of women in oppressive cultures?

How might Stockholm syndrome (disambiguation) apply to the lives of men in oppressive cultures?

The IB rocks.

This is an excellent video that outlines the Learner Profile in the IB curriculum. It sums up a great deal of why I am so keen to participate in this model of education.

I am debt free!!!!!!!!!

My Classroom

My house

My House:

If you can see the two guys at the window, they are cleaning off this strange white film that was covering my entire two story window. Out this window is a view of our bay on the Red Sea. We (that is, the maintenance department) had to put up scaffolding on my balcony to do it, but now I have one of the best views on campus. Here's hoping I get to keep it. This apartment is fantastic.

Notes from a broad (title suggestion by my ever hilarious former teaching partner. Thanks Cheryl!)

Here in the land of heat and sand,

work and more work is the task at hand.

Watching movie after movie is the thing I've found

to occupy my time while living in this compound.

It's true that only the mad dogs and the English men,

go outside when the desert sun beats down on them.

While none would classify me as English, male, or dog,

I wonder upon midday street: for what did I sign on?

To find the life in this hot place, (did I mention that it's hot?)

I've come to see that real life is not in the places that I thought.

Melanie and Nestor, who come from the Philippines

or Solomon from India, are here, like me, for means.

This unlikely global community in the House of Saud,

all have hope for something more, insha-Allah, if it's the will of God.

Tolerance for 'isms' is the template of our lives,

we'll put up with almost anything for the cash we'll put aside.

Now don't get me wrong, god forbid, it's not that I have a bad attitude.

It's just that travel adventures in Saudi Arabia seem to elude,

the quaint village-children-street food scenes one finds in the developing world.

Instead it has been like The Truman Show, a strange mall, a fishbowl world.

And yet, when at dusk I close my eyes to the wind filled with subtle rich call,

Come pray, sings the man, again and again. His lifetime to beckon us all.

And so, I contemplate imperfection, and how much I still have to learn,

and trust my truth to reveal itself. My home still needs to be earned.