Time Enough
 
I don't write about my students enough.  And they can be really funny.  In my beginner 3 class, we are learning the simple past regular and irregular verbs.  For example: clean= cleaned, make= made, go = went.  It's super useful, and I have enjoyed being able to have my students tell me stories about their weekends, childhoods, etc.  Last week, while checking the homework, one of my students almost had me in stitches.  Here's what happened:

Directions: Read Jenna's planner.  Then complete the sentences below.  Use the simple past of the verbs in the box.

[buy   do   go   have   make   (etc.) ]

6. On Friday, Jenna  ________  to a party.   She  __________ out with Mike.

The correct answer was : Jenna want to a party.  She didn't go out with Mike.  Can you guess what my student innocently said?
 
I dream of the day when I don't have to skype anymore, when all of my loved ones are around me, like a warm blanket.  I dream of this day knowing fully that it will never come, accepting that this place I am in now will be a place I will miss.  How does one live this way, already missing the present?  Lately, time moves so quickly I feel I can't see what's around me.  The world spins so fast I am already seeing what's to come in an hour, but it blurs with what's present before me.  I'm blinded, and I no longer try to focus my eyes.  What's the point?  It's been like this since I got here.  Staring at the calendar, hashing off the days as they pass.  Reviewing my journal, every page seems to reference time or waiting in some way.  The waiting isn't strange in and of itself.  What's strange is the fact that I waited so long to get here, that to get here and wait is absurd.  It's cruel, in fact.  One knows subconsciously  that the future also brings one closer to one's death.  So to wish an end to what one wished for is doubly depressing.  An end of the desire, a desire for the end. At the rate I'm going, which is at least one hour if not several months ahead of myself, pretty soon I'm going to start wishing for an end to the things I am still wishing for.  And where does one go from there?
 
Whenever I feel homesick, I head to Rabat, Morocco's capital.  I spent my Christmas break there and with every trip thereafter, I have come to appreciate the familiarity of the trip more and more.  Wake up before sunrise, make coffee during the call to prayer,  throw on some clothes and head out to the bus station.  Find my window seat, plug in my i-pod and fall asleep gazing  at the sun rise over the Rif Mountains.  Dozing in this way, I am semi-conscious of the changing landscape as we move through the mountain pass on the Mediterranean to the flat lands on the Atlantic outside Rabat.  We make two stops; one in Larache to pick up more passengers, the other at a rest stop about an hour and a half outside of Rabat.  I order a coffee with milk from the same busy water and swat the same flies that buzz around my head.  Back on the bus and revived by the coffee and excitement of a prompt arrival, I read, or gaze at the yellow fences that indicate our proximity to Rabat.  The same McDonald's billboard reminds me I'm hungry, but soon we arrive at the station, and the journey's almost done.  I wait on the long dusty road outside the station.  I flag down a cab. "Aghdal, Jama3 Badr."  "Abtal?" the taxi driver asks.  "Iyeh," I respond, in the Tetouani way.  We chat about the weather, I pay 13 DH and walk in the late morning sun to my friends house, looking out for the street cat we call the "Simeon" for it's ugly, ape-like appearance.  The same rickety elevator, the same broken glass, door bell rings, then welcome words. 

It's nice to know home doesn't stay home when you're away.  If you're lucky (and I guess I am), you can find it anywhere.