“How do you feel about China?” I asked.
“China?” Buffin pondered aloud. "I can do China.”
And that was it. This brief phone conversation took place sometime in early May. My friend Buffin and I had been toying with the idea of moving to a foreign country after graduation before being reigned in by the thing that most twenty-somethings avoid with the kind of dread usually reserved for alcohol-free family reunions - the real world. And given the crap-tastic state of the economy, it wasn't exactly like people were handing out jobs on a silver platter, either.
It was during my manic job hunt, actually, when the concept of "alternative options" started to sound increasingly appealing. As a journalism major whose heart was set on moving to New York City, I quickly realized that I was living in some sort of alternate universe where I always got my way. Lovely place, really. But right now, entry-level positions in the magazine industry are as rare as an Olsen Twin sighting sans Starbucks cup and obnoxiously large sunglasses. When I interned in New York last summer, I befriended an editor at Town & Country whose response to my inquiries about the job market was this:
"I graduated during the last recession, when grown-ups complained we were all slackers. And you know what? I wish now I’d taken a year and traveled and had fun, because once the career ball starts rolling, it doesn’t stop. Next thing you know, you have three kids and a monster mortgage and you’re looking at 60 before you can take more than a week off at a time."
I've taken it upon myself to repeat that last sentence to anyone my age who will listen, and, let me tell you, it always elicits the same response - a facial expression that I choose to read as, "Oh, shit." That's what I said to myself, anyway. And, luckily, Buffin was on the same page. Soon our conversations about moving abroad (which, up until that point, could best be described as joint daydreaming) became more serious.
Africa topped our list of places to go. Well, truthfully, Africa was really the only place on the list. I volunteered in Kenya for two weeks the summer before college and had always wanted to go back. Why not now? It was far enough away for us to feel adventurous and exotic enough for us to feel cool. Plus - and I will try to say this in the least pedophilic way possible – it had an abundance of little black boys, who are, for inexplicable reasons, the absolute cutest children on the face of the earth. Hey, Madonna thinks so, too. So as far as Buffin and I were concerned, 'nuff said.
But we couldn't find a reliable program to go through, which ended up being the deal breaker. Besides the fact that Buffin and I weren't exactly keen ourselves with the idea of running off to a foreign country without a plan, there was certainly no way that Buffin's mom, Allison, would let us do a thing like that. After all, this is the woman who wanted to hire a bodyguard to accompany us to Puerto Vallarta on Spring Break because of the recent spike in Mexican crime. And that was only seven days.
Buffin and I weren’t the only ones intent on galavanting across the world. Three of my friends – Allison, Paige and Emily – were already set up to teach English in Spain for a year. On a whim, I text messaged Allison to see what the name of their program was, and the next thing I knew I had spent a good two hours scouring the CIEE website (which stands for Council on International Education Exchange, something I should probably memorize since everyone keeps asking me and I never know). Across the top of the Teach in China page, in bolded, red letters, it said DEADLINE EXTENDED. And that’s when I called Buffin.
Long story short, we were accepted into the five-month program. Someone upstairs must really like us, because not only were we placed together (which wasn’t guaranteed), we were placed in Shanghai, a fete that CIEE can rarely swing. And the cherry on top is that we will both be teaching preschoolers, or “muffins” as I’m sure I will be referring to them in the rest of my posts.
So, after an entire summer of fielding questions from family, friends and complete strangers (“No, I don’t speak Chinese. Nope, not an ounce. Yes, I realize that’s going to be a challenge.”) and an intense medical exam that resulted in me fainting in the doctor’s office, the big day is looming near. Twelve days to be exact. I’m not at all ready in the all-my-bags-are-packed sense of the word, but I’m ready (and have been for a while) to start this exciting chapter of my life. And I attribute that readiness to a self-diagnosed case of wanderlust:
Wan-der-lust: n. A very strong or irresistible impulse to travel.
Yep, sounds about right. So, until next time, zai jian. See, I told you I’d learn some Chinese before I left, Dad.
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