Little did I know that 9 years later, I would visit a completely different continent. One that had never crossed my mind before. One whose culture I felt clueless about, whose people I did not know, whose language I had never studied at all, but one with many who were eager to study my language.
Yes, my language. English.
I’ve always enjoyed the English language. In school I enjoyed grammar, my daily spelling tests, and writing (provided it was what I wanted to write). I also enjoyed (somewhat pridefully) correcting others’ grammatical and spelling errors.
But I didn’t think of ever teaching English. After all, when I was 16 I began teaching piano, and I loved it. Important things fell into place, like the piano students, so I furthered that interest, without considering many other possibilities.
But then the opportunity came.
I was asked if I would like to teach English to Chinese students, in China. Sounded interesting, but as I thought about it, I decided it wasn’t for me. At least not the timing. In mid-January a friend approached me about re-considering my decision, because they still needed a couple teachers. I talked to my parents about it and prayed about it for a couple days, and made the last-minute decision to go.
So that was it. I was going to China.
(More to come!)