Kensington

"So there’s this vacuum--" I pause so a car doesn’t run me over as we cross Cromwell Road.

“A vacuum??” Connor laughs.

"There's this vacuum and his name is Henry and—”

(Another car.)

“Well it's like a brand of vacuum cleaners that are all named Henry. The vacuum hose connects to his nose, and he's got eyes and a smile."

I don’t know why Henry is the first thing that came to mind as I lead Connor towards the apartment Veronica and I stayed in when we traveled and studied here as 18-year-olds. We loved Henry. And profiteroles. And Jane Austen’s ghost, but we meet her later during our trip.

"The program coordinators showed us a straightforward path to class, but Veronica and I explored a bunch of different routes until we found this one."

I tell Connor about many ways in which we had paved our own path and created our own experiences in the city. Few others seemed to care as much about the Bayeux Tapestry as us so we spent a lot of time at museums and parks with each other.

I’ve shared this walk with everyone I’ve traveled with when I visit London. We weave through Kensington’s roads and mews and admire the beautiful architecture and end up at Montparnasse Café where we have delicious crepes. Today it’s Connor’s turn. Today I share with him some of the many places that hold sentimental value—Montparnasse Cafe, St Mary Abbott's church, the Natural History Museum, and Holland Park.

Our feet are still acclimating to this much walking, so we decide to join everyone else in Holland Park and take a nap under a tree. 

Hours later, we’re in Notting Hill, headed towards two record stores Connor is really excited to browse. 

I'm writing this while sitting on the wooden floor of Honest Jon’s records. The floor has fading orange paint along the wood grains that make it look like tiger stripes. The owner offers me a stool, and asks me if I'd like something to eat or drink.

Another employee answers the phone.

"Uh… rarely. What've you got? Uh huh. No, sorry."

They hang up, then call back.

"Do you want me to take it? It's your first night," the owner says. The employee nods.

"Hello? Yes, he's just stepped away. Yes, I'll let him know it's an excellent collection. Good luck with it. Bye."

London, Again

“If you want to go back for an umbrella I can wait for you, but I don’t want one. I don't want to carry it,” I say, looking out at the rain from the entryway of our apartment building.

“As long as you know you’ll be soaked by the time we get there…” Connor says.

I nod. Connor decides against the umbrella and we start walking towards the light rail, stopping to drop off keys to our apartment so our friends can water our plants while we’re gone.

“What are your goals for the trip?” I ask.

“To be present. To read a lot… to see a lot of good music. What about you?”

“I’m not sure yet.”

I think about this for hours. I know what I want to do but that’s not what I’m thinking about. I’m thinking about how I want to grow.

How do I want to grow?

The lights in the plane mimic the aurora borealis, and as the plane takes off, we’re immediately enveloped into clouds and I can’t see anything. They’re so thick they look like they’re erasing the plane’s wing from existence as we fly. I can’t even see Mt. Rainier.

The last time I traveled on this side of the Atlantic, I was half a decade younger. I wonder how my experiences traveling will feel different now that I’ve been a teacher, now that I’ve moved to several other cities, now that I’m (marginally) older and in a different life stage.

The plane descends over Iceland for our layover, and I see the outlines of a group of whales (not sure what kind) just below the water. And I’m not sure if it’s because I just saw a documentary on the evolutionary journey of whales, or because I just love them, but it brought me to tears.

What are my goals for this trip? In what ways do I want to grow?

I don’t know yet. But my goal is to stay open to the opportunities for growth that are ahead of me. Each time I travel for this long, I come back having changed how I think and how I experience the things around me. Each time, that growth is unplanned, and each time it is inevitable.

Some times I came back with a better, more empathetic lens for consuming and making art.

Some times I came back realizing I'm more resilient and resourceful than I thought possible.

One time I came back wanting to drop out of college and become a math teacher. (I soon realized I didn’t have to drop out to become a math teacher, and did that.)

Each time, I’ve come back having grown closer to those I traveled with. I understand the people I love more deeply and more sincerely because of these shared experiences.

I’m excited to see what that means this time.

Last Days

“Ms. Singh, wait look at this. Look. No! Ms. Singh! Look!”

I laugh and pause mid-staple-removal and watch a student show me the new choreography he learned last week. 

The last days of school—that liminal time after finals and before school officially ends—is always dancing and cleaning and sadness and sweetness. It’s enjoying the warmth that was cultivated over the school year. It’s reflecting on the joy that we shared as a group. It’s always like this, and I couldn’t be more grateful.

At the end of my first year teaching, we cleaned and made drawings and danced to Beyonce’s recently released self-titled album.

Today it’s Shawn Mendez. It’s Khalid. It’s BTS. It’s sliding around on rolling chairs.

It’s milk tea and mango crepe cakes, just like last year in San Francisco. It’s freestyling to a ukulele while watching your language because Ms. Singh doesn’t like cussing. It’s sweet letters and reassurances that we’ll stay in touch. It’s Vans Old Skool instead of Nike Roshe One.

I wasn’t sure what my relationships with students would feel like this year, because the strategies I use for relationship building are embedded in being a classroom teacher. This year I don’t have a classroom. And, at the same time, I have hundreds of classrooms.

I knew it meant I had to be visible, I had to sign up to advise clubs, I had to do what I know I know how to do well. And it worked. This year feels the same in all the important ways.

This year is also hard in unexpected ways.

Shifting enrollment in the district meant that teachers were displaced (i.e. transferred to schools with increasing enrollment, to balance class sizes and make sure no classroom was needlessly burdened) and my school took a particularly large hit. Over 15 teachers were displaced, including two-fifths of my role. I was able to get a full-time position in the same role at a school I know will be a great fit, and for that I’m grateful.

But right now, I’m grateful for our cover band that is performing hits from the Disney channel original film: High School Musical 2, Sharpay's Revenge. Gotta go, my solo for “Bet on It” is starting soon.