Embassy Kid

I’ve been typing snid-bits of observations all week between doing homework, laundry and settling in. I kept trying to add on and put things into a past tense but now I realize I’m just going to have to document by day, or something of that sort. Whatever it is, it is something. 

Wednesday - 8/24/16

I just plopped down into my desk chair in exhaustion and excitement. I don’t know where to start. There is too much to write, but I guess I’ll begin from the beginning: 

Two days ago I attended the informal orientation for my new school, the American School of Warsaw. It takes one bus change and twenty minutes of walking to reach it on the outskirts of Warsaw where the only sights are cabbage fields, sunflower fields,

expensive apartments and even more expensive condos. I met the new students entering my grade, and there was only one other American kid. I met a girl straight from south China, a boy who came from west India, a girl from Moskow, Russia, and a boy

and a girl both from Israel. The girls bonded over American TV shows that I

haven't even watched. Three of the students were from Poland, one

who's parents were Vietnamese, the other two from Lithuanian and Ukraine but moved here when they were young. One of the two girls lived in Zurich, Switzerland last year. She said she was sad to leave her friends in Zurich, but since they also go to an American/International School they will visit for a swimming tournament in the winter season and hopefully house with her. 

The American boy lived in Kenya for two years. He claimed to hate it. When we stopped in a Pizza Hut for the complimentary lunch payed for by the school, he dramatically informed us on how he never went anywhere in public with windows in Kenya because he would be shot. 

I attended my formal orientation and started school yesterday. Because I come from the rigorous public schools of Massachusetts I was placed in two classes for 11th graders instead of 10th graders. These classes are called IB which stands for International Baccalaureate and these classes form college credits for schools around the world, similar to the AP courses in the United States, except AP is limited just to American colleges. Once kids in my grade saw my schedule that included IB History and IB Chemistry they looked at me wide eyed and astonished, and asked why I would do such a daring thing. 

I must’ve explained my situation of transferring for only less than a year to ASW a million times, or less exaggeratedly, twenty times, and each person who heard it responded, “Wow, I’ve got mad respect for you” or an equivalent.

It didn’t seem like a big deal. But, apparently, it was. The news spread around the grade that “the new american girl is taking 11th grade IB courses!” So far, though, the teachers’ attitudes towards the courses don’t seem too terrifying. Last year, my teachers started off telling me “this is a rigorous course” or even better, “this course will be your worst nightmare if you don’t study.” How reassuring for a petrified freshman, right? 

But here, none of my teachers even mentioned that their course could be challenging. And to add onto IB, I’m not in standard IB, but in higher level IB. My IB chemistry teacher told us she rarely even assigns homework. I pray this isn’t jinxing myself, but just writing out these sentences relieves some school anxiety. 

There is only one level of English for my grade. For the first book, we are reading a graphic novel. I have only encountered one other person straight from the U.S and that’s the boy who spent two years in Kenya. 

It doesn't seem like an American School besides having a swimming pool and a giant, well-managed campus. The majority of the students speak with an accent and stick with people who speak their native language. There is not an A through F grading system where is everything based on 100 points, but rather a system of 7-1. 7 is an A+ while a 1 is a F. Academics and participation are two separate grades. The participation grade is really called something like “Willingness to Learn” which counts effort (doing homework, contributing in class, etc.) It’s confusing to me as I ponder how they will convert the 7-1 scale back to the American A, B, C scale.

My favorite part of the whole school day is going outside for lunch. I already found people that I enjoy being around, unlike the many months it took me to find even acquaintances in Hingham. We sit in a circle under a little tree that provides shade on the side-lines of the track discussing and laughing after eating. Boys bring their soccer cleats out to run around after gobbling down their lunch. For breaks and lunches, the cafeteria provides pastries such as various muffins, chocolate croissants, regular croissants, and fruit tarts. They also offer multiple hand-pressed smoothies and sushi platters. There is a taste of luxury in this school, to say the least. 

 

The stereotypes of Americans here are humorous. Multiple kids have asked me “How do you feel about Trump?” or “So, are you voting for Trump?” or “Do you own a gun?” 

I laughed when a Korean boy asked me if I owned a gun, thinking it was a joke that I was supposed to laugh at, but evidently I was wrong as he continued to stare at me waiting for an answer. 

The most frequently asked questions, though, are “are you an embassy kid?” and “do you live in the compound?” Both of these questions would sound ridiculous anywhere else but an international/American school. Many students with parents in the embassy of their home country or faculty of the school live in surrounding identical housing complexes. These kids move every couple of years to a new country, so naturally, each place they move they enroll in a school that teaches in English. Living in the compounds seem unimaginably isolating. It’s like living in the suburbs where a car is nearly as necessary as water. 

Volleyball tryouts were rewarding and easier than expected. I’ve never played before, but in just an hour I realized I enjoy the sport besides the burning sensation on my forearm that occurred mid-way through the first practice and didn’t cease until after I got home three hours later. There are little bruises scattering my forearm, but no major injuries which is already a step in the right direction.

There is much more to write in a much more creative and artful way. But while I am still forming habits in my new home, things are literal and straightforward with only a hint of creative knowledge brewing in my brain.