I feel good.

Today I felt something I don't believe I've ever felt in my life.

I felt really, genuinely proud of myself.

It hit me after my second day of working at Aston's, the new job. I worked five hours in the morning on Saturday and four hours today, teaching children anywhere from 5 to 13 years old. I continue teaching in the evenings during the week. The class schedule is mind-boggling: teachers are shifted from age group to age group by the hour and by the half hour. Sometimes one class has two or three different teachers; usually when you arrive at a class they've already had a teacher before you, possibly two, and you have to assess what the students have already learned to even know where to begin with the lesson. It's an awful system, and I'm glad I don't have to stick with it for too long. But it's really not all bad. I'm paid $15 an hour. I have a Vietnamese teaching assistant in each classroom to assist me (they are all young and female, so this is even more of a bonus than it sounds). The kids are great. And today, after my final class, my assistant turned me and said, "The kids really like you."

"How do you know?" I said.

"They said it in Vietnamese, as they were leaving."

This made me feel great, yes. But it wasn't until I was walking home that it really, truly hit me. I am eighteen years old. I am eighteen years old and living independently in a foreign country. I am eighteen years old, living independently in a foreign country, and teaching English here, successfully. When I first left for Vietnam, I had some serious doubts about whether I could really survive such a huge transition. Well, I've survived it, and more. I've adapted to a new culture, quickly and without too many bumps along the way. I've found a job in this new culture, on my own, and so far, I seem to be doing my job well. It's not an easy job either; I'm teaching a new language to young, energetic children. And I'm eighteen years old. I'm doing this without a degree, without any sort of teacher's training, and with little experience.

Yes, I am proud of myself. It's even deeper than that, though. For the first time in my life, I feel like other people have reason to be envious of me. I'm truly privileged to be where I am right now. How many people can say they've taught English in a foreign country at 18?

This all must sound insufferable. I apologize. I can't keep it in. I'm really happy with my life right now, and I need to share. To me, this feels like the culmination of all the maturation I've done in my life, especially in the last few years. No, culmination is the wrong word. It implies an ending. This is not an ending, but a new momentum that is just now getting underway. For the first time in my life, I feel like I am moving toward the future.

I've decided that this is what I want to do. It's pretty much official. Teaching English overseas is what I want to do with my life, at least for a few years after college. I figure if I'm happy teaching at a not particularly good school, it's probably a good indication that I like the work. And I do. I enjoy teaching, and I enjoy traveling. I enjoy the challenge of adapting to a new culture. I like trying new foods and meeting new people. Of course, I'm not a naturally extroverted person, so I can only take so much at once; I think I hit my limit a couple weeks ago, after a straight month of almost constant interaction with new people, and had to hide in my room for a while. But I even enjoy that: trying to find the right balance. And I'm surprised at how long I went without needing time alone; this is about the farthest I've ever stretched the boundaries of my personality. The move was conveniently timed, though; apart from the initial move-in weekend, my life in District 10 has been much slower-paced. This has been a relief; I'm not sure how much more District 1 life I could have taken. Now I'm able to spend a few hours alone every day, which is nice.

I was going to write a long entry about how teaching English to preschoolers breaks the language down and builds it up again brick by brick, allowing the teacher to reexamine the language and it's intricate, frequently nonsensical construction through fresh eyes, but you probably don't want to hear about that.