A Brief Dalliance (edit)

View from Room 628, Airport Hotel, Dalian

This is one of those posts in which the title came first and then the story was an afterthought.  I just couldn't resist making a play on the word 'Dalian' - my home for the past two weeks - and scene of my latest failure to hold down an EFL job.  This time, in North-East China.  This is an edited version of a post I originally put up on the 6 October.

visited this on 19 Sep - the anniversary of Dalian's founding

 

I had left the UK in a good frame of mind, on 16 September.  I was mentally ready for the challenge.  This time I was going to get it right. As I posted earlier, here, there was simply no alternative to not coping.  Perhaps it was the suppressed fears of not wanting to fail which won out in the end.  For the third time this year I found myself, one week in, rocking uncontrollably in my room, crippled with irrational fear, unable to pick up the phone to call in 'sick' and waiting for the inevitable news that my services were no longer required. 

The first few days were fine.  I arrived just as the mid-autumn (moon) festival begun.   I visited the campus and carried out some placement speaking tests.  The office was undergoing a refit and I met some other members of staff.   During the holiday period, I visited the city of Dalian, hopping on and off various buses.    This included finding Xinghai Park and walking along the 'Bobybuilding walkway' up to the Zoo entrance.  I made friends with a Warwick graduate, staying in the same airport hotel, and we explored the city together on the first day.  I picked up a local SIM card but couldn't get it to work properly on my phone, which was to become a source of frustration.   On the Friday (3rd full day), I did a bit more 'sightseeing' by myself, before ending up at A Capella, an English-speaking bar off Wuyi Road, with a few of the teachers.  I felt good, relaxed, ready.

Over the weekend, my mood took a dip.  I cannot explain why.  The apprehension of teaching on Monday started building.  I had a bad night's sleep on the Saturday and woke up on Sunday feeling bad.  I began to feel quite disorientated.  I tried to plan, but the spectre of failure started to weigh on my mind once again.

Another restless night meant that instead of waking up fresh on Monday, I was preoccupied with worry about things not going well.  I could not get it out of my head that I was going to fail, just like before.  That subconscious pressure reared its ugly head and I succumbed to inner voices telling me it wasn't going to happen.   The immediate pressure was taken off by my new boss and only had to observe my classes rather than teach them, but I didn't manage to grab an ideal spot in the reorganised staff room and I felt like I had started off on the wrong foot.

I managed to teach my first class on the following day, some low level graphic art students, who seemed to enjoy the lesson, based on part 2 of the IELTS speaking test, on talking about your favourite subject at school.  Although I referred to the coursebook, I took a fairly 'dogme' approach to the lesson, with a long lead-in.

Things took a really bad turn starting Wednesday, and I felt imprisoned in my hotel room.  I was eventually coaxed out of my room by another sympathetic colleague, who had gone through her own work related anxiety problems. My boss also turned up to take me out of the hotel room, which was definitely forming some kind of mental prison cell.  It was suggested that I was going 'stir crazy'.  Attempts to relax me only tackled the surface symptoms.  The seeds of failure had already been sown and I was fighting the inevitable conclusion.

On Thursday, I was visibly agitated during my compulsory health check.  Physical only, no examination of the brain.   I changed my mind several times about teaching that afternoon, eventually failing to do so.  That, I think, was the end, in both our minds.  I was trying to see a way forward, but the advice that I was receiving seemed to be falling on (my) deaf ears. 

On Friday, I was pinned, yet again, to my hotel room.  I couldn't bring myself to get help.  I was eventually coaxed into going back to the DPU campus, for what turned out to be the last time.   With Madonna, Nirvana and The Prodigy playing in the Bali Cafe, a discussion was had with the boss which resulted in a decision to get a return ticket to UK organised as quickly as possible.   I was persuaded to attended a formal, staff 'welcome' dinner in the VIP section of Da Qing Hua, if nothing else than to get some food inside of me. I had not been eating properly. I felt quite uncomfortable, knowing that my time on the programme was up so soon.  I was absolutely gutted, devastated. I knew I could have done this job, provided I could have got through the first couple of weeks or so.  I had not been able to 'pull through' on this occasion, as one colleague remarked. I had taught for the total of one lesson of 90 minutes.

'Bobybuilding Walkway'  

There are other factors involved here.  It is not simply a case of me 'failing'. Dealing with a new, foreign situation and particularly a Chinese one can be alienating at the best of times.  I was not happy at the airport hotel, had no appetite for the included breakfast and couldn't get cereal or a decent, strong black coffee.  I realised this was only a temporary measure, but it seems that the campus apartments we were promised would not be ready for another 1-2 months. This was causing general displeasure amongst the teaching staff. 

Being unable to speak any Mandarin left me feeling hopeless when it came to ordering food or getting what I wanted, such a taxi ride to campus, without getting the tones wrong.  Then there are contextual issues surrounding the students' ability (or lack thereof) and the fact that the university is located right beside Dalian airport with planes taking off every ten minutes or so.   But I can't fault the programme or my employers.  I have no particular criticism of the syllabus, choice of coursebooks or timetable.  There were some resources lacking, but it was at a level I was expecting - whiteboards and marker pens, with a few portable projectors.  I was supported partly because I had flagged up my condition beforehand. But, in the end, I could not really be helped.  The programme had many difficulties last year, although it seemed that management have got a good grip on things now.  It is a shame, because teaching on this course was easily within my capabilities and the teaching demands were not too great.

Beach front At Xinghai Park

So, the result of this is that I returned to the UK (3 October) with the aim of seeking professional help with my recurring problem.  If I am to teach again then I need to crack this.  Three times in 2013 and on three further, previous occasions this condition, whether it gets a label or not, has prevented me from continuing with a newly acquired teaching position.   It seems, strangely, to have gotten worse since I graduated from Warwick (Sep 2012).  There are deep, psychological reasons why this keeps happening.  There are many factors at play.  I am seriously questionning whether I should really be an EFL teacher or whether I just need to properly learn some techniques to get through the first two weeks of any new situation.

It is very easy to slip back into a depression and I now have a battle on to avoid that happening.   I don't think it is wise to rush straight into applying for another job when I need to sort out the issue or learn to cope with it.  I am going to try not to let this put me off teaching for good.  I am still employable and there are people out there who have faith in my abilities.  I just need to recover that faith in myself before it's too late.

- TP

German Castle in the Sky

One of the bus routes into the city