Twenty-Three

A couple of weeks ago I had my twenty-third birthday. Twenty-three always seemed like an important age to me, far more than 21 or 18 or 30 or [take your pick]. I'm not sure why, but maybe it had something to do with the plans I had for myself growing up.
Life dreams were a big thing for me. It wasn't the career so much that I obsessed about. I've known ever since I was about 5 that I've wanted to teach and write for a living. (To clarify: Once, for about a month, I wanted to be a virtuoso violinist, but then I realized I lacked the technical ability or the ambition. And then there was my constant fascination with being a spy. It had nothing to do with an interest in gadgetry or adventure; I just have always wanted the balance of information to tip on my side). Anyway, my life goals, then, were often time and location goals.

From the ages of 10-16 (circa), my life plan looked like this.
Graduate from high school one year early.
Go to college at 17
Graduate at 20
Go to grad school at 21* (same year as graduation; it's how my birthday falls), and finish the summer before I turn 23.

Ah, 23. What a magical number you were.

Somewhere in the middle of high school I decided I wasn't going college a year early. I didn't even want to. So the life plan got pushed back a little. But that was okay, I'd still be halfway done with my graduate program, and looking out for the career of my life.

Then, the summer before my freshman year in college, I decided to go through college attempting two majors. Unfortunately, no matter how hard I tried, I wasn't going to be shoving that into four years. Four and a half years was the smallest amount of time I could manage, so I knew I was going to graduate a semester before I turned twenty-three.

That's okay, I told myself, graduating from college is an epochal moment, and twenty-five is not a bad age to finish a first masters. Then there's a doctorate, of course, but that's the kind of schooling appropriate at any age.

And then somewhere in the last year or two of my college education, I decided that I wanted to travel more, see the world, and experience new cultures. The masters program could wait until I got back.

So here I am, in Saipan, having just graduated from college, teaching English to a bunch of Chinese, Chamorro, and Korean students, (oh yeah, and one Russian), with no immediate plans for a graduate program, and with a frequently postponed life plan.

But that's okay. I've always like the number 27, and that seems like a great age to finish a graduate program.



*At Oxford; Balliol, to be specific, where I could meet the love of my high-school life, Peter Wimsey.

The Greatest Story That Happened to Me Ever

During my two weeks of ESL camp, I taught a Taiwanese girl whose English name was Vicky. She was pretty shy and cute, about 11 or 12, and obsessed with Chinese pop music and Justin Bieber. One day, during a break, I noticed her reading a familiar-looking book, albiet in Chinese. Upon closer examination I discovered that, yes, it was New Moon. I have read the first two Twilight books, so I thought I would ask her about it.
"Do you like that?" I asked, "I've read that. In English, of course," I added.
Her eyes got so big and she started excitedly asking me about it. I tried telling her the names of the series in English, and tried to ask if she was more Team Jacob than Edward, but then we ran out of time, and class had to begin. It was the last time I thought about the encounter until . . .

The next morning, as I'm coming in, Vicky was sitting with her guardian-for-the-trip, an older Taiwanese girl who was observing the English teachers. All of a sudden they both started chattering at me in a mix of Chinese and English. But one sentence came through.

"You wrote this!" (holding up a copy of New Moon)

Well, that explains the huge eyes.

"No," I explained, with enormous shaking of my head, "No, I just read it. That's all."

They didn't believe me.

"See," I pointed to the picture of Stephanie Meyer, and then to my own face, "This is not me."
"Oh, so you translated the book?"
"No, I can't speak a word of another language. I just read it. In English. Everyone reads it where I'm from."

The older girl caught on. "Oh, yes, it's very popular in Taiwan."

The next day or so, Vicky came to me during a break time and asked me to sign her book. I sat down, and once again, compared my face with Stephanie Meyer.
"This isn't me, you understand. I didn't write this."
She nodded her head.
"I just want you to sign it," she said, once again offering the book with a plaintive face.
I sighed, and signed,
"Dear Vicky,
I'm so glad we've read the same book in a different language!
YOUR TEACHER, RuthAnn Ledgerwood
(emphasis added in my mind only)

So, was that the end?
No.

A couple days later, in Writing class, the students had to write a letter to me. Vicky sent this letter to me that said,
"I like your books very much. You are a very good writer. Can you tell me where to get them in English? Taiwan doesn't have very many English bookstores."

"Try Amazon.com," I told her.