Finding the Beauty in My Unmet Expectations

-- First, let me clearly state that I cannot speak definitively of teaching English in Vietnam. I am only sharing my experience and personal feelings on the topic. I met plenty of Western friends who teach out of genuine love for teaching rather than the perks it comes with here and that I so admire.

Second, forgive me for diverging from my food theme. --

During my college graduation I felt underwhelmed and unfinished. I took that feeling as a sign I should continue my education even further, but first I wanted to take some time for myself. Teach abroad, make some money while living a life completely foreign to my own, come home and then return to school.

All I needed was a college degree in any subject and a $30 online TEFL certificate. With those things completed, I headed to Vietnam ready for the adventure.

Three days into my arrival in Ho Chi Minh City, my coworkers already began asking me how many years I would live and work in Vietnam. Though I signed an 8-month contract, given the way my experienced coworkers raved about living in Vietnam, I truly anticipated staying at least a year, maybe longer.

Initially everything felt magical. All exciting, foreign and cheap.

Unbelievably and beautifully cheap. Things I considered a splurge at home would be affordable for me here on my income as a native English speaking teacher: manicures, eyelash extensions, artwork, clothing, elaborate meals. You name it, I could probably afford it.

Being a tourist is a sort of luxury. They wear goggles capable of filtering out the negatives until only beauty and wonder remains.

But I was not a tourist on a break from reality. My life was happening here and this would become my new normal. After my first week, I removed my goggles, began work, and built this new life.

Once those goggles came off, the haze lifted and the magic faded.

Being wealthy in such a cheap country turned from that initial delight into an uncomfortable feeling constantly churning in my stomach. I pushed it aside because at least I was earning my money making a difference, right?

I kept trying to believe that I was in some way deserving of this wealthy lifestyle that westerners live in Vietnam - after all, I did finish that ever-important, but not-at all-challenging TEFL course.

Back home, people often display their wealth through their cars. In Vietnam, you can sometimes decipher wealth through the motorbikes people drive.

I noticed the motorbikes at my schools were relatively nice compared to most throughout the rest of the city. When I mentioned this to my teaching assistant, stating that teachers must make pretty decent money here, she replied “Oh no. Maybe they work another job to afford those. They don’t make much money. Not as much as you native english speakers.”

Here I stand, 22, a teaching certificate, but not a teaching degree. My only true qualification is the fact I speak English- and even that’s a skill I do not consciously remember learning or working for. No part of me felt deserving of a higher income than my Vietnamese co-workers. I felt sick.

I tried to set that sickness aside, but I could not fight my moral sense. Each day in the teachers’ lounge I felt guilty among my Vietnamese co-workers. They held hard-earned teaching degrees and a passion for education. Meanwhile, all I really held was my nationality which somehow weighed more.

At one point upon deciding to leave, a lead teacher told me, “We don’t want to lose you. You are pretty, blonde, and American. You can get picked up by another English teaching company instantly.” Essentially, I am that ideal English teacher that schools can brag about having.

My guilt only cut deeper. Apparently knowing my native language was not my sole qualification, after all. My image, I realized, mattered just as much.

That same day while teaching, parents stood outside my classroom door watching their children learn from the blonde American.

They smiled, looking pleased, but after the comment stated by this head teacher I doubted whether they were smiling simply because their children were learning or because they were learning from the “ideal English teacher.” I wondered if I was hired more for schools to impress parents rather than actually teach the students.

During a job interview with another company, the interviewer gloated about how cheap they make the courses for Vietnamese students. He stated, “We hire as many Vietnamese teachers as Native English speakers. Since Vietnamese teachers make significantly less money, we can create cheaper classes for students. It’s unfortunate they make less, but that’s just how it is.”

As he said that final sentence with feigned dejection, I tuned out during the rest of the interview.

I made my decision: I was finished.

I did not want to be a part of this system anymore. Chanting that hollow excuse “that’s just how it is” does not work for me. I could not, in good conscience, stay and teach.

Maybe if I loved teaching - if I woke up with a passion and love for teaching I hoped I would develop - and found the reward in that each day, then I could better compartmentalize. Perhaps if that passion seeped through me the way it does in my friends here then I would feel more deserving of this wealthy lifestyle and less like I am exploiting the system.

Maybe then I could weigh the change I’m creating in some students’ lives against the pit in my stomach telling me this is not the right path for me.

But I just cannot.

Once I felt the guilt, I sunk into it. I saw it everywhere. I saw the way other Westerners in my area lived like kings and queens. Flaunting wealth in BMWs and Mercedes while others drove rusted out motor bikes. The way they could avoid all street food and opt instead for pricey western establishments.

I could not unsee it.

This is not the route I want to be on. I don’t want to spend years dreading my job, but still dealing with it because at least I can live this grossly luxurious lifestyle in a foreign country alongside locals who sell gasoline in plastic bottles on the side of the road as a source of income.

No, I don’t even want to spend months doing that.

I understand the need and importance for native English teachers in a developing country such as Vietnam. Still, even understanding that need did not outweigh my personal sense of shame when I considered how unqualified and uncomfortably privileged I felt teaching here.

Too often people stay in a situation they don’t enjoy out of pride or comfort or maybe because facing the unknown while finding the right path is too scary.

There is bravery in admitting you don’t enjoy what you thought so surely you would and making the choice to change your direction mid flight.

I am the queen of expectations (it's something I'm working on). I imagined living in Vietnam would be incredible because of all the travel and the fun lifestyle I could live abroad.

I was wholly wrong. And that's okay.

Though it has not been what I anticipated, my time teaching in Vietnam holds a richness it simply could not have if everything had gone as I planned. My preconceived visions of my time here appear shallow and vain compared to my reality.

I feel grateful for the unmet expectations resting at my feet. I’m glad things didn’t work out how I intended because what I gained in insights, confidence, critical thinking, life lessons, understanding, and self-trust is immeasurable.

When I told a friend I was leaving, he kept apologizing. Saying how sorry he was my experience was so poor.

He got it all wrong. This experience gave me everything I needed. I can't explain enough how rewarding and valuable these few months have been for me.

I know this experience was a success because I leave viewing the world and myself in a different light.

I may not have spent the past few months continuing my education in the traditional sense, but I learned more about myself, my values, the world and the USA than any masters program could have possibly taught me.

Truthfully, I wouldn't change a thing.