Clouds settle gently
Over the stoic mountains outside
Like a duvet
On a cold winter morning.

I wish I could cover myself
In them -
Pull the cloud duvet up to my chin,
Embraced by their downy warmth -
And sleep until
I no longer ache inside.

I'm 3 days into
End-of-term holidays,
And I've already broken my
Healthier drinking streak.

My days are blurring together,
And despite my vocal complaints,
A very large part of me is
Privately relieved to see the dates
Racing past.

I'm not well-rested.
I'm never well-rested.
The bags underneath my eyes
Are persistent passengers.
Yet,
I crave a speedy return
To my packed and tightly-scheduled
Teaching days
In which I can forget
I exist.

Taking care of this human body is
E X H A U S T I N G
And thankless.

I was enraptured in conversation
With some locals in the small
Beach-side town
My parents co-own a property at
The other night...

[The town is small
And easily unnoticeable.
We've come to learn that
It is a place where
Permanent residents
Come to hide from the law
Or disgruntled acquaintances.

People come here to disappear.

We drink at the local pub
With ex-leaders of international
And national gangs.
We share anecdotes with
People on the run.
We have a laugh
With people who have lost a large
Portion of their life
To drug abuse.

We do so lovingly.

The people here
Have been chewed up and
Spat out
By life.
They only wish to escape
Into wider-public elusivity
While fostering genuine friendships
For the first time in a long time.]

So,
There I was,
Sloshed out of my mind
On happy hour cocktails
As I had deep and meaningful
Conversations
With some of these
Locals.

One had held a
Friendly small talk conversation
With me for about 10 minutes
Before he paused and queried
"I gotta ask, are you gay?"

My life and safety flashed
Before my eyes.
I stalled an answer for a while,
Keeping track of where my friends were
In case I needed an excuse for escape.

Our conversation continued,
And he shared his recent experiences
With his young adult daughter
Coming out to him.
It had been an adjustment,
But one he'd made gladly.
He wanted to see whether
His radar for picking these things up
Had improved.

Finally feeling more at ease,
I assented.
He quietly celebrated his success,
And our conversation flowed into
My work as a teacher.

He shared stories of
His early experiences with school,
And feeling ignored and neglected
By the system.
He then told me about
His favourite teacher growing up,
After he'd moved to a smaller school,
And the positive impact she'd
Had on him.

I talked about my class
And classroom.

He told me that my students
Are lucky to have me.
He said that his teacher
Would be proud to hear
That a new teacher
Still has some of that
'Old school' tireless spirit
And an interest
In their students' wellbeing.

After our conversation ended naturally
And he wandered off,
I heard him exclaiming to
One of my friends,
"That person over there is in the
Right job -
They're meant to be a teacher."

My friend enjoyed
Retelling this interaction
With me the next day.

Later in the night,
I had a conversation with a
Different local.
A lovely lady
Who has worked in the health care
System for most of her life,
And who lost her eldest child to drug abuse.

I always deeply value our chats.

Our conversation wandered to
My work
And eventual aspirations within it.
She halted our interaction
At one point
To make direct eye contact,
With tears in her eyes,
And tell me how much
My teaching 'talents' are needed
With disadvantaged children
Not in the mainstream system.
She told me that if her eldest
Had an educator who cared
This deeply,
And wanted so genuinely to understand
Their students and let them be heard,
Their life would have turned out
Much differently.

I told her about my eventual dream
To teach in a local school on
My family's ancestral island.
She called me out for speaking in
'Ifs', 'buts' and 'decades'.

She made me stop talking at one point
And asked me to reflect on my
Language.
Told me that I have so much to offer
As an educator,
And to stop selling myself short.

It was slightly embarrassing,
But appreciated.

From that conversation onwards,
I became more aware of the language
I used when talking about my career
Aspirations.

... This poem doesn't flow.
Even writing it,
I can tell it lacks the loose
Cohesion
That I'd usually insist on.

I haven't been able to get
These interactions
Out of my head, though.

As my holidays get off to a
Horrible start,
And I have trouble dragging myself
Out of bed,
These conversations
Echo endlessly.

Nothing has changed
Fundamentally...

Yet.

There hasn't been any big revelation
Or change to my behaviour.
I haven't 'seen the light.'

But I think -
I think this is the
Beginning
Of an important change for me.

I think this could be the beginning
Of me finding a reason
To get better.
To stop drinking.
To try and LIVE
My life
Like I'm only 23,
And not like it's
Already over.

And that has to count for something.
© O.M.A

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