Scheherazade had her thousand tales...

And I had my thousand text messages.

They were all a slight variation of a familiar theme: Happy Teacher's Day teacher.
The winner of the most surprisingly redneck award going to: teacher: what are you doing now? we are drinking beer in a tent.

But after several years of teacher's days, along with a variety of random other Asian holidays, there are enough tales to make even Scheherazade green with envy. Well, who needs years? After even one....

Tales of students who come to your home on an evening only to thank you profusely an in an uncannily non-linear way for changing their hearts. After I know you my everything becomes change. I am not the same anymore. Even my mother says this.

Tales of classes spent explaining America in the 1960's to a group of Chinese and Tibetan kids who struggle with words like 'shadow'. It was a difficult and complicated time, similar to here now.

Tales of tea house owners who laugh too loudly and slap you on the shoulder and are pleased as punch that they can communicate with foreigners. What? Welcome welcome welcome you back.

Tales of school banquets where the real festivity lies in watching your colleagues reel from too much alcohol in too short of a time and your school leader spill wine all over himself only to not notice. Kelly I'm so drunk.

Tales of drunk officials not even joking about marriage proposals for his one son and I, insistent despite my obvious discomfort. Don't you want to be a part of my family?

Tales of young Chinese volunteer teachers all alone and experiencing the same suffering of being different in a different place. I will try to make the best of it, but I miss my friends and family.

The Shah would never sleep again....