Worth: A journal entry from a student I no longer teach
One walks on a strange road. Listening to a strange song. Missing a strange person. This is a true life.
I think it is worth to remember something that I had done or had thought.
I promised to write a poem to Ms. Kelly.
But I don't know how to write. Perhaps she will go back. I'm so sad. As a student, she helped me do more thing. I'm very luck to become her student. She teached me for two years. But she always play with us. When I am in trouble, she will give me a hand. When I quarreled with Jia Hai Mou she helped us to adjust our problem. Till we had dinner with her. She told us that she would go back. All of students feel sad.
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After a quiet dinner with a flustered, over-worked colleague we flagged down a taxi in the cool evening dim.
The price was too high. We shut the door and walked the direction we wanted to go instead.
After a while, it became quite dark. We flagged down another taxi. I got in. The driver pulled a u-turn in a busy intersection and I watched my colleague walk back home through pools of street light.
The taxi seemed to wade through a city on its way to sleep. When the driver changed a song on the radio I was enjoying I muttered, in Tibetan, how I actually liked the last song.
Oh really? he said and quickly changed it back. Then a conversation unraveled of laughter and memories and familiarity that was like a bed time story I knew and had been longing to hear again from someone else who knew it too...
I know you. I remember you because I used to work for the buses. Do you know me? If I speak slowly you can understand me right? For ten days I worked on 501 and ten days on 502 and then ten days I would rest. Those buses were so fast, the drivers were crazy. It was a good job. Now I am a taxi driver but this work is not good. Too tired. So many of the bus drivers know you. Only two foreigners on the route. I'm so happy to talk to you. I wanted to talk to you but didn't even though I saw you many times. Are you happy in Lhasa? I have a friend who also used to work for buses. She knows you. She often talks about you and has a picture of you and says how you can speak Tibetan and are so beautiful.
Is your friend's name Dawa?
Yes.
I can't believe it! Long time I didn't see her. I miss her. How is she?
She doesn't live near Sera anymore. She lives in the Barkhor. She is well, lives with her husband. Now she is pregnant, she will soon have a baby.
So happy!
The driver pulled up somewhat reluctantly at our school gate. Students milled about in the dark. The meter read 14 yuan.
Here is your school. Please, you only pay ten yuan.
Really? I asked. But I knew he was serious.
The taxi seemed to wade through a city on its way to sleep. When the driver changed a song on the radio I was enjoying I muttered, in Tibetan, how I actually liked the last song.
Oh really? he said and quickly changed it back. Then a conversation unraveled of laughter and memories and familiarity that was like a bed time story I knew and had been longing to hear again from someone else who knew it too...
I know you. I remember you because I used to work for the buses. Do you know me? If I speak slowly you can understand me right? For ten days I worked on 501 and ten days on 502 and then ten days I would rest. Those buses were so fast, the drivers were crazy. It was a good job. Now I am a taxi driver but this work is not good. Too tired. So many of the bus drivers know you. Only two foreigners on the route. I'm so happy to talk to you. I wanted to talk to you but didn't even though I saw you many times. Are you happy in Lhasa? I have a friend who also used to work for buses. She knows you. She often talks about you and has a picture of you and says how you can speak Tibetan and are so beautiful.
Is your friend's name Dawa?
Yes.
I can't believe it! Long time I didn't see her. I miss her. How is she?
She doesn't live near Sera anymore. She lives in the Barkhor. She is well, lives with her husband. Now she is pregnant, she will soon have a baby.
So happy!
The driver pulled up somewhat reluctantly at our school gate. Students milled about in the dark. The meter read 14 yuan.
Here is your school. Please, you only pay ten yuan.
Really? I asked. But I knew he was serious.
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I am walking on a strange road, listening to a strange song, missing all kinds of strange people, and mourning the end of a dinner that is of very great worth to me.
This is a true life.
