Well, sort of the end.
I'm sitting in a classroom decorated with construction paper cutouts and grammar tips on butcher paper. The desks are three inches too low for a grown human being and the whiteboard shows remnants of math, spelling and reading.
Five weeks later, it's all over. The kids, the lessons, the nights spent awake, cursing what was left of my life. Things eventually got more -- routine, not easier, but more familiar. The people here are a mix of tenacious go-getters and slackers looking to pad their resume. On weekends some went to the beach, some got drunk, some planned for the week ahead, but everyone took a little breather.
In the end, the kids were a handful, their mood changes on a whim but in the end as a teacher, you held their attention. You commanded the room when required.
It's all just practice, though.
Last night was the closing ceremony. Hundreds of kids, dressed in matching shirts singing chants and clapping and cheering and yelling. The room was filled with hundreds of thuderous voices. It was like summer camp, but with vodka.
It's hard not to get wrapped up in the heightened emotion - the collective swelling of emotion. It's all just beginning though, the road still lies ahead.
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