School (or something to do with that)

When I wrote the last post, I had intended to follow up on it shortly after. Obviously, that didn’t quite happen. Instead, for the last several weeks I have had the pleasure of experiencing Turkish exams. It is not a cultural experience I would recommend.

It is only this past week that school life resumed a normal degree of stressfulness, so now I’ll try to share what exactly that is.

In Turkey, students must choose to specialize in either Science or Turkish/Math in 10th grade. This choice decides the careers that one can pursue. This seemed a bit early to have to choose one’s life path to me, but my friends explained that actually most of them had their careers in mind long before that. At age 6, children can decide that they will be doctors. I think my future plans at age 6 involved something to do with going to Hogwarts. But in Turkey, when a little kid (and probably his family as well) chooses to become a doctor, that is exactly what he does. Which is what about half my class wants to do. I ended up in the Science branch, meaning my classmates are mostly very studious, focused teens with their eyes on the white coat. I’ll admit, the first reaction I had as this was explained to me and the entire row behind me told me of their shared aspiration was, “How many doctors can one city have?”

So, what does one study in the Science Department? Actually, at this school the math and science classes are in English. Well, that’s what they say anyway. My three science classes (Kimya (chemistry), Fizik, and Bioloji (you can figure those out)) and two math classes (Matematik and Geometri) are all taught in what I dub Türkglish,(very original, I know) with varying ratios of Turkish and English in each. In math, for instance, everything is always in Turkish. Shockingly enough, in math I am currently at the bottom of my class. Yet in biology, which is nearly always in English, I am at the top. Generally though, the “English” classes are mostly in Turkish. Really, who can blame a Turkish teacher for speaking Turkish to a class of Turks? I am grateful for all the immersion I can get, but the drawback here is that since the classes are officially in English, I am expected to perform like any other student in them. Unfortunately, Rosetta Stone and my sincerest of efforts can only get me so far in understanding the factoring of multiple variable polynomials.

English classes are a bit easier. However, I have been really impressed by the material that is being taught in English. My tenth grade class is currently reading Steinbeck’s Of Mice and Men, which I only read in seventh grade. Obviously, this class is getting something very different out of the book – rather then analyzing the deep foreshadows and intriguing allusions, they just try and read through a section, asking the teacher (an Australian woman who doesn’t speak Turkish) the meaning of a word every other sentence or so. Yet their English is impressive to be sure. Just like the English content in my other classes, this is both good and the bad for me. On the one hand, being able to communicate has been priceless in allowing me to forge friendships and make vital initial connections. Yet I find myself wishing more and more that my classmates knew no English.
When talking to a non-English speaker, there is a kind of unspoken mutual understanding, a pre-emptive forgiveness for all the mistakes you may make. It doesn’t matter how bad your grammar is, or if you say something completely stupid. You can use hand gestures and charades and basically make an utter fool of yourself, and it doesn’t matter. You are doing what you need to do. And you know that whatever you are doing, no matter how wrong, is better than they could do in English. You are forced to at least try, and also given permission to fail. I wish I had that.

Actually, I have begun seeking out such people for just these reasons. I strike up conversations with random people in the grocery store and always chat with the salesmen calling out to passersby that others usually just brush off. I thrive off of these interactions, these spontaneous “pocket friendships” (as Chuck Palahniuk would have said). One of those conversations has led to an actual relationship – my friend Sumeyra who works at the Levent metro station. Yet the people I am around every day can all speak to me in English.

My friends do encourage me to speak Turkish when they remember, but at the level I’m at now it may take me a few seconds to figure out what was said, and a few seconds more to formulate a reply. By that time they’ve usually just assumed I didn’t get it and have switched to English. It’s a bit frustrating to be sure, but I know it must only get easier in time.

Well, I guess I’m really awful at staying on topic. I had meant to go through an average school day, but I seem to have only touched on a few of my classes. The hectic disorganization of my life has spilled over into my writing, so I’ll try to continue this train-crash of thought later, hopefully sometime sooner than I followed up on the last post (my apologies, parents).