Interlude 4: The war rages on…and on…(just when you thought it might be safe to return…)

Editor's note: this is an excerpt from the book the author is currently working on. It is not a book about war or politics or anything necessarily directly related to Ukraine, but it's impossible to ignore what's going on. Therefore, the author has added various Interludes in between chapters, and this is the fourth such Interlude. The book is tentatively titled An Accidental Career. He has decided to share this latest instalment in light of events on the morning of Monday, 10 October.

Stadtpark, 14 October, 2022. Defenders Day in Ukraine

Monday, 10 October: a crisp, gorgeous autumn morning, as I sat on a bench in Stadtpark, central Vienna, looking at the colourful leaves, contemplating life and what I would do in the day ahead.

Rewind to the Introduction, where I found myself in virtually the same exact spot some six months ago in early spring, with the same glorious sunshine, not long after I had arrived in Vienna, wondering what lay in store in the months ahead. It was then that I finally sprung into action and started writing this book. A book which has (had?) nothing to do with war or politics or anything like that, but instead a book about teaching and life, among so many other things.

“You may not be interested in war, but war is interested in you.”

(Leon Trotsky, allegedly)

I’d been making decent progress, and I had a couple of bursts of creativity, one in late spring/early summer and the other in a fortnight span in August. But I’ve been in a rut since. The new school year started, new classes, new students and with teaching 100% online, I’ve tried to limit the time spent hunched over at a computer, doing a number on my back and neck. Many of my friends have given up hope on me, wondering why I don’t reply to their messages in a timely manner, or even at all.

(My only explanation is…I just can’t: emotionally and physically. I’m drained. The sleepless nights and anxious thoughts are taking their toll. Over the past few months I've channeled energy into this project and blocked everyone else out. It has kept my mind occupied. I can write for an anonymous audience, which is easier and with less pressure. Where I can write what I want. Where I don’t have to explain anything. Where I don’t have to explain myself. Where I don't have to apologise and beg for forgiveness. Where I don't have to get too personal. Where I can selfishly to my own whims and desires.)

On Monday, I was determined to get out of my rut and rediscover my creative juices. Autumn is my favourite time of year, not only because of the splendid weather, but because as a teacher, it’s the start of a new year and all that that entails. It’s a time of new beginnings, the start of the football and American football seasons, a time when there is still hope for your team, for your new classes, for a fresh start.

But then on Monday, the news quickly put paid to those notions. I wasn’t going to be able to gather myself and get a clear enough head to write about seemingly trivial matters like students misunderstanding teachers’ jokes or struggling to understand mixed conditionals or being general dunderheads for simple grammatical concepts. My selfish thoughts quickly disappeared and it was back to scrolling through Twitter and feeling more rage and [what’s the word I’m looking for here? Mere 'frustration’ isn’t strong enough] questioning life and trying to stay composed in the park and not get teary-eyed over the latest [insert another strong word here].

A previous chapter dealt with how to teach during war, whether to discuss geopolitical issues in the classroom, and what we should and shouldn’t talk about. But that chapter didn’t really touch at all on the actual logistics of teaching during war. Like, how to actually teach when there are air raid sirens going off, and the internet is dodgy, and electricity is getting cutting off and people are more concerned with actually surviving than studying. But what is most incredible about students is their resilience, and how determined they are not to let the war interfere with their lives, with their studies, and the frustration of not being able to plan for what might happen.

But wait – ‘you’re in Vienna’, you cry, ‘you’re not in any danger, what are you talking about?’ Of course, of course. It’s my colleagues I feel for. I can’t imagine what it’s like for them. Teaching in bunkers, teaching in corridors, the lights out, your laptop battery dying, your wi-fi signal cutting in and out. And my students of course. I can sense it from them, the frustration and contempt. And they’re trying and trying to study in between their bad connections and either ignoring the air raid alerts or fleeing to a safer place. They persist and like the rest of the Ukrainian people, they will not give up. Ever.

And so what can we do but live and work and teach and contemplate life and hope and hope and hope…

Postscript

You've perhaps seen the images from 10 October. I won't share any here, they're easy enough to find. The images from Shevchenko Park upset me the most. What kind of sick f*** bombs children's playgrounds?

Kyiv, Shevchenko Park, August 2021, during happier times