sunday blues.

Sunday night: sixteen hours of teaching completed [and duly celebrated]. Am in throes of usual post-weekend exhausted stupor.

Usual sense of satisfaction, however, has been obliterated by ugly demons of self-doubt brought on my comments from bitter colleague.

Finished teaching at 7pm with a heaviness I've not known before; deficient immune system means eight hours of "who can draw a big D?" and "what is the opposite of BIG?" and "the Chinese mask comes from ChinAAAA" was something of a battle.

Made an admittedly less-than-flash job of beginner-level adult class. Returned from WC to be abruptly confronted by Chinese assistant teacher regarding whether or not I "enjoy" teaching.

Upon limp attempt to explain that "perhaps some days are better than others", received what seemed at the time a thorough bollocking but was probably some insight into how Chinese colleagues regard us waigourens.

Chinese teachers, X said, they work all the time. They have to think about lesson planning and exams and bums on seats. Not like foreigners. Foreigners, they don't have to work very hard or teach many hours. They don't care about the children or whether the children come back to the school. They don't care about grades. For the foreigners, X concluded, it's very easy. They are only here for the money.

Perhaps some of bollocking was lost in translation, but the message was loud and clear.

Fairly floored me. Had willingly believed that current state of exhaustion [compounded by sleep deprivation and onset of yet another cold] and unnatural buzzing in my ears was sure sign that I'd worked my butt off.

Later [having imbibed glassful of something not dissimilar to paint-stripper] took a walk around neon city to ease troubled mind. Came to conclusion that X is probably bitter, and has every right to be; her future is painfully limited in comparison to my own. Most Chinese women [brains or not] are destined for either a career in the classroom, the supermarket or in the home. Most don't want either and most could do much better.

But, bitter or not, X has a point. Of the foreign teachers I know here - myself included - few are in it for the sake of imparting knowledge on eager young minds. High salary and low responsibility equals a carefree lifestyle perhaps unattainable back home.

As mentioned earlier, have discovered that one [sometimes unfortunate] consequence of high demand for foreign teachers here is that effort comes down to the individual.

Certainly some have a real passion for the job; shining example is British colleague Paul who, at 44, has found his true calling in leading kids through their ABCs.

Some are here for love, some for money, some for the culture. And some because they can get away with rolling out of bed [following a night on the turps], staggering into class and slurring through a pre-packaged lesson plan.

Me?

I'll be honest. I'm not passionate about teaching. I love the kids, I love the challenge and I love Chinese food, but there are days when I'm not a teacher's asshole.

I'm a traveller, a wanderluster, a restless spirit. Dust and cockroaches and ill health and a less-than-adequate apartment are a small price to pay to fund my desire to traverse South-East Asia; just like the thousands of other Kiwis and Australians and Brits and Americans and godknowswhoelse scattered all over China.

Still, X's accusations certainly forced me to [guiltily] reflect on whether I have a right to live so selfishly.

It's one of those riddles without a good answer. At least, not an answer I can dredge up post-midnight.

Am done with philosophizing as means to alleviate sting of being told [implicitly] that I'm crap. Eyes are on the horizon.

And baijiu close to hand.