And that’s no exaggeration. Every single student we have this week is taller than I am. Granted, when you’re a quarter of an inch shy of 5’1″, that’s not too difficult. The 40ish students we have here are all from the same technical high school. Technical high school=dudes. Lots and lots of dudes. High school-aged dudes. And four girls.

Usually, the students are a decade younger than these kids and convinced that cooties are lethal. This week is a complete 180 from that. The guys are typical high school guys–in every sense. Yesterday in Little Journalists, half the boys on Team 1 asked Erin to pose with them in pictures. If they see female teachers walking up to our apartments, they catcall us until we give some sort of response. Today, the boys were relentless in asking me about my personal life.

That explains why I was absolutely dreading Yoga class this morning. I wasn’t worried about them participating, because they’re all well-behaved kids who listen to instructions. There’s just something off-putting about contorting my body in front of 15 guys who I can legally date. Some of these boys are 18 years old, not a far cry from my 22. Sometimes I think no thought has been put into making the schedule, or conversely, that too much thought has been put into it. Who in their right mind would assign these kids to Yoga? Who in their right mind would assign me to teach it?

But, of course, I have to teach what’s on my schedule. But as I walked into class at 10 a.m., all of my concerns disappeared. The boys listened to all of my instructions, refrained from staring while I demonstrated bridge and downward dog, and earnestly tried all of the moves I showed them. We had a few minutes to “take a rest,” as they say here. I made the boys lay down and close their eyes while the yoga music played in the background. Apparently the song, a piano piece, is popular in Korea, because all of the boys, arms outstretched, started moving their fingers as though they were playing the piano. Each boy, eyes closed and oblivious to everything around him, was in sync with everyone else. All in all, the class was one of the best Yoga classes I’ve taught here. Even though the guys were incredibly low-level, they were good listeners and participated in everything we did.

I sometimes forget how easy this job is. There are rarely difficult classes–after 11 months, I’ve got a pretty good handle on everything I teach. I know how to change the class to fit the needs of the students I’m teaching. Blind kids, orphans, Russians, adults, Japanese students–they’ve thrown everything imaginable at the us teachers this year, and somehow, we manage them pretty well.

I’ve just been so spoiled this year that I don’t know how I’ll ever manage to enter into the real workforce. Work a 9-5? Seriously? Chinja?

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