This week has fallen to interviews. Through the small camera built into the upper rim of my laptop, possible future employers observe my posture as I attempt to navigate a field of questions aimed at dissecting my background. I try to answer concisely, and find myself consistently failing. Instead my eyes float to a blank space overhead, and I am back in my village. Mainly to myself, I start answering an inquiry, peppering the reply with details that mean little to my audience.
In front of the white cabinets of my parents’ kitchen, my tenth grader hurries along the small pebbled path. She calls out for me to wait, and asks if our weekend study date is still on. I slip upon the ice, causing her hand to shoot out, hooking her elbow around mine. Now stopped, I admire the dipping sun, directing her to do the same. The remaining glow backlights the icy mountains.
My concentration is broken by a passing car outside, and I remember the question – “What experience do you have with teenagers?” My memory receding, I cut off my rambling and begin to list off the appropriate resume bullet points.