What I have been dreaming about for 2 years has finally begun: the series of final exams.  I’ve seen 3 classes before us go through this process.  Watching them emerge from the test room for a 5 minute break, I frantically scanned their strained faces for clues as to how to prepare in my future.  If I gathered any information at that time, it’s all lost to me now.  All I’m left with is a great desire to just be finished already, and a resigned sense that if I don’t know it by now, I just won’t know it.   

On Wednesday, we had our first of 4 exams; this one was an oral exam.  We were not given the topic ahead of time.  We only knew that the exam would consist of three components: a discussion between the student and teacher, reading a variety of sentences, and speaking monologue style about a topic that would be sprung on you at that moment. 

If there’s one thing that I’ve learned in these last 2 years, it’s that I’m a terrible test taker.  I can review extensively, practice multiple conversations in my mind and out loud, feel confident walking in and then when I’m facing the teacher, something happens.  Maybe it’s their critical eye staring me down.  Maybe it’s the sound of my voice and my accent that throws me off.  Maybe it’s just the little perfectionist in me that wants to get everything just right and if I don’t, I’d rather just shut down.  I don’t know what it is, exactly, and, frankly, it’s too late now for any self-analysis that will result in anything different in the near future.  We arranged to have one of our Arabic speaking friends meet us at the school before the exam to give us a chance to warm up our Arabic tongues ahead of time.  During that relaxed conversation, I could think on the spot, come up with brilliant vocabulary (I even surprised myself on what I remembered), change the subject in a reasonable way to suit myself.  It was lovely!  I felt great.  That is, I felt great until I sat in that fateful chair, facing the instructor that would be testing me, and I froze. 

I know that I didn’t bomb the exam.  I also know that I didn’t ace it either.  The monologue topic was “discuss the differences in tradition between your country and the desert”.  I didn’t understand the word traditions, but just went on  tangent anyway.  I talked about different things you could do to adjust to life here and how friends are a big part of that.  I talked about how my adjustment here was made easier by my exposure to multiple cultures in my childhood.  Good little speech there, but not necessarily what was asked.  Oh well. 

Of course, after the exam, I went through the customary post-exam mental torture of “Oh, I should have said this!  Or I should have gone in this direction!”  But there is no point in doing this to myself.  What’s done is done.  And it’s done!  cheer

When I got home from my exam, I remembered that Charlie would be going over to a friend’s house after school.  That meant that Charlie wouldn’t be returning home his regular way, by our friend’s private driver.  I called my friend to let her know that the driver didn’t have to wait for Charlie.  At first we spoke in English, but then I said something that she didn’t understand.  I switched to Arabic and for the remainder of the conversation, we remained in that tongue. To me, that’s a greater indicator of how far I’ve progressed than the stress induced, forced, unnatural conversation of an oral exam.  When people switch over to their mother tongue because they feel that you are stronger in it than they are in yours, that’s a pretty strong sign. 

Now on to the written exams: Saturday, Sunday and Monday.  After that, I’m free!  Free!  Free!