After our 44th and final week of Burmese language class, last week consisted of three days of review. I attended class on Tuesday and Wednesday, but I missed Monday due to a minor dental emergency.
Throughout the week, I was full of nerves and felt my usual dread about taking an End of Training (EOT) test. On Thursday morning, I arrived at FSI early for one last solo review and my final preparations. After 10 months of study, it was finally EOT day.
Before my Russian EOT in 2015 and my Spanish EOT in 2020, I remember feeling a lot of anxiety about the possibility of not passing. If I didn’t achieve the required score, my training would likely be extended, and I would risk arriving late to post.
For a variety of reasons — including Rangoon being a Special Incentive Post (SIP), and prior students having gone to post on language waivers despite not passing — I didn’t have the same concern going into my Burmese EOT. It was still important to aim for a 3, but my general anxiety about the test experience itself (and how mentally draining I find it) far outweighed any worry about the actual outcome.
I’ve always found it a little difficult and anxiety-provoking to speak at length in Burmese class, even when I know the vocabulary.
Trying to organize a coherent narrative around a topic — incorporating opinions, connectors, arguments, follow-up questions, and responses to counter-arguments — felt tedious and disorienting outside my mother tongue. I would say a few sentences and then shut down, afraid of sounding foolish. It was less ego, and more self-doubt or self-protection from the energy hemorrhage it would take to try. Often I would simply be unable to say more. Other times I could not even conceptualize what to say unless prompted in English — then, magically, the words in Burmese were there.
Sometimes I laughed at myself and pushed through it; other times, I didn’t. Combined with my general shyness, introversion, and strong general preference not to share my opinions, it made for some hair-raising experiences.
Granted, we don’t have to state our actual opinions in the classroom or testing environments. We can say anything we want, factual or otherwise, just to practice using the language. But I’ve had a bee in my bonnet for years that this is not actually a practical application of the language in a work setting, nor will my opinion — as a consular officer or human being — likely ever be solicited on most of the political, economic, and public affairs-focused curriculum FSI students learn.
This is the reality of the situation we find ourselves in during language training. It’s important to not battle yourself. Indeed, my mindset was sometimes as formidable an obstacle to learning as the difficulty of Burmese itself. In my defense, the class was not ideal for me, and particularly when the class expanded from two to four throughout the winter and early spring, I found it very unpleasant. It’s important, to the extent possible, to be emotionally courageous and flexible enough to take the risks needed to push forward. I tried to keep the day-one picture they’d showed us during orientation in mind — it was a goldfish jumping from a small bowl into a bigger bowl.
I sat in an air-conditioned, glass-walled study pod on the FSI campus at 6:15 Thursday morning trying not to freak out about my 10:00 a.m. EOT. I wanted to be the goldfish.
I am happy to say I mostly felt calm that morning. But there were also a couple of distinct periods where my mind was going blank, my heart was racing, and I wanted overwhelmingly to postpone my EOT. So strongly, in fact, that I temporarily could not even imagine doing it that morning.
In typical fashion, I right-brained the situation, adding up reasons to not postpone.
I don’t have time tomorrow. I look nicer today than I might look tomorrow. I slept well last night. I don’t want to go out of town to FACT next week not having my EOT behind me. It’s disrespectful to other people’s schedules. I don’t want to go home all day and spend more time preparing. I don’t want to look unprofessional. I won’t actually feel the relief I’m seeking by putting this off. In four hours from now, this will be over if I just do it. I will probably do better than I expect.
So at a quarter to 10:00, I went to the Language Testing Unit’s (LTU) suite. In my head, I repeated a little mantra I made up and said to myself before my four Burmese progress evaluations when I didn’t want to go. You are smart, you are capable, you can handle any challenge that comes your way.
Once I walked into the LTU suite, I was smiling and talking with people. A few of us with ten o’clock EOTs futzed around trying to fit our things into empty lockers. Then I headed back out to use the bathroom and refill my water bottle.
On the way, I passed by the F Building’s rooftop succulent garden, where I had sat 10 years prior, on the morning of my Russian EOT. In the hallway bathroom nearby, I walked into a stall and pulled the door closed behind me. Turning, I was confronted by a sign hanging on the inside of the door.
YOU MATTER, it proclaimed in bold, capital letters.
Suddenly, tears burned my eyes. Who put this here? It seemed like suicide prevention work. Or in my case, like postvention for suicide grief survivors. I thought of my friend T who died by suicide in 2021. He mattered so much.
Just like I dedicated my Russian test to my Foreign Service friend SP who had died the autumn beforehand, I dedicated this test to T. Trying not to cry, I took a deep breath and resolved to do my best.
When I returned to the suite, another student said, “They called your name.”
I turned around and the examiner was waiting for me. So this was it. I followed her into a small room where one of my Burmese instructors was already sitting, snagging some Kleenex and making her laugh along the way.
I sat down and listened to the instructions, my hands folded neatly in front of me on the table. I smiled and said, “Sure, I’m ready.”
Maybe there is something about our classroom practice sessions that shut me down. The pretending. But when I actually needed to do it, most of the words and structures I needed were there. I didn’t feel uncomfortable. I even laughed and made jokes. This is for real, I thought, and when my mind would wander or I would go down a rabbit hole, I could almost always quickly pivot back and do what I needed to do.
I pushed through each section of the EOT with as much laser focus, professionalism, and calm as I could. And then it was over.
We’re finished with the exam, the examiner said. Sixty-nine minutes had elapsed. I beamed and thanked them both.
I walked back down the hallway, collected my things, and headed back to the classroom to say goodbye to my other teacher and last remaining classmate. I felt an immense sense of relief combined with a feeling of surreality.
It always feels anticlimactic to me in some way — after an EOT, or on your last day at Post — when you’re at a pivotal moment and are also too close to see it, and too preoccupied with your to-do list to fully absorb the gravity of what is happening. You can be intentionally present, but the processing really comes later.
I had a brief working lunch with my other classmate, who is my future supervisor at post. Our discussion about what we will prioritize once arriving in Rangoon helped me draw a dividing line between the past 13 months as an FSI student, and my immediate future as an embassy officer back in the field.
Then I drove home to tackle my many unwieldy remaining PCS tasks with a big smile on my face!
The following day, I woke up and realized with a start I didn’t need to go to class. It was my classmate’s EOT day… and I was no longer a student! After running a couple of other errands, I then packed up all my training and Burmese materials from the past year, drove to the FSI mailroom, and mailed them to my new office in Rangoon via the official pouch.
Later that day, I found out I barely missed the 3 mark, earning a 2+ on my Burmese EOT. I wasn’t disappointed at all. I requested the waiver immediately, and received support from the bureau, post, my career development officer (CDO), and my colleagues.
I feel very proud that I managed to go from a 0 to a 2+ in 10 months, even despite missing a lot of class due to health reasons, and having a challenging time with the program. The support and care from our teachers, classmates, our language training supervisors and other training support personnel, family, and friends really helped me through.
Onward.
Collecting Postcards 