Journey from Coffee Plantation to a Cup

I don’t know why I titled the entry this way. Right, it’s the lesson plan for the 5th Grade class at Changxing Elementary—one of the countless plans I've painstakingly crafted, spending over 20 hours on it alone, alongside plans for the 6th Grade SDG lesson at Sishu, the 5th Grade Study Strategies lesson, and so many others. I’m exhausted, undeniably so, but strangely fulfilled. It’s funny how much things have changed in the past two years. I used to think this job was the easiest thing in the world. Back then, I did almost nothing—no lesson planning, no real thought given to what I presented in class, just downloading random materials and winging it. When the students responded well to my impromptu style, it felt like a breeze. But on those days when either they or I was in a bad mood, it became the most empty and unrewarding job in the world. 

Things are different now. It’s like one realization led to another, a chain of subtle shifts, each one revealing something new about what it means to work with purpose. I’ve come to understand that the difference between “work” and “mission,” in the concept of ikigai, is this: work becomes a mission when it is driven by an inner calling, not by some external demand or force pushing you to perform. 

When I worked in the service industry, I hated it. Every task was bound by time constraints, a race to meet the whims of someone wealthy enough to dine there. There was a constant pressure to serve, to fulfill, to perform. If I didn’t, I was simply failing at my job. I worked hard back then, but it was only to avoid doing badly. There was no deeper purpose behind it.

Now, everything is different. The only reason I pour my heart into crafting these lesson plans, staying up late and diving into the details, is because I love these little human beings. They’re so incredibly adorable, and I find myself wanting to connect with them in ways that are meaningful, in ways that could add something to their lives—whether it’s a moment of laughter, a spark of curiosity, or a bit of inspiration. There is no one forcing me to do this; there is no looming threat of failure or reprimand. 

I do it because I care. I do it because, for the first time, my work feels like a mission. And while it might not be a requirement to put in this much effort—to go beyond the bare minimum—I can’t help but do so. Because the joy I see in their eyes when they’re engaged, the little smiles they give me, the eagerness they show when they learn something new—those are worth all the hours, all the exhaustion, and every bit of my effort. The love I have for these kids turns every challenge into something beautiful. It turns this job into something that feels less like work and more like a calling.