Emma Blenke is an alumna of the Fulbright
English Teaching Assistant (ETA) Program. She spent the past school year teaching at the Business Academy in Karlovy Vary, one of the Czech Republic's most renowned spa towns. Like many Fulbright ETAs, Emma made the leap across the Atlantic right after earning her BA, navigating not just a physical journey, but a profound cultural and personal transformation. Although she was the only ETA in Karlovy Vary, Emma quickly found a supportive community in her Czech colleagues, especially her mentor, Kate, who made her feel welcome from day one. Reflecting on her time there, Emma shared: “What I thought would be a solo journey of learning how to live on my own turned out to be a shared one. I grew because of the people around me, students, teachers, mentors, who reminded me that independence doesn’t mean isolation.”
Some people ease into adulthood. I crash-landed into it—with a frying pan in one hand and Google Translate in the other. In college, life felt semi-independent; living away from home and still within a support system. But here, I was responsible for everything. I had to figure out how to cook for myself, fix things that broke, and navigate everyday life in a language I didn’t understand. Suddenly, everyday tasks felt daunting.
My biggest concern going into this grant was what food I was going to cook and eat everyday. So in my first week, I decided to tackle the problem head-on and attempt to master cooking chicken. I cooked chicken every day for a week and went from a sad-looking, dry piece of chicken on my plate to a teriyaki chicken rice bowl with vegetables that my mom would be proud of. This meal quickly became a staple in my diet that I would look forward to after a weekend of travelling and eating out. What started as a challenge became a small victory and proof that I could take care of myself, one meal at a time.
My biggest concern going into this grant was what food I was going to cook and eat everyday. So in my first week, I decided to tackle the problem head-on and attempt to master cooking chicken. I cooked chicken every day for a week and went from a sad-looking, dry piece of chicken on my plate to a teriyaki chicken rice bowl with vegetables that my mom would be proud of. This meal quickly became a staple in my diet that I would look forward to after a weekend of travelling and eating out. What started as a challenge became a small victory and proof that I could take care of myself, one meal at a time.
However, I couldn’t eat chicken teriyaki bowls for the entire 313 days of the grant. That’s when I turned to my community for inspiration. I started asking my teachers about easy meals they liked to cook. Next thing I knew, my mentor was cooking me multiple meals a week ranging from plum dumplings to cous cous, chicken schnitzel, even chicken livers. Sometimes on Sunday, she would invite me over for a hot traditional Czech meal, like svíčková, pečená kachna, and ovocné knedlíky. We would talk endlessly about our school life, our families, current news, and of course the food. Those meals were more than just food—they were gestures of generosity, and they made me feel like I belonged. It was a humbling reminder that even far from home, I could find comfort and community, often at the dinner table. Letting myself be taken care of didn’t make me less independent, it taught me how to receive support with grace.
There is a lot more to adulting than feeding yourself though; there is laundry, dishes, cleaning, paying rent, preparing for work the next day, etc. In the beginning of the grant, I felt like I was in an endless cycle of these mundane “adult” tasks. So I began to find joy in these moments by adding silliness and fun. I’d call my mom as I folded my laundry, dance as as I vacuumed, sing as I washed my dishes, and I always rewarded myself with a sweet treat for my efforts. These small acts of play didn’t just pass the time-they turned the mundane into miniature adventures, tiny celebrations that brightened the ordinary.
Getting my first “big girl” job was a major step in adulthood. I became an assistant teacher at Obchodní Akademie in Karlovy Vary, teaching students only a few years younger than me. This puts me in an unusual position: not quite a peer, not quite an authoritative figure. At first, I tried to win them over by being their friend. I shared my music tastes, allowed them to talk over me, and hoped they’d like me. But that approach quickly backfired. I struggled to manage the classroom, and my frustration grew as lessons became harder to deliver effectively. Eventually, I realized I needed to lean into my role as a teacher, someone who sets boundaries and earns respect. I made expectations clear, focused on positive reinforcement, and worked to build more respectful relationships with students and colleagues alike.
Once I struck a better balance between being a friend and a teacher, things shifted. I discovered that the key to holding students’ attention wasn’t just about control, it was about making learning engaging and fun. I thought about the lessons I remembered from school and realized they all had a playful, creative twist. So I brought that into my own classroom. In the American holiday unit, I introduced them to Groundhog Day. In U.S. geography, I convinced them that Connecticut is the best state. During our sports unit, they filled out March Madness brackets. The more fun I had teaching, the more fun they had learning. A perfect example of my precarious position as a teacher came on “Last Bell” when I let students draw on me, but I carefully limited how much and what kind of drawings they could make.
To my teachers, I also lay evenly between a child and an adult. Some days, they would bring me snacks to have between classes, give me gloves to have for the winter, and check in on me like I was their own. But they also gave me real responsibility. I was often alone in front of a classroom, guiding lessons for 15 students. By the end of my grant, that trust had grown and I was asked to organize “America Day”. On June 9th, 120 students gathered in a local park to participate in the event I designed. With the help of six other ETAs, we organized stations with American sports, trivia, English games, dancing and crafts. Their trust gave me space to grow, and their care reminded me I didn’t have to do it alone. I was both being looked after and learning to lead. That duality shaped my year more than anything else.
Adulthood, I’ve come to see, is less a destination and more a dance— a delicate balance between responsibility and playfulness, challenge and connection. Adulthood isn’t about having all the answers; it’s about finding rhythm in the chaos and meaning in the smaller moments. What I thought would be a solo journey of learning how to live on my own turned out to be a shared one. I grew because of the people around me, students, teachers, mentors, who reminded me that independence doesn’t mean isolation.