An Introduction

His name was Pancho. It had been that for a few years now. In fact it still was Pancho. And that was a good thing. Pancho had thought of having it changed a few times, just for fun of course. Imagine being called Charterous, Burgess or even Padraig! But he wisely decided against it. It would muddle things up a lot. And after all, he was a Pancho. He didn’t look like a Charterous and certainly not like a Padraig. Pancho would do. And it did. After all, his name represented the culmination of previous generations. Their life experiences had influenced each other and had accumulated from way back when the wondrous thing called life first arose. Actually you could say that the whole universe just existed in order to give Pancho his name. Well, that depended on one’s point of view of course; a very subjective point of view that is. In any case, he thought the name suited his background very well. A weird mix of international many cultured accumulations that added up to form the perfect end product: the person called Pancho Wodehouse.
Some people would call this Pancho weird; he never knew whether to take it as an insult or a compliment. There were some who strangely admired him, some who liked him for whatever unintelligible reasons and believe it or not, some found him thoroughly annoying as well. But all these people noticed one thing that could not be denied about Pancho Wodehouse. He was going somewhere. He had his head on his shoulders and he was heading somewhere. He had a path set out for him. Nobody knew where to exactly, neither did Pancho for that matter, but he was definitely on his way to do something. In fact, Pancho would sit on various chairs throughout his life and contemplate this mystery. Sometimes he even thought about it standing, but no matter in what position or where he thought about it, it always tended to end in some kind of conviction. Whether it was to become a famous football star, a world renowned author or a multibillionaire businessman, there were never any limits to his convictions. And what a good thing that was, for Pancho was convinced that life should be lived as an art and that his life should be his masterpiece, whatever he ended up doing.
Naturally Pancho had a simple issue with his grand aspirations. He was lacking a detailed plan on how to get there. Now this did not worry Pancho in the least. He was great at improvising and improvise he did.
It was nearing the end of his first stint at university. He had sent out a multitude of half hearted applications to various businesses and multinational conglomerates in hope of getting in somewhere with minimal effort. Pancho really did not feel like wasting his great talent on things he wasn’t really interested in. Quickly however he realised that his attempts would not charm any of those cold hearted and cruel HR representatives. He had no doubt that his however brilliantly constructed applications were just too excellent, too perfectly chiselled for the plump tastes of the recruiters. So, Pancho as resourceful as he was, looked for an alternative, something more meaningful than just a moneymaking job. Through torturous hours of research and applications and problems with the application forms and hundreds of dull emails and some laborous travels and a few stinging rejections, all this Pancho would gladly retell, his course finally had a direction. Following the bothersome final exams and projects of his degree and some wonderful vacation with his family, Pancho Wodehouse, conqueror of the mind’s boggling mysteries, explorer of the world and its people, would set out to teach the wonderful language of English to the unsuspecting subjects of King Bhumibol. Now wasn’t that something!