It is easy to feel overwhelmed by the choice on offer at school. Why not put it in perspective, writes Elayne Devlin.
In the Cambodian town of Siem Reap, 18-year-old Cheasina Lim starts her day by hitching a lift on a passing moped to the restaurant where she works for an hour before school. By 7am she will be at her desk in January 10th High School, whose name commemorates the day in 1979 when the Khmer Rouge regime fled the town.
On the other side of the world, 16-year-old Nicola Clarke is being driven to Wesley College, in the south Dublin suburb of Ballinteer, by her mother. Nicola, who is in transition year, has completed two work placements, one with a pharmaceutical company organised by her father, the other with an accountancy firm. She thinks she would like to do something in accounting.
Cheasina wants to be an accountant, too. Her father died when she was young, and her mother is too old to work, so Cheasina supports herself by keeping the restaurant's books. When school ends, at 5pm six days a week, she has an hour off. Then she works until 10pm.
People in other parts of Cambodia regard Siem Reap and its surroundings as an area of opportunity. Last year the eighth- and ninth-century Angkor temples, just outside the town, drew more than a million foreign visitors to the region, contributing to a tourism boom. Many Cambodians send their children to Siem Reap province to be educated.
Yet although the area's 700,000 people are served by 363 primary schools, there are just 13 secondary schools, meaning only the lucky get places.
And even the lucky often have to support themselves. At 19, Phanith Cheab is one of the oldest in his class. He missed three years of school, as his parents didn't see the point of going. They wanted him to get a job after primary school, as the tourism boom means manual labour and hotel work are relatively well paid.
Phanith saw things differently. "Knowledge is important. I want to be a person who has knowledge. My parents wanted me to stop, but I left home. I teach English after school to support myself."
In exchange for accommodation at a local Buddhist temple, he sweeps the compound and prepares meals for the monks. Phanith and his classmates all study the same subjects: maths, English, science, Khmer, history and geography. His school offers two sports: volleyball and soccer. Choices are limited, but it makes decisions easier.
Wesley offers 23 subjects for the Leaving Certificate, as well as a range of complementary activities. As Jenny Fair, another student, says: "There's much more opportunity to do stuff in transition year." This includes watching films, learning about world religions, taking part in drama and music projects and doing work experience.
In December Sopheap Ratanak, who is 15, was abandoned in Siem Reap town by her struggling mother. Eventually, Sopheap made her way to Krousar Thmey, a street-children's centre.
While she prepares lunch, she explains that she spent the two months before she arrived begging on the streets. With the help of the centre and Plan, the development organisation I work for, she was able to return to school at the end of February. After that she'd love to work in a hotel, as she sees tourism as an opportunity for young people.
Her friend Tang Samnang says: "For Cambodian people there are not many opportunities to go to university. You need a lot of money. Only people with guest houses and hotels are rich."
Back at Wesley, the students like the fact that transition year gives them time to explore other interests. They feel this helps them decide what subjects to take for Leaving Cert and, ultimately, at university.
What happens after university? Most aren't sure, but one thing is clear: with a huge range of options, it seems harder to make a decision. As 15-year-old Eddie Fox puts it: "I'll see where the road takes me."
Back on the potholed streets of Siem Reap, the decision is already made: all roads lead to a job in the tourism industry.
Elayne Devlin is media and communications manager of Plan Ireland; www.plan-ireland.org
