Tuesday (Part 2)

The purpose of this blog often eludes me. Now that I've settled into my second year it seems that much of what I write about will be the same. The same postulations on students, teaching, and life. Much of what strikes me as memorable or humorous often proves too nuanced to be written down, to be explained. Perhaps I do it for you (though I am truly not certain by whom this blog is read - other than my special, faithful commentators), but I think it is mostly for my sake. When I leave this place, and I will leave this place, it will be nice to have these memories - not ones dependent on the strength of my mind, but here, committed.

Tuesdays are hard days. My day begins right away at 8:30am and goes through 5 concurrent, separate classes, the last of which ends at 1:50pm. Though these count as 5, I truly only have 3 different classes as I teach one subject 3 different times on Tuesdays (and another 3 times on Wednesdays), it is merely the faces that rotate. As such, when the last of the 3 arrives, it is hard not to be snappy and impatient.

Such was my endeavor when the last of the series arrived, I worked through the textbook patiently and slowly. Taking care to avoid any frustration that might lead to another unfortunate blow-up. Today's emphasis was on vocabulary - buildings and locations. We went through the words, defining each out loud, to ensure that everyone could understand them.

Bridge
Expressway
Taxi Stand
Crosswalk
Sidewalk

Gym
"Gym, where you go to make Peem!" Ham yelled out, his fingers pointed to his muscles.

I cracked. For a few minutes I could do nothing but keep the book in front of my face so that my students (laughing along) could not see how deeply I was affected by the irony of the situation.

Let me backtrack.

Practically all Thais have nicknames, it's easier for me and for them than the usual 13 letter first names they carry. One of the students in my class so happens to be called "Peem." Peem is a runt, by all definitions of the word. At full height, he barely peeks over the table and his small stature is at contrast with his loud booming voice.

Thus, the idea of going to a gym in order to make "Peem" - a little boy whose body is somewhat lost in transition proved to be the perfect analogy for a perfect class.

At the height of laughter, the universe is flung into a kaleidoscope of new possibilities. ~Jean Houston

Have a laugh, it's good for you.

Ultimate

Today was a great and bittersweet day.

A group of about 15 of us met at a park for a farewell get-together for a friend of ours. The mood was lovely. People streaming by on their rented bicycles and the sky was lit with the colors of a thousand frisbees.

School has been busy and tiring but days like this are the ultimate definitions of sabai, relax.

The next few weeks will be just as busy but just a little bit more bearable as I have booked my ticket to paradise:



The Perhentian islands of Malaysia.

July 3 - 8

I'll be counting the days.

Mistakes were made

I held my books in my hand while the buzzing circled, increasing, around me.

The other hand was connected to my head, my fingertips providing the conduit from throbbing head to heavy hand hoping that the pain of one would be alleviated by the other, the barrel of a gun to the head provides another such example.

I was not sure what I was waiting for, but as soon as I saw it a part of me recognized it before the other half could react.

SLAM! My books hit the desk.

By hit, I meant destroyed.

"Do NOT write on the side of the desk with your white-out, if I see that happen one more time you will be in serious trouble."

All were at attention. Faces back, heads held so tightly tense they looked like they could snap at any moment. There was not a sound in the classroom but their eyes spoke volumes - they spoke of fear.

The damage was done before I could even realize it. Even after I tried to smile and joke, the evidence of my disastrous outburst could no more be swept away than the inevitable crater after a meteor.

The intended effect was present, the students worked away quietly and I busied myself at my desk but my head was still reeling which rendered me unable to concentrate on the work in front of me.

Why had I yelled at her? Surely, her minor act of vandalism merited a consequence but not one as harsh and as public as the one she had received.

Was it finally finishing THE BOOK THIEF just a bare 15 minutes before the start of class, a book whose ending threw me into an emotional whirl?

Or the disconsolate contemplation of a formerly deep-rooted friendship that had finally been unearthed before my eyes as the parasitic, one-sided affair it really was?

As trivial as the former might seem, it was, perhaps, a combination.

Either way, the patience and understanding I believed I had gleaned from the past year rapidly dissolved before my eyes.

At the end of class, I searched for her to tell her I was sorry, to tell her she hadn't deserved such a public humiliation, that I was reacting against things for which she had no part in.

But she was gone. I fear the damage will be set as it will not be until another week has passed before my gaze will reach her in my classroom again.

I swallowed my shame, my irritation, my worthless apologies and walked out.

Week 2, Year 2

Morning and afternoon, students bleary-eyed and full of life.

The first week could barely have been counted as such. The word English was rarely mentioned as classes were mainly made up of introductions and catching up.

I am teaching M2, M5, and M6 this year so I only have one set of students that are repeats from last year. Nevertheless, the familiar faces run everywhere around the halls. There is nothing more reassuring than being besieged with shouts of "Hi Teacher Star" and "We missed you."

What is about the grateful smile of a child that brightens a lackluster mood? Some things don't have to be translated.