In this second year of teaching, I have been lucky enough to gain another title amongst current students and former students alike - confidant. I suppose a year is just enough to garner the appropriate amount of intimacy that makes passerby students want to drop their secrets in my ear - ranging from mundane weekend details to the kinds of disastrous love stories that can only be experienced in high school.
But recently it's become more substantial: students weeping on my shoulders because of friendship conflicts that have now left them in the cold, isolated from the rest of those they once called their closest friends; or others who emit tears of frustration because of their teachers. My shoulder has become the new hot spot in school.
In these situations, it would be impossible for me not to be carried back to my own high school experiences. What is it about those years that were so paradoxically life-changing and devastating? From those years I will never forget the slip-ups, the laughter, or the heartbreak.
With these students it is difficult to know my place, I cannot interfere for the sake of their friendships, especially when the other students involved are members of my own class, nor can I take the risk of making the situation worse by some verbal misconduct. The situation is even more delicate regarding students who are having problems with my fellow peers, as it is not my place to question or judge the actions of that teacher in her own classroom.
But, for now, it seems that what I give is enough. Perhaps they are not looking for a solution from me, perhaps they recognize in their own way that teachers cannot be called upon to solve all of the mysteries of the universe. They are content to sit and cry, and I am ever willing to hold the Kleenex.
What the teacher is, is more important than what he teaches. ~Karl Menninger
Tuesday, July 28, 2009
Tuesday, June 30, 2009
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.
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.
Sunday, June 14, 2009
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.
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.
Wednesday, June 10, 2009
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.
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.
Thursday, June 4, 2009
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.
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.
Monday, May 18, 2009
Quarantine and other things...
So on Thursday morning, after a wonderful 6 weeks back home in the US, I began my journey back to Thailand.
The flight to Minneapolis was uneventful for which, in retrospective, I would be very thankful. The subsequent flight from there to Japan started off simply enough, but then a few hours into the 13 hour journey I arose to go to the bathroom and discovered that my seatbelt had come off completely. It wasn't just that it had become undone but the fact that it had separated from the rest of seat on both ends entirely... I got the attention of a stewardess (or whatever they're calling them these days) and 15 mins later she and the other 2 that she had called to for assistance came to the conclusion that the seatbelt was irrevocably damaged.
Free first class upgrade!!! Fantastic!
The rest of the flight passed by in bouts of reading, movie-watching, and sleeping... both alternating and all-at-once.
We finally arrived in Japan, albeit a bit jumpy after an hour or so of violent turbulence. The entire cabin breathed a sigh of relief when the airplane finally hit the ground at Narita. Unfortunately, the enthusiasm was short-lived when the Captain came on to inform us that we would be under quarantine from the Japan government and would not be allowed to leave the plane until they had done a thorough job of examining every passenger on the plane.
Damn Swine flu!!!
At this point, I was just worried about missing my connecting flight to Bangkok since I had such a short time between transfers this time around. Regardless, the flight crew reminded us that no-one would be allowed to leave the plane under any circumstances until the inspection was complete.
Thus, our plane was invaded by THEM...
I have never felt more diseased in my life.
They came on with their questionnaires, thermal imagers (to check for high body temperatures), and thermometers.
They inspected each and everyone of us, which took long enough, but someone must have not been doing their job well enough because 2 people were unaccounted for by the end of the horrible process. Therefore, after 40 minutes of the first round, we had to be submitted to another round so that they could identify the missing persons.
When we were sufficiently examined they sent us on our away with face masks that are so porous that they would do little, if anything, to prevent the stupid swine flu if we so encountered it in the first place!
Needless to say, I missed my connecting flight but was lucky enough to get put onto a flight on Continental leaving soon thereafter.
All in all, a crazy trip. But I'm here. I'm home.
The flight to Minneapolis was uneventful for which, in retrospective, I would be very thankful. The subsequent flight from there to Japan started off simply enough, but then a few hours into the 13 hour journey I arose to go to the bathroom and discovered that my seatbelt had come off completely. It wasn't just that it had become undone but the fact that it had separated from the rest of seat on both ends entirely... I got the attention of a stewardess (or whatever they're calling them these days) and 15 mins later she and the other 2 that she had called to for assistance came to the conclusion that the seatbelt was irrevocably damaged.
Free first class upgrade!!! Fantastic!
The rest of the flight passed by in bouts of reading, movie-watching, and sleeping... both alternating and all-at-once.
We finally arrived in Japan, albeit a bit jumpy after an hour or so of violent turbulence. The entire cabin breathed a sigh of relief when the airplane finally hit the ground at Narita. Unfortunately, the enthusiasm was short-lived when the Captain came on to inform us that we would be under quarantine from the Japan government and would not be allowed to leave the plane until they had done a thorough job of examining every passenger on the plane.
Damn Swine flu!!!
At this point, I was just worried about missing my connecting flight to Bangkok since I had such a short time between transfers this time around. Regardless, the flight crew reminded us that no-one would be allowed to leave the plane under any circumstances until the inspection was complete.
Thus, our plane was invaded by THEM...
I have never felt more diseased in my life.
They came on with their questionnaires, thermal imagers (to check for high body temperatures), and thermometers.
They inspected each and everyone of us, which took long enough, but someone must have not been doing their job well enough because 2 people were unaccounted for by the end of the horrible process. Therefore, after 40 minutes of the first round, we had to be submitted to another round so that they could identify the missing persons.
When we were sufficiently examined they sent us on our away with face masks that are so porous that they would do little, if anything, to prevent the stupid swine flu if we so encountered it in the first place!
Needless to say, I missed my connecting flight but was lucky enough to get put onto a flight on Continental leaving soon thereafter.
All in all, a crazy trip. But I'm here. I'm home.
Friday, March 20, 2009
A year older, but wiser...?
Happy birthday to me.
So far, I've broken my favorite hairbrush in two and almost had my legs amputated by a Mercedes-Benz as I rode on the back of a motorcycle to school this morning.
Regardless, it is still a beautiful, auspicious, and wonderful day and I can't wait to celebrate it with my closest friends in Bangkok tonight.
Today is also special because in exactly 2 weeks from now, I will have already taken to the skies - on my way back home to Texas after 11 months away.
Today is a good day... nay, it is a great one.
So far, I've broken my favorite hairbrush in two and almost had my legs amputated by a Mercedes-Benz as I rode on the back of a motorcycle to school this morning.
Regardless, it is still a beautiful, auspicious, and wonderful day and I can't wait to celebrate it with my closest friends in Bangkok tonight.
Today is also special because in exactly 2 weeks from now, I will have already taken to the skies - on my way back home to Texas after 11 months away.
Today is a good day... nay, it is a great one.
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