Copycat
august23’s girl-rant

I went shopping with my sister today, and it’s so disappointing to find some of the women’s fashions of the times are mere imitations of the 1980s—diagonal hemlines, off-the-shoulder blouses, pastel colors, orange and baby blue are back, and thick-heeled Mary Janes.

I have to say that from the 1990s to the present time, fashion is just not original anymore. When I was in sixth grade, my teacher jokingly predicted that bell-bottoms would come back in style. Two years later, as I entered junior high, bell-bottoms did make a comeback, and they’ve evolved into something called flares. I’ve managed to stay away from it for the past ten years, but it makes buying slacks or pants that much more difficult.

Recently, I tried to buy a dress for my former roommate’s company party. What did I find but a bunch of glitter dresses with diagonal hemlines with off-the-shoulder tops, or the notorious one-strap dress. They are so… trendy-nasty! As much as I like the 1980s, the fashion was just indescribable. Who wants to live through that again?

I'm wondering what the Bush Administration is actually getting from revising sex information? Are these brainwashing political ideologies at work?

Word of the Day

fantod (FAN-tod) noun

1. A state of nervous anxiety, irritability, the willies, the fidgets.

2. A fit or emotional outburst.


Hey, that’s me every Sunday before Monday classes! “I am in a state of fantod every Sunday.”

Merry Christmas
From the Future Grinch

I dislike the holidays. I only like the Christmas break that I get from the school. It’s not that I’m not religious (kind of), but the holidays are a reason for the family to get together when I don’t feel like getting together. All my sisters come home from wherever they are from, the house is crowded with people, the endless parties with relatives that I see all the time—actually it’s the same party, just moved around to a different house from Christmas Eve, to Christmas day, to New Year’s Day. The radio blares Christmas songs that I’m already sick of. Everyone has messages of goodwill and peace, and I just don’t feel like sharing the goodwill wealth. I just want to stay home and sleep the holidays away, like a bear hibernating through the winter. I want my space, and the holidays are just too crowded for my taste.

I like the winter, but I just don’t like the holidays. I’d rather stay at home. That’s the hermit slowly maturing inside of me.

I found out why my kids think I'm a Raiders fan. Just because black and gray dominates the color of my wardrobe does not mean I'm a Raiders fan, but they insist I'm a closet fan.

I dislike football.

"Buck it, up."

That's what the assistant vice principal's secretary said to me when I found out my slut student was denied transfer to the continuation-alternative school. I was so happy when she said she wouldn't be returning after the Christmas break, but it looks like I'll be putting up with her for another three weeks. UGH!!!!

Then there's my MIA student who's been ditching class for about 50% of the semester. She has 16 reported truancies, 4 reported tardies, a police contract and a court contract to stay in school during school hours, and there are three weeks left in the semester. She will not pass my class. She already knows this, so she's going to sit in my class and do absolutely nothing. According to the VP, she uses also crack and is possibly pregnant with child by her eighteen-year-old-high-school-dropout-boyfriend of two months. In teenage years, two months is deep intense love.

I hate the false ideas I have to give to a particular student who is in special education. She has expressed intent in trying to get her grade up in order to be mainstreamed into regular classes next year (without the special education label). She has to pass my class to prove that she no longer needs special educational services. Currently, she is in special education, so I have to follow her IEP and modify her work and grade her differently. I find this to be a problem because it's a vicious catch-22. According to this plan, I have to change homework assignments so she is not overloaded with work, and I have to grade her on a different scale with different standards. I have to do all this in order to fit her special needs so that she can pass this course. This is a huge flaw because she'll pass my class with the false idea that she can do regular work, which she is not capable of doing. Then the special education program will think she is no longer "special ed" and take her off their resource list. Next year, she'll go onto regular eleventh grade English without an IEP, so her assignments will not be modified. Can you guess what will happen? She will drown in the work and she will fail miserably.

I'm an advocate for "let them make the choices." If a bad grade or stupid choices affects these kids lives in the future, I'm all for it. It's a hard lesson to learn when they realize that the they can't change their past mistakes.

Less Evil Me

As much as my kids say they like me, I don’t think they really do. I’m just the lesser of two evils. I teach five classes now. Two of them are being switched to another English teacher who is already on campus. These two classes—and I’m not exaggerating—literally yelled and screamed. Then they shouted their opinions about the teacher. For the other three classes, the school is possibly hiring a new teacher for them. These three classes heard from the other two classes about their new teacher, and everyone is panicking about what teacher they will be getting. They’ve heard rumors about other teachers and how difficult or how archaic they are, and compared to them, they like me because I’m young. Basically, I’m the lesser of two evils.

Kids don’t like change very much.

Symbol of Perfection

I got my car back from the collision center last week. I’m paranoid of driving it. My life is “perfect” again: semester is almost finished, teaching is finally getting easy, seeing someone nice [blush], and I got that job in Japan. Can life get any better than this? I think not… and I’ll probably get into another accident.

Or, like I mentioned before, maybe those accidents are culminating to another greater accident that will be more ruinous? When the Christmas break is over, technically I’ve got three more weeks of teaching. I can get into another accident from now until then (after all, my commute is forty minutes every day). Or… maybe the accident will be one in the sky… as I’m flying to Japan….

I Have Stamina and Creativity

According to the Hello Kitty Psychological Test, I have stamina and creativity when it comes to relationships. I can endure any hardship, and relationships have a tendency to last forever--IF I am not the perfectionist I strive to be and actually ask for help when I need it.

I wasn’t going to take psychological advice from an animated cat, but this analysis is too close to my own personality.

Moving onwards: I’ve been thinking of signing up for a free website again. Maintaining a homepage is time-consuming, but since I would be talking about myself, it’s not like I have to think hard with that one. Besides, I want to post pictures, especially if I go to Japan. I mean, an online journal without visuals during the most exciting time of my life makes a pretty boring blog. I find my blog boring at times because there are no pictures.

Incentive for the week: Christmas Break from school and holiday festivities with old college friends

Countdown to Christmas break: five days!!! Woohoo!!

Can I Leave All This Behind?

As I walked around campus on Friday, just doing regular errands here and there during my prep period, and going to-and-fro from the office and my class, and even after school as I greeted other teachers and did more errands, I have never heard so many, “Hi, Ms. G” in my entire day from students. I think it’s because I told my classes that I will be going to Japan in the next semester. One of my students declared her deep appreciation by proclaiming, "I love you," when I walked into her history class.

Maybe not all my students appreciate me as much as that student who declared her love, but I have never felt this much appreciation either—and so openly. I’m taken aback to see how much I’ve affected these students. My greatest fear is that I'm always wondering if I’m doing a good job teaching them, when all that matters to them is, “She’s a cool teacher who listens.”

I’m almost sad to leave. I don’t know if I want this semester to go any faster.

Oh… her….

Remember that slut-in-the-making who likes to make out in public? I discovered today that she’ll be leaving my class, and will not be returning when the Christmas break is over. It was revealed that she was a good candidate for the alternative/continuation high school due to her 0.68 GPA. Yeah, you read that right… point 68. How can someone get a 0.68 GPA? And I almost took it personal that she didn’t like my class…

What I’m really worried about is that her object of affection has expressed interest in going to the same alternative school. At first I supported his decision... until I learned about her transfer. He is a good kid. Although he has anger management issues, I have never seen him act out, especially not with me. I think he’s more open with me than with any of his other teachers. If he wasn't so depressed, I see so much potential in him. He can be anything. When he voiced his interest about going to the alternative school, I thought it was a good decision, and he even seemed a bit motivated. I still support his decision, but now that I learned that she’s going, too, I don't see any good coming out of it--for either of them.

Damn her.

Um... Hmmm....

I just got an email from the recruiter from Westgate Corporation. I read the email about three times because I didn't want to think that I may have misinterpreted it due to some culture misunderstanding. I thought it ambiguous at first, but how can the words, "We would like to offer you the position which the contract period is April 1-July 23, 2003. The handbook and the contract will be sent to you..." be misunderstood? That seems direct.

*august23 sits a while and lets it sink in*

Holy shit! I got the job!

Random Thoughts on a Sunday
So I Won’t Think… At All

On teaching
· I hate Mondays
· I’m doing a shitty job with my ninth graders
· What am I going to do when I stop teaching?
· I’m not worried about the teaching job in Japan
· I got ¾ of the things done on my “things to do” list today, so I feel I did accomplish something
· I still feel guilty because I’m typing up my blog when I could be doing some work (but that’s the story of my life)

On sports
· Football fanaticism is a dangerous hobby
· I never used to pay attention to sports until I started seeing someone who’s a sports fanatic
· I miss a certain someone right now, but he’s probably in jail if he was in that scuffle at the stadium (Chargers vs. Raiders)
· I don’t care who won or lost that game, yet for some odd reason, my students think I’m a Raiders fan
· ATTENTION: I’m not a Raiders fan. I’m not a Chargers fan. I’m not a football fan. I just like to look at scores.
· Baseball is the only sport that even comes close to grabbing my attention

Sunday/Monday songs…
· “Sunday Morning” by No Doubt
· “Everyday is Like Sunday” by Morrissey
· “Blue Monday” by New Order

Random stuff
· Hallmark commercials are too long and cheesy
· Nothing feels like the holidays yet
· Tchaikovsky’s “The Nutcracker Suite” is the perennial Christmas carol
· Cheerios sounds good right about now
· I’m planning to visit my sister in Massachusetts if I don’t teach next semester
· It’s 11pm, and I could be enjoying sleep, but my mind is not relaxed, ergo, I am typing my blog and feeling guilty about not doing actual work (but that’s a vicious cycle)
· I could turn these random thoughts in to poetry if I really put my mind to it
· My poetry sucks
· Good night

Sundays and Mondays

These are the worst days in a teacher’s week. I don’t like Sundays because I’m anxious and constantly thinking about Mondays. Every single day is a performance, and I’m nervous right before I teach. Sundays are the worst because I’m thinking of the entire week before anything has even really happened. I don’t like Mondays because it’s the first day of the week. It feels like I’m being forcefully dragged out of my weekend to endure another 12-hour workday. Then there are long lines at the copy machines and department meetings at lunch, where I can’t even eat lunch properly...

Countdown to the Christmas break: 10 more days. FEBRUARY—COME ALREADY!!!!

Incentives for the week:
a) ex-roommate’s company Christmas party (it’s just a friend-date)
b) doctor’s appointment (I’m so desperate to leave campus that I’ll use any excuse)
c) Toad the Wet Sprocket concert! (Friday can’t get any better than this)
d) a friend’s housewarming/holiday party (holiday festivities at last!)

One of Those Girls

One of my sophomore girls had an inappropriate outfit today: tight low rise jeans, black V-neck sleeveless shirt that, of course, shows her mid-riff, and wooden clog sandals with two-inch heels. I didn’t say anything. Like I said, experience is a greater teacher. She came back to my class after school, and she stumbled and nearly fell on her face as she walked through the door. She smiled with embarrassment and said, “That’s the second time today. But, oh my gosh, I fell down the stairs at lunch. I totally fell on my face, and it’s because of these shoes.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t be wearing those shoes,” I said. “They’re not functional.”

“But, Ms. G., these shoes look cute with this outfit. I tried my sneakers first, but it didn’t look right.”

“Black boots would look fine, too—and you wouldn't risk your face.”

"Ms. G...." she smiled.

In one ear, out the other. Will she wear that outfit again? I am sure she will.


And another sophomore girl, right after class, approaches her object of affection (she’s so obvious), and totally makes out in front of everyone as they walk out of the room. Unfortunately, I was talking to another student when I glanced upon the couple. Is she a slut in the making? I am sure she is.

Catering

After school today, another teacher called me up to discuss the academic progress of a certain student who is in the special education program. After that conversation, I found a notice in my mailbox regarding another student, who is also in the special education program. I have to haul my ass to campus at 6:45am to discuss the individualized educational plan (IEP) of one student. From there, I went back to my classroom and hesitated to even check my email, where I know one of the assistant aides regularly sends me monitoring sheets for two other students who have “special needs.” Also, in my second block class, one of my special education students was absent today, so I have to email the special education teacher to find out if her absence was valid. And the other day, I had a student write about suicide.

I have the most sophomores in this high school. In total, I have 127 social fifteen year olds with identity crises—that’s four classes, approximately 32 students in each class. Some of the teachers have sympathized with me for several reasons: a) I have the highest probability of having students in the special education program; b) when essays come, I have 127 papers to grade. I’m only glad that I’m not teaching the research paper next semester.

In the legal sense, I am a teacher who is bound by law to give equal access to core curriculum to language learners and to students who are in the special education program. I have 127 sophomores with crappy little attitudes, one lesson plan, one version of tests and worksheets. And the special education department expects me to take care of their students with INDIVIDUAL special needs. I worked in the special education department four years ago at another school, and it is difficult to create individualized worksheets and lesson plans that cater to six students’ individual needs.

Is my plate a little full? I think so! No wonder my freshman class (20 other outgoing students) gets the shaft. I don't think I'll ever master the "flexibility" and infinite number of multi-tasks that this job requires.

Only Five Weeks

When I made that assignment calendar for my students, I didn’t realize how much time I have left with them. February will not come fast enough for me. Either this will go really fast, or it will go extremely slow. Right now, I’m already counting down to the Christmas break—twelve more days!!

*august23 groans, but does her little happy dance*

Incentive for the week: coffee with a friend in order to get my book Instruments of Torture back from her.

Stupid Environmentalist Beliefs
Please, Not While I'm Eating

Everyone seems to suddenly want to spread the good joy and spout their beliefs during this time of Christianity—even if it’s not in the holiday spirit. For instance, my sister, her boyfriend, and I went to a new sushi restaurant that we wanted to try out. When we sat down, a nice waitress of about nineteen years approached us and asked us what we wanted to drink. My sister and I ordered water while her boyfriend ordered a Coke. The drinks arrived a couple minutes later, and out of habit, my sister asked for straws for all of us.

“I don’t believe in giving out straws because they’re bad for the environment, but I’ll get you one if you really want one,” was the reply from the nice waitress of about nineteen years.

My sister, her boyfriend, and I were taken aback, and we looked at each other with dumbfounded expressions. “Huh?” Our gazes slowly returned to the waitress. Did we hear her right?

My sister tries again, once more with a tinge of polite submissiveness, true to her Asian upbringing: “Can we have straws…?”

“They’re bad for the environment, but I’ll get you one,” the young waitress replied with cheerleader perkiness, and waited for my sister’s answer.

“No… that’s okay.” My sister knitted her brows and shamefully picked up the menu.

The waitress walked away with a smile on her face as though she had done some good deed for the day: convincing someone not to use a straw. She has just saved the world from an unfriendly drinking mechanism.

My sister’s boyfriend glanced at us and said, “That was a turn off.”

“Yeah,” I grunted. “You go to a restaurant to enjoy a meal and then you get someone’s pushy belief about the environment for asking for a straw. What the hell…? Some people can’t keep their friggin’ ideas to themselves.”

Total damage at the restaurant: $49.00. Tip should have been approximately $6.00. We got stingy and left only $4.00.

Creative Brain:
Ode to the Winter Season

Winter Season is
gray clouds and sprinkly rain
tinkling on the rooftops.
Like a snowglobe with everlasting snow,
Winter Season is permanent all through the night.
Central heating hums in the dark hall
to leave you with cozy feelings
Of solitude, where
Sweet hot chocolate and comatose
Dreams are kisses of distant memories,
While thick comforters snuggle warm
against you like loving arms.

In Limbo

A representative from Westgate called me on 11/27/02 to interview me. She was very soft spoken, polite, and informative. The interview lasted about thirty minutes. Although I expected this phone call for a week, I don’t think I was mentally prepared for it. In contrast to her light voice and very polite demeanor, I sounded like an aggressive go-getter (I was trying to motivate myself). It just made me realize how different our cultures are. I wondered if I was expected to be the… [gulp] submissive Asian if I were to arrive in Japan. Anyway, in light of the phone interview, she opened another position to me—Assistant Language Teacher. I originally opted for the university position, where I would be teaching English conversation at the university level. If I were to continue with that option, my term would be three months, and I would be responsible for 95% of the lesson plans and student evaluations. In other words: I am the teacher. I opted for this position because they didn’t advertise the high school position. When I was interviewed, the representative opened the high school position to me, and so I changed my options. The conditions would be a contract of four months, I work in a high school campus, no actual lesson planning on my part; my only responsibility is the conversational component of the lesson—English enunciations, group talks, speaking skills, assisting with grammar, etc. Since I work in the high school environment, I thought this would be much more beneficial for me in the long run. Anyway, I still have to submit some more paperwork to them, then wait for their next email or phone call to inform me whether I got the job or not. I’m not “OHMYGOD” excited, but I’m not “awwshit” anxious either. Que será, será.

On another note, I just finished my unit plan for the sophomores. I even made a calendar for the little ungrateful snots who are visual learners. Not counting the two weeks of Christmas break, I have five weeks left with these kids. Then my contract expires and I go on my merry way. If I get the job in Japan, then I have something to look forward to: another job and the experience of traveling in another country. If I don’t get the job, then I’ll look for another [non-teaching] job and give myself a little break from all the stress. I offered my help to the other first year teachers by being their background assistant (i.e., correcting paperwork, creating worksheets, making copies, assisting with lesson plans, entering grades, etc). Of course, I’d be volunteering my time, but at least I’ll stay in touch with the educational community and be “in-the-know” about the English curriculum.

When February comes, maybe I should try to regain the ten pounds I lost because of the unhealthy amount of stress and an unnatural diet that I lived through from September to November.

Yeah right! Gain the weight back! HA!

Neo-Feminism

Articles about the youthful generation that is degenerating today seem to fuel my disgust towards them, especially the girls. When I was in high school and if I heard of anyone getting pregnant, I brushed it off as, “That was their own fault, as well as the guy’s.” How can anyone be so stupid to get pregnant when there was so much information about how NOT to get pregnant?

I see it happening now to the female students I teach. I like to naively think that fifteen-year-old girls are not sexually active, but when you see and hear about freshmen girls getting pregnant, you can only imagine the same fate for some sophomores. But it all goes deeper than getting pregnant. I’m more disgusted with the way girls dress. They come into class wearing mid-riff baring tops and low-rise jeans and skirts with thong underwear peeking through. They think it’s cute and cool. The first thing that goes on in my mind is, “Do you have any self-respect?”

Comparing my values and morals with that of the girls today would be futile. According to them, I was raised in the dark ages. If I were to start lecturing these girls about how they dress, how they carry themselves, and the value of self-respect, my lecture would go in one ear and out the other. They justify their actions as "girl power" and the power of femininity. I hate that mantra. To them, it's the license to do whatever they want. To me, "girl power" is an identity of one's own femininity and how it is defined within that person's scope and ability. Now, I’m not a very political person, but I am grateful for the improvements that the women’s liberation movement in the 1960s has made in order to better every woman’s chances of equal opportunity. I am not obligated to any feminist organization for that right, but as a woman and teacher, I do have a responsibility to perpetuate a positive image of my identity, my profession, and most of all--to myself. I would never want to be misconceived as an irresponsible, daft, and licentious person. But believe it or not, that's what girls strive for: irresponsibility, so they are never accountable; a daft image so they are not intimidating; and a licentious persona because they think it's sexy. All this adds to "cute." Girls today don't understand their identity as individuals who can do so much with the world if only they used their minds, not their bodies. There is so much more to being a powerful woman than just tits and ass.

I don't want to point fingers, but I blame the media for all this. Girls today are the driving force of pop culture, and everything appears to be marketed toward them. Britney Spears, Christina Aguilera, and Mariah Carey are the so-called role models today, but the images these women portray are only mixed messages to growing girls. I walked into Rave (it's a trendy clothing store for girls) while I was at the mall one Sunday afternoon, and it's shocking to see 6th or 7th graders buying thongs. As they walked out of the store, I noticed their low-rise jeans and their slightly mid-riff "Girls Rule" T-shirts. What will they be like in high school when their bodies start to develop? What kind of clothes will they wear then? For Pete's sake, where are their mothers!? Oh, silly me... it was their mothers who gave them their allowance so they can go buy those clothes.

“Clothes do not make the man,” as the saying goes, but it is the first thing that people notice. The way a person dresses is always not a true depiction of what they are on the inside, and maybe some of these girls with low-cut blouses and mid-riff tops are intelligent and aware of their own worth, but the message they convey with their inappropriate clothes would always be misinterpreted, and with that comes the misrepresentation of who they are.

I can always warn them of that, but experience is a greater teacher.

To My Mommy and Daddy

Living with parents is not all that bad. Since my sisters aren’t here, I feel like an only child. Once in a while that’s hard because 100% of their attention is on me (nag nag nag). Other times, it’s good because 100% of their attention is showered only on me.

My mother bought lunch for me today. Did I tell you that she makes my lunch every morning before I go to work each day? She gets up at 5am to do that. Sometimes my dad will do that too. They both walk me to the garage and watch me depart every morning. In the evening, we sometimes have dinner together, and I can openly talk to them about stuff, like teaching, dating, boys, and other weird stuff. We had a humorous conversation about the "correct" way of courting between boys and girls, and what's proper and improper for girls to do when playing hard to get. They revealed the silly things they did while they were still dating, which later turned into a "he said/she said" debate as they tried to understand my relationship with guys. It's strange, but I never would have had a conversation like that in the past. Only recently did I start opening up to my parents... since I started this job, actually.

As I get older, I appreciate my parents more and more. Now that I’m old enough to understand the hardships of raising kids, I try not to aggravate them as much. I should know better by now that I should give them respect. I’m old enough to take care of myself at this point, too, but parents are parents. No matter how old you are, they’re still older than you. I may be college educated and “knowledgeable,” but my parents somehow still put me in my place. My mom will always watch out for me, therefore she still makes my lunch to make sure that I’m eating everyday. Most people would feel like a child for accepting lunch Made by Mom, but some moms will never change. And children, no matter how much they grow, are still children in their parents’ eyes.

If we like to indulge in our little roles, it’s not going to hurt us. It seems to bring us closer. We reminisce on the past and can now laugh at the stupidity of teenagers (yeah, I admit it--I was stupid at times). I have to say that parents do know everything. And as we laugh, I think we appreciate each other more. I'm sure that both my parents look at all their daughters and think, "I've done a good job raising them." As I look at my parents, I think, "They sure did."

I can’t believe Michael Jackson’s nose made the news. And what’s this about fans winning a seat lottery just to see him in court? Where did they get seat lottery tickets? Who sells this stuff? Ticketmaster?

A Quote That Got Me Obsessed

When I was in college, there was this daily planner that I had in my second year. It contained weekly quotes to inspire whoever used the planner. Those quotes were also a good source of “food for thought” mental meanderings as I rode the bus to the university. There was this one quote that I partially forgot, but I still get half of it. It goes something like, “Don’t leave what you can finish today for tomorrow…” something or other. That may even be the full quote… I think.

At present, I procrastinate every once in a while, but now that I’m into teaching, this quote keeps coming up in my mind. I have so much work that I bring home because I’m obsessed with finishing as much as I can. But as I’ve realized, a teacher’s work will never end (not until mid-June anyway), and if I tried to finish as much as I could, I will never have a social life.

Old habits die hard.

Weekly incentive: “coffee talk” with a friend.

The weekly incentives help me to define the borders of work and play.

Taking the G out of “Ghetto”

Just finished inputting grades. I can now breathe a sigh of relief. Life is normal again. At least I didn’t stress out as much as I did the first time. It feels like I’ve just sharpened a new organizational skill; I hope I can perfect it by the time the semester is over. 

Some of my students stayed after school with me to turn in late work. As they conversed casually and worked in my classroom, I watched two students in particular. Every time I see them, it looks as though I’m watching two people who are trying too hard to be cool. But for me, I take it almost as a personal insult. These two students try to act like teenagers from... How do I make you readers understand? 

Where I come from, when a person says “ghetto,” it means a variety of things, from poor to cheap to gangster culture. I went to a high school where two dead bodies were dumped on the lawn, where gangsters once ruled the streets in the 1960s, and my old high school is still trying to recover from its gangster affiliation. The police station was right down the street, and when two girls got into a fight, a chopper was called to hover over campus. Drugs were common, a track star was shot, a member from the band was raped, and a student was caught having sex in the library. I’m not saying that my high school was extremely out of control, but when a person says “ghetto,” my high school was the crème de la crème. Although I was a good student, I grew up in an environment that exposed me to violence and stereotypes. I’m not an expert on what “ghetto” culture is like, but I have a pretty good idea. 

Flash forward: I am now a teacher. I teach in a school whose culture is different from mine. Although there are gangsters in the school, they are not as big a problem as the ones from my alma mater. But when a person says “ghetto,” the high school where I teach is not even close. This school is more of a “skater” population, where students tote their skateboards; biking is also a popular sport. This high school is vastly different from my mine. When I say “ghetto,” they think it means, “Ew! Gross!” 

Where am I headed with all this? As I watched the two students after school, trying to be cool, I found it insulting that they were trying to act like they were from the ghetto, with their so-called gangster accent, calling me “dawg”—I’m a teacher (you don’t call me “dawg,” you little snots!). I don’t find it entertaining or even cool that students try to aspire to something that society finds as a menace. Not to mention, because I went to a ghetto high school, I’m sympathetic to the students who are constantly stereotyped and disadvantaged because of labels. From what I’ve seen, anyone who has been in the ghetto, it’s all about survival and trying to break from that label. The two students who were in my class today don’t know what that’s like. I found their behaviors to be mocking to another group of students. When anyone says “ghetto” around me, especially if they attend the school where I teach now, I have an urge to ask them, “Do you know what that’s even like?” I doubt they even do.

Scary Thoughts

When I think about giving up the teaching profession, my next thought is, “What else can I do?” It’s scary to think that I may not be qualified for any other job because I trained for the educational field only. Even if I do find some other job, am I settling for something less than what I’m really qualified for?

There are so many paths. I don’t know which one is truly meant for me. Part of me is afraid of straying from what I already know and from what I’m already comfortable with, but how else will I really know what I’m capable of if I don’t try something new and get out of my comfort zone?

This job in Japan is not even official, yet the recruiter keeps emailing me. I guess that’s a positive sign. As much as I’m afraid of accepting a job in Japan—especially a teaching job, a part of me says that I need it because I need a new experience in a new environment, so I can have a new way of looking at things. What other way is there to face my fears head on than teaching in a foreign country? I know I can do that here in my own hometown, but everything is so familiar here that I am comfortable wherever I am (which encourages me to be lazy). It sounds all so existentialist, but at least in a foreign country, I can discover new things around me as well as find answers within myself about what I really can and cannot do. The teaching job in Japan would only be four months. That’s a short time, for which I’m grateful.

If every job I have can be put on a résumé, then every experience I have will always give me something new to discover about myself.

What Am I Doing…?

As much as I like driving, it’s becoming depressing. Driving relaxes me, but lately, I’ve been thinking more negative thoughts. Not as bad as last month, but still negative. Will I teach next semester? Everyone is suddenly asking me this question, and all I can say is, “I don’t know.” And that’s the honest truth. Sometimes I feel that I can teach next semester, but as much as I dislike what I’m doing and what I’m feeling, I don’t know if I’ll be able to handle another five months of this.

As I was checking my email, I get this notice from Westgate Corporation. They’re still interested in hiring me as an English language instructor. I saved the email and thought about whether to reply or not. Do I want to teach for another year—and in another country? As I drove home, thinking my negative thoughts, I weighed the pros and cons:

Good things:
a) students that I’ll be teaching actually WANT to learn
b) new environment—country, culture, classes (so much for me to learn!)
c) hone the English language teaching skills
d) experience for the résumé
e) I may become a better teacher

Bad things:
a) teaching English language, not literature
b) grading
c) teaching one whole year (from August to August)
d) Could I handle the stress that I feel now in another country?

Obviously, the good things outweigh the bad. When I got home, I replied to the recruiter and told her that I was able to fulfill the requirement she mentioned, and that I was still interested in the position. After the email was sent, I felt a bit excited. Teaching in Japan can’t be as bad as teaching in an American high school. They are two different environments and two different attitudes towards learning, so naturally, I would be a different kind of teacher.

I hope I can do this…

Fatigue

I've had positive moments, and I’m now hitting another low point. I know it’s just fatigue, and that I’m just overwhelmed. At least, I got 70% of the grading done.

When I have those positive moments, I feel I can teach for the next semester. But then I think about the work I do now, and how much I hate it, and then I rethink my decision. I’d hate to stay in this job just for the money. It’s not about the money—it’s about the kids. Unfortunately, there are times when I don’t care about them. I feel like a parent before my own time. I don’t have kids of my own, and I feel that I’m raising them already.

It makes me think: do I want kids of my own? I shudder to think of that.

First Day Jitters All Over Again

Three-day weekends throw me off. Although I needed it this week and I had a very good weekend, I don’t know how I’m going to start off tomorrow. I’m getting that queasy feeling again like it was my first day of school. I hate that feeling. Ugh…

I could calm myself by doing some actual work, but I’ve been doing that for the entire weekend. Why do more? It’s like when I go to meetings and learn more things, and it just overwhelms me because I lose focus on what I’m supposed to be doing. If I do more work, I’ll just overwhelm myself by discovering something that I should have been doing, and that I don’t have my materials to actually plan everything because I’m at home rather than in my classroom where all my things are. Does that make sense?

First day jitters… I hate them.

Ode to My Car… Again

My mother thinks my car is jinxed. When I got into my second accident, she said it was cursed and that we should return it to the dealer. I said that I liked my car and that I was not giving it up. It must have been pride or vanity that made me want to keep it, but after last night’s accident, I’m definitely keeping it.

Four accidents, and you’re probably thinking that my car must be pretty crappy looking by now, but it’s not. Because I drive such long distances, and because I’ve made an investment in paying for this car, I want to make sure that it will always be reliable when I need it. I check it in at the dealership for regular tire rotations and oil changes, and whenever I get into an accident, I’m vain enough to get it fixed--whatever the cost—because I want my car to look nice.

My car looks like crap now, but with its crooked smile (falling front bumper), missing hubcap, and cracked body, I know everything can be replaced and fixed and it will be “perfect” again, like my life. (Hear that, Fate!?). My car knows that I’ll have it nice and pretty. It must also know that I can’t be easily fixed or replaced if I were to get hurt.

If I take care of my car, then it will take care of me. Four accidents and I have been able to walk away without a scratch or even a bruise. Why? Because my car took the beating for me. Do I love my car? Oh, yeah….

I. Ode to My Car

Fate likes to throw things in my path when I think my life is suddenly perfect. My life is not perfect-perfect, but perfect enough that I am always thankful for my blessings and everything else that keeps me functional and my life running smoothly. How do I know my life is perfect? I gauge everything through my car.

As you all know, I love my car. You can even say that I love my car to the point that someone can literally torture me by destroying my car. I would cry if someone were to slash my tires. A little knick on the paint job would tick me off. I get paranoid when any of my sisters drive it. I look at my car with pride when I see it in a parking lot. I love the color. It’s so me. What else can I say?

So, how does my car connect to my perfect life? Here are the ways…

Fate’s First Obstacle: Last December, my life was “perfect.” I had a good job that was flexible with my school schedule; I was in the credential program on my way to being a teacher; I was living with my roommates who are also very good friends of mine; Christmas was coming, and I actually had time and money to shop and buy gift. I felt like I was being a responsible adult because I was independent. Could life get any better? I think not! One morning, I was feeling particularly happy that I decided to go to work early. What happened? I get into a car accident on the way there—less than five blocks from where I was living. It was my very first car accident in the six years that I have been driving. I panicked. I called my mother and father, and I suddenly felt like a child again. Damage to my car: eight-inch crack on the rear bumper.

Although it was the other driver’s fault (he ran a STOP sign when it was my turn), and he paid for the damages of my car, I learned a valuable lesson: how insurance companies worked.

Fate’s Second Obstacle: After that first accident, I got my car fixed. I avoided the intersection where that first accident occurred because I didn’t want anything to happen to my pretty car. My roommates even showed me a shortcut through a back road that had less traffic. It was now the second semester of my credential program, and I continued on with my “perfect” life. I was student-teaching in a great school, I was getting the hang of teaching, I was on top of all the grading I needed to get done, and I just got my car fixed. I had a very resourceful and helpful master-teacher who said I could sleep in one morning because the students had to take a mandatory test, which he had to administer. Could life get any better? I think not! So after sleeping in, I took my time getting ready for work, making sure I had everything. At another intersection, I get into another accident. I didn’t panic, but rather, I repressed the anger.

Again, it was the fault of another driver (he had a suspended driver’s license and no insurance). These are the things I learned:
a) how insurance companies worked when they’re out to get someone
b) how police officers file accident reports
c) how quickly accident scenes are cleared up
d) the little duties that retired volunteer officers actually do

I also learned some things about myself. As I watched the three other drivers of each car be carried away on gurneys and whisked away in ambulances, and while their cars were being towed away from the scene, I realized how lucky I was to still be standing and with my car still functional. Damage to my car: a huge dimple on the left rear quarter panel that wasn’t there before.

Fate’s Third Obstacle: Summer. My younger sister was home from college. We were the only ones living at home with parents. We spent the summer just hanging out, acting goofy, and spending quality time together before she went off to Massachusetts again. I just graduated from the credential program, and I was looking for a teaching job. But my main focus was just finally having time for myself and for my sister. I even got my car fixed from that second accident. After getting my car back, my sister and I decide to go to Los Angeles to shop, hang out, and visit my other sister. Could life get any better? I think not! We were only ten minutes away from our destination when we suddenly come upon an unexpected stop-and-go traffic, and I got involved in a chain reaction accident. Damage to my car: cracked rear bumper and cracked front grill.

According to the investigation, the accident was partially my fault for driving too close to the car in front of me. It was only partial fault because I was rear-ended by someone else who was driving too close behind me. The external things that I learned:
a) how Los Angeles CHP takes a traffic report (UGH!! Don’t get me started!)
b) Los Angeles freeways have no shoulder/emergency lanes (You suck, LA!)
c) how well my Camry withstood the force of an oncoming sports utility vehicle (a big one)
d) how and why my insurance policy will change (damn it!)
e) the possibility of losing my license due to the many accidents I have been in (F**K!)

The internal things I learned:
a) third accident; I feel like a pro.
b) how worried I was for my sister, and how I had to be in control so that she wouldn’t worry.
c) how calm I was, and how in-control I was of my feelings despite my anger and frustration with CHP.
d) how lucky both my sister and I were that day. In fact, I was glad all the drivers and passengers in all the cars involved were okay.

II. When Life Flashes

Fate’s Fourth Obstacle: I’ve noticed that whenever I get my car fixed after an accident, I get into another accident. I decided not to get my car fixed after my third accident. I’ve been driving around town with a broken bumper, but if it keeps me from getting into another accident, I’ll keep it. Besides, it’s very subtle; no one can tell it’s broken unless you press against it. So, how’s my “perfect” life? Well, I got a job. Although there are times when I hate it, there are days when I am happy. It is all a slow process, but I’m bringing less work home, I’m finally thinking happy positive thoughts again, and I’m slowly learning how to balance work and social time. Weekends actually feel like weekends again. I don’t quite have the hang of this job yet, but I’m slowly making progress, and I’m trying to remain optimistic. My friends have been supportive, especially the other first year teachers and my old roommates. Call it cheesy, but it feels like a new outlook on life. Could life get any better? I think not—and you guessed it! I got into another accident.

No other car was involved. It was just me and some huge-f**king-ass debris in the middle of the freeway that I demolished as I tried to avoid it. Whatever the hell that was, I will never know! It looked like some wooden desk or even the wooden frame of a has-been couch! It was just sitting there in the middle of the freeway. As I tried to avoid this thing, I swerved and hit it, demolished it, then I swerved to avoid the center divide. As I tried to straighten my car out, it only spun me out of control across three lanes and landed me in the middle of freeway, broadside to oncoming traffic and facing the center divide. I grabbed the gear and pulled it into reverse and slammed my foot onto the pedal to get out of the way as another SUV and sedan were coming at me. I bumped into the shoulder’s curb as I straightened out in the emergency lane.

My life flashed before me and I almost broke down. I had no control of my car as it spun across the freeway. Oncoming traffic could have slammed into me a dozen times—while I was spinning and even when my car was stopped across the lanes—but it didn’t. As I was flying across the freeway with both my hands gripping the wheel, I suddenly remembered an accident in Los Angeles where a red mustang spun out of control and a white SUV was headed straight for it because it couldn’t stop in time. I didn’t know why I thought of that accident. I tried to remember all the steering techniques that I read about in order to avoid skidding. Was I pressing the brakes or the gas pedal? I only had a split moment to think when I put the car in reverse to avoid oncoming traffic. I don’t even know how I thought of that as I stared at headlights coming at me. I didn’t care when I bumped into the shoulder’s curb and further damaged my car. I only wanted to get out of people’s way. As I turned off the engine, I can remember telling myself that I shouldn’t cry because no one was hurt or involved. I was not the cause of any accident. I should be grateful because I was still alive and in one piece. But I had never been in an accident like that before, and I didn’t know what to do. I called my parents in a panic. When I realized stuff was leaking out of my car, I called a friend to call a tow-truck company. Stupid me for not having the number of a tow truck company handy.

My father and a friend came out to help and to assess the damage of my car. It’s still in one piece, but it’s falling apart: the front bumper is totally damaged, the right hub-cap is gone (my friend found pieces of it in the freeway), the tank that holds the windshield wiper fluid is punctured, and the front right quarter panel and the door is damaged. The car still runs, so I drove it home with my friend following after me. When I got home, I cried--partially for my car, but also because I still couldn't believe what had happened.

What lessons or things have I learned? I don’t know yet. But I can tell you what I am still feeling:
a) shock—because no one else was involved, no one was hurt, and because I miraculously survived.
b) anger—WHAT THE HELL WAS A DESK—OR WHAT HAVE YOU—DOING IN THE MIDDLE OF THE FREEWAY?
c) relief—I’m alive.

So, maybe Fate likes to throw stuff in my way when I get too proud of my accomplishments or too happy with my life. Then again, each of these accidents is bigger than the previous one. This is a sign. I think Fate has something grand in store for me in the future… another accident? Maybe something that might actually hurt me?

III. Anger and Hate

What the f**k was a wooden thinga-ma-jiggie doing in the middle of the freeway? Some asshole was driving down the freeway, doesn’t notice that he dropped a huge wooden frame of something, and keeps on driving? Does he even hear that something was falling off his truck? Does he even check his rearview mirrors to see if anything was sitting in the highway that was left in his wake? Does he think, “Oh, I’ll come by and pick it up later”? Doesn’t he know that leaving a wooden-whatever is hazardous for other drivers?

I am so angry right now. I already deal with some stupid kids, and now I have to deal with stupid drivers on the highway who leave their junk on the road. I’m paranoid because I could lose my license for this—for some idiot’s irresponsibility. My anger and hate can reach far into irrationality, but I don't want to go there and write what I'm REALLY thinking. Damn it!

Happy Thoughts…


I played some Halloween games with my classes. I’m surprised that some of my students knew that Leatherface was the villain for the “Texas Chainsaw Massacre.” I would have been on cloud nine if they only knew that Vlad the Impaler was the historical figure behind Bram Stoker’s Dracula. Is it too much to ask that they READ the novels--or even the history--behind classic horror films?

On a raNdOm NoTe: HaPpy thouGHt, hAppY thOUght, HapPy tHoughT...

^____________^



=) :-)


Yeah… this week was a little more positive.

Nearly a week of not writing in a blog, and my thoughts have become backlogged. Sounds like my job.

THOUGHT #1: I have realized that grading papers will never end for an English teacher; so why spend five hours after school doing it and wishfully thinking that it will? Can you say "futile"?

THOUGHT #2: Driving relaxes me. Of course, I have already mentioned this. That time alone in my car for about 40 minutes is my time to be in my own little world.

THOUGHT #3: This might be a long one…. Last week was the most hectic time I’ve had, and it came to the point where I stressed out so much that I couldn’t think anymore, which stressed me out even more. I cried, I pissed off at my parents, and nearly cried myself to sleep. And even when I went to sleep, I was subconsciously thinking of the next day—planning, strategizing, and organizing—all this while I slept. Did I have relaxing moment? HELL NO! When the day was over, I called up the principal’s secretary and set up a long overdue appointment with the principal.

My meeting with the principal was like my first day of school: successful and disastrous at the same time. It was successful because we had a heart-to-heart conversation about teaching, and my career as a teacher; disastrous because I have come to a decision which I’m not proud of at all. When I realized that teaching for the rest of my life may not be the life I want, I had to make the decision to tell the principal so he can think ahead about what to do in the next semester. I have honestly tried to stick it out. Veteran teachers have told me time and again that the first year of teaching is not the year to make judgments about the profession. It’s the most stressful and difficult year, and you are never thinking straight anyway due to dysphoria. As I tried to figure out if my feelings were based on these “first-year doubts,” or if they were my own self-realizations, I know now that they were based on my own self-realizations. Teaching is not for me… not at this time. I told this to the principal, and he thanked me for being honest.

It’s not a realization that I have come to take lightly. I am disappointed in myself that I have even come to this conclusion. It’s only been a month, and already I feel like I’m giving up. But for my own good, and especially for the students, I really need to step away from the entire teaching profession for a while to reevaluate myself. That passion that I once had while I was going through the credential program is no longer there. That passion was the fuel that kept me going no matter how stressful it became. It was that passion that kept me alive and positive.

Like dirt on a campfire, the work overload has burnt me out. I sat in a library to sort out my thoughts, and I went back to basics by asking myself questions about why I wanted to go into teaching. These were my reasons:

A) I wanted to help kids succeed.
B) I wanted the kids to care about their own success.
C) I wanted to share the joy of literature.
D) I wanted them to be better writers and communicators so that they will be successful in college and in the work force.
E) I really wanted to make a difference.

These are the ideals that inspire first year teachers, and they are heavily tested during that first year. I have fallen into that English-teacher stereotype where I have become cynical and bitter; where everyday I want to say something sarcastic and biting to a kid who asks something stupid. There are times when a "power-trip" is more enjoyable than smiling at a student. This is why I need to step away from the teaching profession. Do any of those reasons still apply to me now? Only A and E, but they are not enough to keep me around for another semester. My negativity is affecting my teaching, and that will affect the kids. For their sake, I need to step out.

So, I have come full circle: “…have you ever rushed to do something because you wanted it so badly, and then when you finally have it, you’re not sure if you really want it because you never stopped to think about it?”

Next semester, I will finally have the time to think about it.

Paralysis

I like to be in a state of paralysis on Sundays. I would like just ONE day out of the week where I don’t do anything at all. That hasn’t happened yet. My work is littered throughout the day; do a little here, do a little there, etc.

Music is the only thing that can keep me from doing anything. I woke up this morning at 9:15am with a strategy on how to attack my day without wasting time as well as putting aside some time for myself. It all failed. I put on Kent’s new album in my walkman and I lay in bed for another three hours—the most relaxing three hours in my entire month so far (but I was still huddled in my bed in a fetal position).

Now I must go to the library and continue with my planned strategy. If I can get my work done, I can still have the evening to myself. Maybe I'll shop, maybe I'll wander the streets with an overflowing stream of consciousness, or maybe I'll turn in early tonight… in a state of paralysis… with Kent.

Music soothes the savage beast. In my case, the stressed-out beast within.

Asian Communities…whatever.

I can’t help roll my eyes whenever I see sites that collectively join other sites into a “community.” While surfing the net, I came upon an article my sister emailed me, and two sites—Generation Rice and Rice Bowl. Why does rice have to be the universal symbol for Asians? Why does an Asian online community even exist? 

In the past, personal websites have always tried to maintain some semblance of uniqueness, but that doesn’t happen when they’re all lumped into one category, no matter how great their individual website looks. As for that article, why do we have to have a Little Manila? Doesn’t the fact a large Filipino community living in an area already constitute a valid Filipino community? Is an official title really all that necessary? A community establishes itself by its citizens, not its name. Filipinos have their own place already. Enough said. 

I remember a time when people hated being categorized. Now they want to fall under a category if it means establishing an identity through a community with which they can be associated. As for me, I’m under the blog community. Anonymity is my identity. Stress is the drive. Cynicism is the muse. Egoism is the inspiration. I am my own category.

De-Stress

As I re-acclimatize myself back into my social life, so I won't feel guilty about spending copious amounts of time to myself, I now have a weekly incentive: hanging out with a friend. 

Thanks, Marshmallow. ^_^

More Stupidity

Some kids have asked me for extra credit assignments. My philosophy on extra credit is exactly how it sounds: “EXTRA” credit. It’s not make-up work, yet the students think it is. They’re having a hard time distinguishing between the two. So, this student—who is getting an F in class—asked me if there is any more extra credit that he can do to make bring up his grade.

“No. You just have to do you all your assignments from now on,” I said.

He asked me, “How come I’m still getting an F? I did the first extra credit assignment.”

This is where I paused and gave him “the look.” You know “the look” when parents or teachers give to their kids because they don’t want to say something demeaning or cruel as a reply? It’s like that time when some kid said, “Why don’t they just let us graduate?” I wanted to say, “Because high school doesn’t graduate losers.” Only this time, I wanted to say, “Hello! Extra credit doesn’t mean anything when you don’t do other assignments. Duh!”

Where’s the common sense? Sure, I gave one extra credit assignment, but that was only worth twenty points. Like that’s going to bring up his grade after he’s missed four other assignments that was worth sixty points!

And I’m supposed to teach higher-level analytical thinking?

Negated

There’s this thing that veteran teachers call “first-year doubts.” It’s self-explanatory, but for those who still don’t get it, it’s when first-year teachers begin to doubt that teaching is really meant for them. Some decide to leave and some decide to stay. It’s always that first year that either makes or breaks first-year teachers. It got me thinking: if every teacher has felt this way at one point during their career, then what makes me so different?

When I realized that teaching wasn’t the job for me, I began to question how valid my own reasoning is. Aspects of my job just don’t fit my personality, such as taking the initiative to be aggressive, my selfishness against altruism, the constant sixteen-hour thinking, the crowds of colleagues and students; this entire thing is just not me. I can’t see myself doing this forever. But at the same time, I don’t know if my thoughts are based on these “first-year doubts,” or if they are valid and logical realizations stemmed from my own deductions of knowing myself.

This is a “fork-in-the-road” for me. I have the sudden need to find out where my thoughts are rooted. The only way to find out is to stick around for another year.




Oh, perish the thought! I don’t want to think about that now!

Killing Mentality and Ennui

I hate the weekends when I have nothing to do. In my old job, I would work every weekend. Although I disliked it at times, I felt productive because I wasn’t wasting time; I was earning money and helping people. My weekends are now filled with lesson plans or grading papers. I think this is worse, only because it takes so much longer, and the mental work it involves completely drains me. I spent three hours today doing grades, and I had to take a nap right after. I hate THINKING for long periods of time!!!

After my nap, I suddenly felt restless. That’s the worst part of this! I never feel that my time is my time. As I’m trying to relax, my mind is thinking of lesson plans. I’ve somehow convinced myself that my free time should not be wasted, but for planning and for doing something productive that involves schoolwork. What kind of rest and relaxation is that? My R&R is spent in a fetal position, huddling in my room. Isn’t that sad? I had to go out for a drive to relax myself. I needed to get away from the computer, the binders, and textbooks that surround me at home. After six hours of wandering around the city, I finally felt at ease.

I need to get into that mode where I shouldn’t feel guilty just because I need time to myself. Why isn’t the weekend any longer? Why doesn’t the school celebrate Columbus Day and let us have the holiday? Why do I have to go to work tomorrow? I don’t want to start thinking again…

The Spirituality of Death

My mother called me cold-hearted and distant. I confess that I am, but it’s toward only certain people. We’ve had arguments about this before, back when one of my aunts died three years ago. I barely knew her, but my mother forced the family to attend the funeral, and only when I attended did I finally put a name and face together to this aunt that I barely recognized. I didn’t cry. My mother called me cold-hearted.

She also calls me distant. I readily admit to this. As I mentioned in the beginning when I started this blog, I am a private person, and I reveal myself to a very tight inner circle of people. In my mother’s mind, I am distant from my family. That’s not true. I love my immediate family… as for other relatives, that’s a different story. Relatives are people, too; just because they’re family doesn’t mean they’re a priority in my life. Like regular people, if I like them, then I like them. If I don’t like them, then I won’t hang around them.

So, why this talk about family? My uncle died yesterday. When my mother informed me of this, I didn’t cry. I never thought highly of this particular uncle, sad to say. I’ve had negative opinions of him, but I’ve kept them to myself. For the sake of the entire family, I never disrespected him, always acknowledged him when he talked to me, readily conversed when he asked me about college or whatever, etc. I did my part. As he lay dying of cancer for the past couple months, I never went to visit him. I just didn’t want to be around a dying man, especially one that I was never close with. What was I going to say? What was I going to do? “Hi, Uncle. How are you?” That’s as far as I would get. I can’t say, “Get well soon” or “I’ll see you around.” It was terminal cancer.

As my mother told me about his death, she described how my uncle had a vision of Jesus Christ. It reminded me of another uncle who passed away last year. He also had a vision of Jesus. He died on Easter day. Two uncles with visions of the Son of God. I wonder about this: will I get a vision of God or Jesus when I die? Or are those visions only for the faithful? When I die, I would like a vision, too. It would answer my lifelong question: is God really there?

I don’t know if it’s my own discomfort around death, or maybe I just didn’t really care enough about my uncle. Either way, my mother is telling me that I’m a bad niece because I didn’t visit him, because I didn’t cry, because I didn’t do anything. According to Filipino superstition, he’s coming to haunt me soon. Maybe I’ll get a chance to visit him now.

Vital Connections

It’s strange how my last entry was about humorous things from teachers. Today, I had a “hallmark” moment with a student. It just suddenly made my day, and I can’t help thinking about it. Although it could be false alarm, I think I will treasure this moment by sharing it.

There’s a particular student in my class who is not necessarily apathetic, but just bored. I don’t think even boredom is the problem. Whenever I look at him, I see confusion, unhappiness, and sometimes, inner turmoil. Several things go on in my mind: he’s shy, he’s not interested in English, he possibly has reading problems; he doesn’t even smile unless someone in class says something funny or says something to him personally without anyone else hearing. And even when he does smile, it’s only a flash that barely lasts a second or two.

I worry about him. For some reason, I always glance at him just to check up on him, just to see if he’ll ever come out of his shell.

Today, after class, he approached me to ask about his grade. It was our third encounter since my arrival (and I’ve been teaching about five weeks). I told him honestly what he was getting, and even then, he appeared nonchalant, like he never had any hope in the first place. The look on his face broke my heart. I felt like I was losing him, and it just saddened me. I tried to think of something happy, and so I asked him, “What are you doing this weekend? Are you going to have any fun?”

[dialogue has been slightly modified for confidentiality]

He suddenly beamed and said, “I’m going back to [county]?"

“Really? You’re from [county]?"

“That’s where I used to live," he replied. "I’m going there for the weekend to visit my friends.”

"I’m from there, too… Well, not exactly from there, but I live farther south from you, closer to the border. But I know your area. I had a couple of friends who lived there, and they later went on to SDSU. What mall do you shop in?"

"[so-and-so] Center."

"I know that place. I shop there too."

We both chuckled at the coincidence.

"How come you’re coming to school all the way up here?” I asked.

Here, he stated a personal problem to which I sympathized. He opened up a bit and told me some of the things that were happening in his life, and we discovered that we even had a few things in common. Despite all that, what made me happy inside was that he smiled the whole time we talked, which was a good three minutes. The five and half weeks that I have been there, a smile on his face was suddenly rare, and he genuinely looked happy as he talked about his old stomping ground.

As I wished him a good weekend, and to make sure he had fun, he smiled one more time at me and wished me the same. When the door closed behind him, I was in shock, and I nearly wanted to cry. Did he just open up to me? Did he wish me a nice weekend? Did he actually smile for more than a few seconds? Did I somehow make a connection with him that made him feel comfortable?

Sometimes a teacher’s moment doesn’t happen in the instructional process. That one student who smiled at me is worth more than a class full of A students.

Stupidity Knows No Bounds

There are always funny stories that teachers share to other people about their students. Sometimes I hear so many humorous things from veteran educators that it makes me want to stay in the educational field. These stories are usually cute and enlightening as we reminisce about our own lost innocence, and regain a bit of it as we look through the eyes of young minds.

I’m waiting for my share of funny things from kids. It’s nice when a student can make me laugh. But for now, I must settle for indifference and stress. At least I can share some of the stupid things that my students say and do. That’s always fun for me.

Surrounded by Irrationality

My students took a standardized test by the English department two weeks ago. I gave them the results today. They hate writing, and the results showed: lots of D’s and F’s; one person got a B, no A's. As soon as they saw their results, they whined and ranted, claiming that the system was not fair, etc, etc… Then the big question:

Apathetic Student #1: “Why do we have to take these tests?”

Me, the English teacher: “Four words: high school exit examination. The exam has a huge section on writing, and if you can’t pass this practice test, you won’t pass the exit exam. If you don’t pass the exit exam, you don’t graduate. When you don’t graduate, you take summer school, or you repeat tenth grade English in your junior year.”

Apathetic Student #2: “That’s not fair. Why don’t they just let us graduate?”

I gave Apathetic Student #2 my infamous “rolling eye.” Two things came to mind: a) this generation of teens are used to having their own way. Graduate with failing classes? Has anyone even heard of such a thing? Is that what these kids think? That even if they fail, they think they can just graduate? And b) Did anyone see the irrationality of his question? That’s like asking, “Do I need to be connected to the Internet when I check my email?” These kids are simply void of any kind of logic.

Taking Privileges for Granted

I live in a country of wealth and privilege. I may not be rich myself, but I know how blessed I am when I think about the things and opportunities that I have had to improve my life.

My parents immigrated to this country back in the 1970s, and I grew up with “when I was your age” stories from my mother, who grew up on a rice farm. When she tells me stories of poverty, not just hers but that of neighbors as well, I always think about how she left that country in order to pursue a better life here in the United States. I am appreciative of the sacrifices that both my parents have made in order to give their family the life that they have always dreamed about. My life in the United States is privileged in comparison to my parents’ life in the Philippines. I don’t take this for granted. Even though I have never experienced poverty (and I hope I never will), it is still somehow part of me because it’s so close to my mother’s life. I respect her greatly because of her determination to rise above it. She taught me that money doesn’t grow on trees, and that the things I buy—whether for pleasure or out of necessity—should always be taken care of because you may not always afford to buy newer things. From her experiences, I learn to not take things for granted.

As I think about the students I teach, especially the students of immigrant parents, many of them have the same ideas about education as I do. It’s a privilege to go to school, and therefore they take it seriously. Students who don’t care about their education betray their parents’ in every way possible by rejecting the dreams and resources that their parents have tried to so hard to attain or provide. They don’t have to be children of immigrant children either. They take it for granted that living in a country of wealth means living a life of hedonism. Well, hedonism may be too strong of a word, but you get the idea.

Detour

When I started this blog, I wanted to reveal myself creatively, openly, and happily. My recent entries have been anything but. My last entry has been an eye opener, and now a few of my colleagues know about my sentiments when they have asked me how I felt about teaching.

This blog has taken a detour somewhere. I don’t know where I lost track of it. They have been full of complaints and nothing else. My life sounds pathetic. I know I can teach and live better than this, but it hasn't been happening. How much stress have I been feeling? Let's see... I lost five pounds, three of my slacks don't fit me anymore, I feel faint while I'm teaching, and I have a cold which I can't take care of properly because I have to go to work where I'm surrounded by students with more germs. I thought working in a medical clinic helped to boost my immune system, but the schools obviously have a different kind of sickly environment which never seems to be the same as clinics. I thought I've seen it all. Anyway, my health is clearly on the line as I continue to work. There I go again... complaining. Excuse me; I need to log off and breathe.


P.S. Where is the “fun” in teaching? If I can’t have fun in my job, do I honestly think that my students will have fun in the class? I’m the worst teacher possible if I stay in a profession where I affect nearly 200 people.

A Sad Realization

Although I had a good weekend—I attended my friends’ wedding, and another friend’s housewarming party—I felt weak and sick. Apparently, I caught a cold from somewhere, and I’m not feeling too well. To top it all off, I have a ton of paperwork to grade. I can’t grade when I’m sick. My brain is half-working. Nausea is making a comeback. Ugh!

Now that I’ve gotten into some sort of routine, I’m thinking about how I feel about teaching. I honestly can’t see myself doing this for the rest of my life. It’s a sad thought. I said that this is what I’ve always wanted, that it was my dream job, but the more I get into the work and the kids, I keep asking myself if I’m happy. Should happiness be a factor in my decision to stay in the teaching field? For that matter, should it be a factor in anything?

I want to wake up everyday and know that I’m satisfied in my life and with what I do. If I can’t do that, I’ll always complain about something and always ask for more. But those paradoxes are coming at me, a lot harder and more persistent: I am selfish, and I hate the altruism of my job. I like to work alone and independent, but being surrounded by so many people—kids, administrators, and colleagues—seem to crowd my world. I like to go home and not bring work with me. My time is not my time. Saturday is my only day of rest. As you can see, I am complaining.

The one that gets me the most is the sacrifice my job demands. I devote so much and get nothing out of it, maybe a nice paycheck, but that goes back into my job as I buy things for the classroom or books for my lesson plans. As much as teaching has always been something I wanted, the reality is: it’s not something I want now. I hate the apathy that my students have. I feel like I’m wasting my time when I try to encourage them to do something. I always felt that relationships were based on a compromise, a give-and-take sort of thing. Teaching isn’t like that. I give all my time, and the students take all my energy. I give all the answers, and they take it for granted that I’ll always do that. I’m tired of caring, especially when they don’t.

Am I still stressed? Only once in a while. Am I thinking straight? Maybe not; after all, I’m sick at this moment. Am I happy? No. I know this for sure. Do I want to quit teaching? I’m not going to quit this semester; I am bound by a contract. But I don’t know about what will happen next semester. I once said that I wasn’t going to quit. I don’t think that this is quitting, but a realization. Why should I stay in a job that’s not making me happy? Even after all the training I went through in the credential program, I don’t feel that I owe it to them to stay. Even after I have invested much of my time to education, I can’t stay in this field just for that reason alone.

For the moment, I can see myself working alone and independent in a cubicle. When five o’clock hits, I can see myself going home and relaxing, and rewarding myself with time for me alone. I am a selfish person. This is coming out more and more as I teach. Deep down, there are times when I really don’t care about anyone—especially apathetic students.

Incentive for the week: house-sitting and cat-sitting for my old roommates. It's tragic when I want the week to be over already. It only means that I'm doing a job, and not making my days meaningful.

Pick-Me-Ups
Self-inspiration

Incentive for the week: shopping (DONE).

You know how I said that I was the “I-need-a-(fill in the blank)-so-I’m-going-to-go-hunt” kind of shopper? Well, I finally went shopping. I got the dress that called out to me, and I got a few other necessary items as well. But as I stopped at Lerner New York, the “I-think-I-like-this-so-I’m-going-to-buy-it” shopper came out of me. Of course, a discount coupon played an important role in this decision. At least I know I got something I liked, and I got it for cheap. The bargain hunter in me is honing its skill. I am a true woman.

Another incentive for the week: party (so I can forget this week)

My friends’ wedding is coming up. I live for weekends now. Social life is slowly making a revival, and I'm feeling good. Saturdays are for partying. Sundays are for grading and lesson planning. Whoopee. Time management skills arise from their slumber.

Permanent incentive: sleep

I should be doing that now.

Feeling Somewhat Confident

I fall into that false sense of security when I think I got everything organized. It makes me feel that I’m slowly getting into a routine where I’m not so stressed anymore. If only the nausea would just go away. Literally, I feel sick when I look at a lesson plan, regardless of the time of day. In the morning, when the time approaches 7:15am, I start to get nervous. At least I don’t feel like crying anymore. That’s an accomplishment.

I finished my next lesson plan for the next day. I should be asleep so I can hog up as much sleep time as I can. I once complained that my sleeping cycle was off track due to a night job. Now that I found a day job, I’m trying to get my sleeping cycle in a day routine where I don’t stay up at night. That’s kind of difficult when I’m up late to do a lesson plan. I need to sleep enough where I’m not overslept and tired.

Average sleep time: 5-6 hours.
Fuel: 30% adrenaline, 35% routine, 35% water

Caffeine is now optional, only to be taken at desperate times.

Improvement, no? ^_^

Incentive for the week: shopping (because I still haven’t done it). The dress I had in mind is now calling me. The only question is: will it still be there when I decide to go and get it?

Youth and Old Age

Adult education classes are held in my classroom in the evening. One late afternoon, as I was trying to do a lesson plan, the teacher for the evening class came in and we started talking. As we conversed, his students started coming into the room. I watched his students: elderly citizens who are retired and eager to learn about the Internet. They filed in, one by one, with their legal pads and curiosity. As they seated themselves in front of a computer, I watched a man and woman help each other out as they logged into their accounts. It brought a smile to my face as well as a sense of longing. I began to wish I was at that point in my life: old and free, knowing all the answers to the meaning of my life, not wondering about the decisions I have to make, and spending time doing something for myself.

I can be a patient person, but most times, I’m not. I wish I knew the answers to all the decisions I’m going to make in my life, so I can plan accordingly. I hate not knowing the future. I want to be there already. Will I hate teaching? Will I be loyal to my profession? Don’t get me wrong: I’m very happy with my life. There are so many things that I am grateful for—family, friends, a job that I’ve always wanted (if I can get the hang of it), a roof over my head, and my mental well-being. My life is perfect, and I shouldn’t complain. Happiness will come. One day, I will be at the point where I can reflect on my life and know that I was happy each and every day. I just have to be patient.

Must… not… let the… negativity… sink in.

If I can just get through the week, then it’s another week over, and only that much closer to the end of the semester. I keep telling myself that sold my soul only for five months. It’s a better deal than most fully contracted teachers because at least I can think about quitting—and actually do it if I should so decide. “Day by day,” that’s what I told myself on 09/12/02, when I had suicidal tendencies on my first day of school. Take one obstacle at a time, and several will fall when I actually accomplish something. That’s always a good feeling.

As I need a pick-me up every now and then, I try to do something positive for myself during the week that doesn’t involve stress or student work. I’m trying to regain my sense of egoism. My inspiration for the week: shopping. Shopping is fun when I know what I’m looking for. Mind you, I’m not an “I-think-I-like-this-so-I’m-going-to-buy-it” shopper. I’m more of an “I-need-a-(fill in the blank)-so-I’m-going-to-go-hunt” kind of shopper. I dislike malls, and I try to avoid them as much as possible. I especially dislike the mallrats. A scary prospect is bumping into one of my students in the clothing stores where they buy their clothes, too. I’ve already seen one student who has the same green floral skirt that I also own. It makes me feel old, as if I shouldn’t be wearing the same kinds of clothes that my students wear. Although I wear the clothes more conservatively and more professionally than my students, there’s always that girly competitiveness where we check each other out and see who looks better in the same outfit.

So, what am I hunting for? A dress for a friend’s wedding. I spent four hours in three different malls to look for a nice dress that will go with my body type. Decisions, decisions: two piece or one piece dress? Red or black, gray or burgundy? Plain or printed? With or without the corset? Spaghetti straps or thick straps? With or without a coat/jacket? V-neck (some cleavage) or boat neck (classy conservative)? A-line (hide the maternal hips) or straight cut (give the illusion of slim hips)? The questions are endless. The dresses are everywhere. I just need to find the right one.

Egad! Even shopping sounds like a chore! I hope I don't stress out at the mall.

I read this article by Michelle Malkin (I like the way she writes). As someone who has been involved in the educational community for nearly a lifetime, I can attest to the confusing “educracy” of the California school system. All I’ve got to say is: if parents want to homeschool their children, then let them. Homeschooling is not as evil as it sounds. In fact, I think it’s great. Parents can give their child the one-on-one attention that I can barely give in a class of thirty-five. It relieves overpopulation in schools, and parents can take control of what their child learns. For me, it’s one less parent and student to deal with. There’s nothing more irritating than a parent who tells me that I’m not teaching their children to their standards. Of course I don’t teach to their standards; I am a public educator who is obligated to teach to the California standards of literature, not the personal morals and ethics of every single parent and child.

Parents shouldn’t be criminalized for educating their own children, unless they’re somehow endangering their children’s mental well-being (i.e. paranoid parents whose idea of science is the history of Roswell, or KKK parents who teach their children to kill and hate minorities). The government shouldn’t worry about losing money because home-schooled students aren’t attending a public school facility; they need to think about the students who should be in school but are cutting class anyway. For every kid who is home-schooled and in the care of their parent(s), there are more than a dozen others who are truant without parental or school consent. Those are the kids who are losing money for the schools.

Untrained or unqualified teachers are another story. But, if you’re curious, I am a qualified English teacher. And I am teaching English literature, not math, history, or underwater basketweaving.

Several Things At Once…


Random thought #1: Kids these days are rude. I don’t know if it’s bad parenting. It must be; where else would they learn such “etiquette”? My parents always taught me to respect my elders, and to say “please” and “thank you.” It’s just plain courtesy, and it gave me respect in return when people saw how nice and polite I was.

A couple of days ago, at the beginning of the first class, a student runs in before the tardy bell rings and says to me, “Hey… Ms… Gah…” He still hasn’t learned to say my name correctly, even though a poster of my name had been taped on the wall behind me for the past two weeks now. “Ms. Gah… can I have a quarter? I need a soda from the machine.” Two things crossed my mind as he said this: a) he didn’t say please, b) I’m not going to give a quarter for every kid who asks me. Do I look like a piggy bank? I immediately said no. I didn’t have time to go scrounging through my purse to look for change as I tried to get class in order. As soon as I said no, he said, “Yeah, you do. You’re a liar. Give me a quarter.” I insisted that I didn’t have a quarter. He insisted on calling me a liar and demanding a quarter. I ignored him, and he eventually went to his seat. Yeah… I’m going to give a kid a quarter when he doesn’t even say please, and then insults me by calling me a liar. Little snot.

Random thought #2: I practically live in my car. I like my car. I spend about three hours a day just driving: forty minutes going to work, an hour going home, and about another hour or two if I have to do errands in between. When I drive home, I think a lot better in my car. My body is occupied, but my mind wanders. I get a lot done in my car—especially when I’m thinking. If only I can grade work as I do this…

Random thought #3: Mental exhaustion is the worst kind of exhaustion. I can handle physical exhaustion; just eat a banana and drink some caffeine (Dr. Pepper or coffee), and I’m all set to go for another two hours. But mental exhaustion… it’s an entire shutdown. I can’t think straight. If I can’t think straight, then I can’t plan a lesson or grade work, and for a teacher, that’s a killer backlog of paperwork. At times like these, I miss my old job where all I did was mindlessly and routinely checked in patients for their appointments. The mental exhaustion can reach further into me than just paperwork. I actually had thoughts about quitting this job. The physical demands are not a problem. The mental exhaustion was getting really negative. I actually had fantasies of getting into a terrible accident so I wouldn’t have to teach. I thought about going into the principal’s office and telling him that I wanted to quit. I’ve had thoughts about not wanting to extend my contract. The voice of my selfish side began to tell me that teaching is the ultimate act of altruism in which I sacrifice myself to help kids who don’t give a shit. I saw only the negative side of teaching. Mental exhaustion has pointed them all out to me.

I once said that failing is not falling down, but not getting back up. I am literally pulling myself out of a hole. Now that I’ve seen the bad parts of the teaching profession, do I give up now and quit? The English department does not want that. They know how stressed out I am; they know that I got a bad deal of a position because I came in late into the school year. When I mention I’m stressed, they say that I’m doing good and that they need me. Sometimes that feels good when they say that, but in essence, they just need an English teacher for 180 students.

Although I’ve been getting tons of support from other English teachers about the work that I’ve got thrown into, the support that I needed most of all came from very unexpected sources: my old roommate and the school librarian. Mental exhaustion hit me to the point where I couldn’t pick myself up anymore. I almost cried because I hated everything. I wanted to crawl into the hole and stay there, and for a while, I had that opportunity. My roommate sat with me while I buried my face in a pillow and his arm. Although he teased me, I found a hole to crawl into and he was there with me. The second person was the school librarian. As I rushed in the halls for class, she stopped me and said she was looking for me. I thought she was going to talk about books, but she expressed her concern about me. She said that I’m always putting on a happy and smiling face, but she also noticed that I’m tired and stressed and zombie-like when I’m at the copy machine. She was the first person who didn’t talk to me about English, and comment on what a great job I’m doing; instead she offered her companionship and a shoulder to cry on if I ever needed it. She gave me a hug, and that was priceless.

All in all, there are moments in life that are worth crawling out of the hole for—and it doesn’t have to be about those rude kids.

The Paradox Within

I feel I’m at a crossroad. Sometimes I think it’s still too soon to say such a thing after starting a new career, but this crossroad is suddenly in my face. I’ve been anticipating it all along, even while I was still in the credential program. 

I’m selfish and unselfish at the same time. Teaching is the career where both these qualities come out. 

I am selfish because I like my time to be MY time. With teaching, I devote my entire waking time to instructing, lesson planning, and the daunting task of grading and evaluating 180 papers and assignments from each student (well, a little less than that since some of them don’t even do their assignments). My time is no longer my time. I want to blow everything off. 

I am unselfish. I care about these students. I care about the quality of my work so they can be better individuals. In a way, I’m watching out for them and even a bit part of the population as these students grow up to be part of our society. Some of my evaluators have noticed that I care too much that I will devote my time to one student if that means helping just one to understand. I honestly feel that I can change this world with my profession, but that’s just not possible. Yet I still try. 

This is the crossroad: continue to sacrifice myself as I try to help these ungrateful and lazy students, or embrace my selfish nature at the cost of educating them? It's a bad thing when a teacher says, "I don't care," yet sometimes I feel that way. If some of these kids don't care about their future, why should I?

I hate this f**king nauseous feeling whenever I think about what I face the next day. It makes me not want to teach and quit all together. I just a need a bit of confidence about what I do, but each day I feel like I’m working barely to stay afloat and stay ahead. I want to vomit.

Typical day:
4:00-4:30am: get up
5:30am: leave house.
6:20am: prep for my first class
7:30-9:30am: 1st block
9:45-11:45am: 2nd block
lunch
12:15pm-2:10pm: 3rd block
2:10pm--? : I stay on campus until I feel I am finished for the day, or organized for the next day.
7:00pm-?? : lesson planning for the next day

Average sleep time: 3-4 hours.
Fuel: 80% adrenaline, 10% caffeine, 10% water

***

Everyday I feel like crying. Everything is just so overwhelming, no matter how much support everyone is giving me. Sometimes I get that nauseated feeling, and I want to throw up. I felt like that this evening as I drove home, and the tears started coming down my face as I sat behind the wheel at 6:30pm. Everyday I’m tired to the point where I want to sleep myself in a coma. Everyday I have to remind myself that this is what I wanted, this was my dream job, and this was what I trained for during college. Fatigue and stress are in control of my mind right now, so I know I’m not completely rational when I say that I’m seriously rethinking my decision of being in the teaching profession. We’ll see how I think when I get into the groove of things… if I ever.

Although I’m extremely tired at this moment, I consider it an early night because I finished a lesson plan before midnight. Although I could be enjoying some sought-after rest, I wanted to type an entry for my blog. I feel that this is the only time devoted to myself. I need it because I can’t sleep, eat, and breathe schoolwork. I need it because it might be therapeutic. I need it because if this day is going to end, it will be about me, and not about the kids.

Social Life: Where is it?

My social life is slowly vanishing. I can feel it. I spent all day yesterday doing lesson plans for the next week. Parent night is coming up. My classroom is void of my personal "teacher-touches." Two-week resignation at my other job is in. I still ask myself, "What the hell did I get into?" Oh, yeah... my dream job.

I am in a state of discombobulation. I don't know when it will end.

First Day Suicidal Tendencies

Today was my first day of teaching. To make a long story short, it was successful and disastrous at the same time; successful because I did something great with the kids; disastrous because seeds of self-doubt entered my mind.

Although I passed my first “rite of passage” with flying colors, I felt like a failure nonetheless. With all the pressure and the overwhelming welcomes I’ve received, I just didn’t get enough information about how things work in the school. I was a last-minute hire. I didn’t attend an orientation, I didn’t get the grand tour of the campus, and I wasn’t properly introduced to the school surrounding and setting. I barely knew the bell schedule. I was thrown to the wolves. I felt so lost, and no one was there to hold my hand. I wanted to quit right then and there.

But I signed a contract with this school. My soul, my life, loyalty, and time are theirs. I’m an investment. I cannot fail them. And I sure as hell won’t fail on my own choice.

Failure is not falling down. Failure is not getting back up. I was beaten today, but I survived. Tomorrow is another day. If I must take another beating, then so be it. If I survive, it’s all the better. What doesn’t kill me only makes me stronger… and hopefully, a better teacher.

Creative Brain: The 55-Word Short Story

"The Libertine"

"He was well-loved, and we shall all miss him very much," the priest said.

She approached his flower-laden casket, and quickly glanced at the crowd behind her. They were all there-- the ones he loved more than her. She stared at her wedding ring, lowered her head, and silently mumbled, "Thank you, God."

***

I wrote this back in February of 2002. It was an assignment I saw another English teacher conduct in his class. He told me to write one just for fun. When I showed him the result, he thought it was grossly wicked.

That's me. Grossly wicked.