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.
Thursday, October 31, 2002
Friday, October 25, 2002
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.
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.
Sunday, October 20, 2002
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.
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.
Saturday, October 19, 2002
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. ^_^
Tuesday, October 15, 2002
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?
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!
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!
Sunday, October 13, 2002
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…
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.
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.
Friday, October 11, 2002
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.
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.
Wednesday, October 09, 2002
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.
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.
Tuesday, October 08, 2002
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.
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.
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.
Monday, October 07, 2002
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.
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.
Sunday, October 06, 2002
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.
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.
Wednesday, October 02, 2002
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.
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.
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