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.

Role Model Minority

The past couple of days have been a whirlwind. Yours truly is going to be a teacher after all. I got a near-desperate call from a high school principal last week, and we set up an interview on the first day of school. I don’t blame the school for the last minute detail work of recruitment; if anything, it’s the district to blame. It’s a fairly unorganized way to run schools—don’t hire until numbers come in. What is that quote? “Your procrastination does not mean my emergency,” or something or other. But since this is my first job, I’m on a crunch to make lesson plans and arrange something for the first couple of weeks. It’s now my emergency. 

Anyway, at least this situation has completely wiped out one issue that constantly burned my mind: hiring based on race. I was hesitant about going into the teaching field if recruiters saw my skin color as beneficial for their staff quota. I was automatically labeled as “affirmative action candidate” in one interview. What did that mean? Oh, yeah! It means I get special privileges because I’m a minority. This angered me. So what if I’m Asian? Does that mean I have more merit to being an English teacher than an English teacher who was Caucasian, or African-American, or Hispanic? Does that mean I’m a better role model for students—who for the most part at this school—will mostly be Hispanic and Caucasian? 

As one interviewer put it: it’s “beneficial for the kids.” In what way, may I ask? I walk into a classroom, and I do get a couple of shocked faces because they’ve never seen an English teacher who wasn’t “white.” But it’s only a momentary surprise. It wears off by the third day. From them on, I’m just another English teacher. Does the administration think that I’m going to impart knowledge different from that of a Caucasian teacher? Sorry to burst their bubble, but I was educated in an American high school. I pretty much learned the same canon of American literature that most English teachers around the country have learned. I’m just there to provide a different experience—literature taught by a “minority.” 

And who says that I’ll be a role model? Whether I’m a role model or not is entirely up to the students. If they like me enough and believe in my philosophy of learning that they find me inspiring, then I guess I’m a role model. But isn’t that true of any teacher? Ask anyone about who their role model was, or who their favorite teacher was, or even a life-changing mentor, and they will probably only remember ONE. ONE out of the numerous teachers they’ve had during elementary, high school, or even college years. They’ll only remember one. Now who says I’m going to be a guaranteed role model for a student when they have so many to choose from? It’s not even guaranteed that an Asian student will find me as a role model just because I’m Asian. If anyone is curious, I have two teachers who will forever be ingrained in my memory: my high school AP English teacher who is Caucasian, and my fifth grade elementary teacher who is Japanese (the best of both worlds, if you ask me). They both have similar teaching philosophies, and they both encouraged me to improve my reading and writing. Race had nothing to do with it. My fifth grade teacher and I weren’t even the same kind of Asian. I am Filipino. Historically, Japanese and Filipinos did not get along. It obviously didn’t apply to us. He was my teacher, and he was concerned about my reading, not my race. 

Although I do believe that there is an obvious power structure within the education system, it’s this same educational institution that taught me hard work does pay off; it's this same educational institution that has bestowed upon me all opportunities to get to college. In my experience, equal opportunity existed. Sure, my parents were immigrants, but I’m not the first in my generation to go to college—foreign or domestic. Sure, my people were oppressed—in my native homeland as well as here in the United States—but I have never been looked down upon because of my skin color, nor have I ever felt treated as a second-class citizen. 

Until now.

Although my ethnicity has defined a significant part of my life, it is only through a personal nature in connection with my identity and culture. Through my culture I have learned to respect all cultures and races. As for embracing American ideals, my ethnicity played a very small part. I don’t need to be reminded that my people are considered a minority group. What does that have to do with me? I never felt like a minority until someone mentions the word “minority.” It’s a word that conjures up a history with which I am barely associated. It makes me feel like the “OTHER” in a list of ethnic categories. It’s a word that makes me feel less than who I am. 

I embraced my ethnic background for the mere fact that it makes me different and unique, but I think this only to myself. I like walking into the English department to discover that I’m the only Asian amongst the Caucasians; I can be spotted easily for my black hair in a sea of blondes and brunettes; and I’m the only one in the lunch room with a bowl of rice every day as everyone else converses over sandwiches and pasta; but I’m not going to be the token Asian for the department. I’m not a representative for all the Asians or other ethnic groups on staff. I’m not a “model immigrant” to inspire others to do as I have done. To each, his own. 

* * * 

So, that was the fiery issue on my mind before I even applied to any district. At least at this school where I was hired, it wasn’t a question of race. I never even filled out an application until they told me that I got the job. They had never seen me until the day of the interview. Time was a factor, they saw my credentials and qualifications, and they hired me because they seemed desperate. Do I like the fact that I was hired out of desperation? That’s another question to ponder, but at least I know it wasn’t on account of my skin color.

Oh, you lucky readers of my blog. You get a treat today: a second post.

Anyway, I managed to stay awake for most of the day. I went out to do some errands, and oniomania decided to hit me on the way home. I stopped at Borders to find the newest CD by Paul Schwartz, but it was a bit of a disappointment when I heard his CD on the listening station. I like his "Aria" albums the best. As I wandered the store, itching to buy something against my better judgment, I came upon the DVD section. I’m not a DVD collector. I don’t even own a DVD player. It sounds reasonable to start collecting DVDs only when you actually own a DVD player, but I justified my purchase by saying to myself that my parents own a DVD player. They don’t have any DVDs though. I say it’s a match made in heaven.

So, what did I buy? Dario Argento’s "Opera," supposedly one of his goriest films. It was on sale, too, 15% off. At least I’m not an extravagant shopper. I rush home to pop this thing into my parents’ DVD player, and wouldn’t you know it? The damn thing won’t read the disc. I thought maybe that there was some regional coding that I had missed before buying it, but it doesn’t seem to be restricted. I don’t understand why it won’t read the disc. I wonder if Borders will take it back after I opened it. Serves me right for giving into sudden shopping urges. I almost got pissed. Luckily, I found the "Amelie" DVD that my sister lent me. I’m happy again.

It's my day off today. And I'm actually up during the day. If I can only make it without falling asleep, then I will have counted this day as "productive."

THOUGHT #1: I decided to change the template of my blog. The stone angels on the previous template weren't really angels. Besides, I wanted a links section. I like links; it's simple and subtle advertising.

THOUGHT #2: I feel like an only child. My younger sister has gone clear across the country to start her second year at college. I am the only one to keep my parents company. I have their full and undivided attention and love. I love my parents, but this sucks. I have no one to hang out with anymore.

THOUGHT #3: It's now September. School is starting around the county, and I feel left out. I'm not depressed, just anxious. My life has been defined by teaching methodologies, and I feel a bit restless that I'm not being put to good use in the educational community. Oh well. It's their loss. The world is my oyster.