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!