2004

It's the last day of 2004. I didn't do any work that I brought from school. School will resume in three days. I'm totally screwed.

And the only definite plan is that I'm partying tonight.

Loss

"We Might As Well Be Strangers"

I don't know your thoughts these days
We're strangers in an empty space
I don't understand your heart
It's easier to be apart

We might as well be strangers in another town
We might as well be living in another town

We might as well...
We might as well be strangers

--Keane

Holidays

The only thing I like about the holidays is that it's a vacation away from work, even though I brought work home with me. It's just the fact that I'm not at the school which makes it very relaxing.

Other than that, I really don't like the holidays.

Forms of Compliments

I got some strange compliments this week. And to feed my narcissism, I want to share.

#1: A history teacher caught up with me in the hall and told me that he's been hearing great things about me. "From whom?" I asked. He replied: "Well, my students have been complaining that this [his history class] is their hardest class. I told them, 'Aww, come on. This can't be your hardest class'. As they thought about it, they changed their answer from his class to my English class. 'Yeah,' they agreed, "her class is the hardest!' So, you're doing a good job."

#2: I wore one outfit that most of the English teachers said was, like, the "official" English teacher look. What was I wearing? A gray knee length skirt, a black turtleneck, and long boots. I call it my S&M-sexy librarian look. But the other teachers thought I looked like a very sophisticated English teacher.

#3: My students from my sixth period showed me some love today. Since I trust them, I left my classroom for just a wee-bit (technically, students are not allowed to be left in the classroom without adult supervision--even for a minute). When I returned, they were still doing their work. After school, one of the students told me what really happened. "StudentA went to your computer wanting to see his grade and thought he could change it. But StudentB said, 'No... Come on... It's Ms. G.' StudentB says, 'Yeah... okay,' and returns to his seat." How is that a compliment? They're just good like that. And of course, some good discipline on my part. I must be doing something right.

It was a good week. Next week will be even better.

Sub Day

I took a "day off." Actually, I attended a conference at CSU San Bernardino about the ACT test. Because it was a work day, I had to call for a substitute. My evil twin, who was already stressed out and did not think he could make it till Christmas break, decided to call in sick.

Leaving kids with a sub is not always the greatest thing for some teachers. I felt like a parent leaving their toddler with a babysitter for the first time. I laid out explicit instructions for the day's lesson plan, I even thought about leaving my cell phone number just in case of emergency. I told my kids to be good and all that jazz. My goodness... I am a parent.

After that conference, I called up the twin and asked him if he wanted to go to UC Riverside and hang out at the library and grade work. I noticed something different about him that I'm sure his kids will point out tomorrow:

"You shouldn't have gotten a haircut," I said.

"Why not? I needed it, and today was the perfect day to get my errands done."

"I mean, you went out and got a haircut. You must have been really sick today."

Realization hit. "Damn it! I didn't even think of that! Argh!"

New teachers. So much to learn...

Update

I'm still here. I'm just extremely busy. Teachers have no social lives between September to June. I'm so ready for the holiday break.

So far, my only accomplishment--besides surviving these past four months-- is that I've finally converted my fellow colleague and geek compadre into further geekdom; I got him to watch the first DVD of Escaflowne and he actually likes it. We just hadn't had time to watch the rest of the DVDs... all those classes and those kids are in the way.

Comments I Wish I Could Put On a Report Card

1. Your child is a waste of my time.
2. Your child is such a f**king loser.
3. Your child doesn't care about his/her grade, so why should I?
4. Corporal punishment needed.
5. Your child need not bother come to school. No one wants him/her here.
6. Home schooling is highly encouraged.
7. Alternative/Continuation school recommended.
8. Birth control is highly recommended for your idiot kid to prevent procreation.
9. May I whoop your child upside the head?
10. School/Classroom environment would be better improved without the presence of your moronic spawn of a child.

Bad American

Some of you are going to be mad.

I didn't vote. I wanted to, but I couldn't leave school early enough to make it to my polling place (damn kids...).

My students were actually curious about who I was going to vote for. It's funny how they think that voting is as simple as counting ballots. They imagine that the card I punch holes on will actually have the question, "Who do you want for President: Bush or Kerry?" and that I simply check my choice. That's all they were asking me. What about the propositions? I don't know why those interested me this year.

I try not to talk about religion and politics in the classroom; those are ugly cans of worms. If I get too involved in the debate, I supposedly "taint" students by influencing or impressing my own beliefs to them, for which I can get into trouble with administrators.

FYI, I was for Bush. I have Republican tendencies, contrary to many of the Democratic-ilk of my kind, and much to the hate of my students who are young radicalist Democrats in the making.

Interesting...

"Do the chicken dance!"

I Used To Have a Crush On Him In the 80's

I don't know why James Spader has always been typecast to play smarmy perverted characters, but he does it so well in Boston Legal.

Feeling Guilty

If a student fails, it's because they are not doing their part. That's what I keep telling myself. Every single day, I give it my all. I'm trying to teach, I'm trying to be creative, I'm trying to teach discipline, I'm trying to help, I'm trying to call parents, I'm trying every thing I could think of, and the kid just sits there and still doesn't do anything. I can't force a kid to do his homework. I can't make him take notes. And then when I express a little bit of anger at them, I felt that I failed everything because yelling doesn't accomplish anything either.

It hurts teachers more whenever we give out an F. Students think we give them F's because we hate them.

The Next 24 Hour Meal

Pizza.

I've been craving it a lot lately. I don't know if it's wishful thinking, but I think pizza is the perfect 24-hour meal. You can eat it for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. I wouldn't really do that though because it's not really healthy. But I do crave it as an afternoon snack, like right around 3:30 when school is out. I have yearnings for pizza or anything with pizza flavoring-- whether it's that cheap taquito at 7-11's, or pizza flavored potato chips, or an actual slice of pizza. What is it about that pizza flavor that makes me yearn nearly every day?

Christopher Reeve, 1952-2004

He will always be Superman in my eyes.

Anagram

Teacher
Cheater

I'm shocked that the most hated word in a teacher's vocabulary can be created by the very same letters.

(And this came upon me as I was driving home.)

The Side Effects of Teaching

I lost my voice. I should be resting it and not talk for a while, but that will be hard given that my job requires me to talk.

How did I lose my voice, you ask? The class from hell.

Immaturity

One of my classes is beginning to frustrate me. I call them my "class from hell" even though half of the class is not as hellish as I make them out to be; after all, the other half of the class are quiet behaved girls. I'm not saying that girls are better than boys, but the breed of boys in this particular class just make me want to smack them upside the head. I begin to wish that corporal punishment was reinstated in California.

English. It's not the most interesting thing in a high school kid's life. It's the most hated subject in schools because it is the most mentally demanding as far as analytical thinking is concerned. And let's face it: kids these days have no endurance for difficult tasks. They give up as soon as they think it's hopeless. This, indeed, is a society of laziness, of baby-boomer spawns who genuinely think they are entitled to anything and everything just because their parents got everything and anything.

Most of all, I hate the stupid responses that kids give me that I can't seem to argue around or against. For example, some kid said to me, "I didn't do my homework... it's because I'm black."
What do you say to that?

The thing that bothers me most is when students complain that English is boring. I don't take it as a personal insult that my subject is boring or that I teach in boring ways, but what bothers me is their apathy. They'll sit there in their seat and just not do the work. It's like banging your head on a wall to get them to do anything. If they're going to sit in my class and refuse to do the work and not care, why can't I just give them an F for the year and not care, too?

You can lead a horse to water but you can't make it drink. On that note, why does California require minors to be in school? If high schoolers don't want to come to school, they shouldn't be there. If these kids are so eager to start working to earn their own money, let them. Let them see how hard it is to make ends meet on a minimum wage with limited work hours because they're still under sixteen and can barely drive. They'll all come crawling back anyway...

Sophomore

In Greek sophomore means "wise moron" or "wise idiot." Really, it does.

sophos, wise, and moros, stupid.

That's what I teach--fifteen year old teenagers who think they're on the brink of wisdom, but in reality, are just a bunch of dumb-asses.

Not all of them, but about 80% of them actually fit that description.

Terrorists Are Just Plain STUPID

Iraq is war-torn and deprived of resources. American people, as well as people from other countries, are trying to help Iraq by delivering goods, feeding people, and rebuilding destroyed facilities from power plants to restoring water supplies.

And stupid militant Islamist terrorists are beheading people who are trying to help Iraq. That's like biting the hand that feeds you, like refusing money that will help you buy food.

Terrorists=stupid people.

Trying to Make a Statement

On Friday, as I walked through the staff parking lot to get into the school building, a student holds a stuff cow with a sign stuck on it that said, "Meat is Murder." The student, along with two friends, shyly approaches me and said, "Meat is murder. Save the cow."

First of all, young animal-rights activist, if you're going to even become an activist, you better start learning how to use a proper aggressive voice because your meek tones didn't grab my attention. Second, if you believe in a cause, better research it. As the teacher behind me pointed out, "Right... save the cow. She was wearing leather shoes."

The strange things kids do these days to grab attention...

Laziness As An Occupation

There's laziness because one doesn't really want to do the work, and then there's laziness that one believes is the way of life. The latter is the mentality of most of my students. It's a different kind of laziness that is different from the former. The first can be easily remedied by calling parents or offering rewards. The second cannot be remedied at all because the student has been spoiled to the point that they believe life should be handed to them on a plate.

One of my students wore a shirt that said, "Perseverence: If it's too hard, then don't do it," and it had a picture of Homer Simpson. For some students, that is a way of life.

The kids up here are a different breed. They are extremely spoiled.

Anime Was Going to Be My Strange Hook

I thought these creatures were obscure enough not to attract attention, but it seems that too many people, especially teachers, know what they are. How disappointing.

Geek Talk

A fellow teacher asked to borrow some CDs from me. The CDs are soundtracks to one of my favorite anime of all time, but he's never seen it; he just likes the music. I plan to convert him before the school year is over. I will make him watch the series with me, but I can't explain it to him; it's too complicated. Imagine our first conversation about anime:

ME: It's this awesome story about a girl who gets transported to another world and her psychic ability is revered by the king of a fallen country. The king owns this super-cool mecha that turns into a dragon--

HIM: Mecha? What's that?

ME: Um... it's like a... machine, robotic-like... It's like a Transformer, but not as boxy or square-looking, but more... aerodynamically streamlined for...transformation and dogfights in the air...

HIM: @_@

If I completely turned fangirl before him before he's ready, I could lose him. But luckily, he likes comics and we were talking about Neil Gaiman, X-Men, Superman, Spiderman, JLA, and Star Trek and Star Wars and X-Files, and other random things that geeks talk about--conventions, book collecting, classical music, CDs, etc. I just have to introduce him to the world of anime, then our nerdy wavelengths will be in-synchronization.

First Full Week

This week will by my first full week of teaching. The first couple of days were just adjustment and introduction. This will will include instruction and real discipline for both students and myself.

Already, I'm dreading it. It's tiring teaching five classes a day. I kind of miss it when I used to teach three classes a day. Two hour blocks are not as exhausting as 55-minute classes.

First Day

Exciting, happy, funny, weird...

The day was totally great.

Now I'm just totally exhausted.

Make or Break

Today I spent five eight hours (five hours after work ended) setting up my classroom. School starts tomorrow. My room still seems bare, even after I hung several posters. I'm not going to sweat too much about tomorrow only because classes are about an hour long.

I'm so ready. But we'll see how tomorrow goes. We'll see if it's a repeat of my first day at that other school.

Back to School

This week has been full of orientation meetings and seminars. I have been overwhelmed with information, and words cannot describe how excited I am to be starting school. Today's orientation included a campus tour and meetings with the principal. Already, I think I am falling in love with the principal. And when I mean "in love," I mean that I love her philosophy when it comes to learning. This whole day, I was awestruck at her ideas and beliefs. She truly emanates a "tough love" aura-- a woman who totally believes in the heart of things, but also realistic when it comes to education and students, not just test scores.

And this school has a school-wide writing program. Talk about love! This is like finding love and finding out that the person of your dreams is also rich. I swear, if I am still at this school for the next ten years, I (me, august23) will implement a school-wide reading program and start a specialized writing class.

The more I learn about the school and its mission, part of me truly believes that this school is where I belong. It's like that feeling when you know that special someone is the one for the rest of your life. That's how I feel about this school.

If Only...

There has to be a DVD set of "The Young Riders." There's just gotta be!

The New Place

I'm up at my new place, away from irksome family, but sweltering in the devil's armpit. It's so damn hot up here. My apartment is right next to the pool, but I have no bathing suit, nor do I want to get any darker than I already am. My room is half organized, and if only school would start sooner, I could pack up my books and start taking them away to my new classroom.

That's right, I got a classroom. The teachers plan to change my schedule, so I can have my own classroom. I'll be teaching freshmen and juniors. Originally, I was supposed to teach sophomores and seniors. Can you believe that? They got me--a new teacher-- to start teaching juniors and seniors. Never would that happen in San Diego.

Hyped!

I got the itinerary for the new school year. I'm so stoked. I'm teaching the grades I want and I get first period prep--which means I get to sleep in if I wanted. The only crappy thing: I don't have my own classroom, so I'm traveling to four different rooms. Sucks to be the new teacher!

Lana Is a Tease

After watching numerous episodes of Smallville, I'm slowly becoming irked by the character of Lana Lang. I have nothing against Kristin Kruek. Kristin is okay, but the writers have completely created a tease.

From my understanding of the Superman comics, Lana was the girl that Clark desired from afar. She was unattainable. In the series, seeing Clark and Lana become good friends, date, break up, and still be friends seems plausible. But we all know that Clark will never get Lana, and even though he may still have deep feelings for her, he keeps his distance. Lana, on the other hand, seems to be the one who can't get over Clark. Lana was Miss Popular in high school--a cheerleader dating the star quarterback and hanging with the popular crowd. She can have any guy she wants--as proven by episodes where several guys have asked her out. So why does she suddenly want Clark, a guy she barely noticed in high school--a guy, according to the comics, hardly cared about.

She, too, has a fixation on Clark. Always, she's prodding him about wanting to know the truth; always whenever she's in trouble, she looks to Clark; always when he rescues her, she prods in some indirect manner about why they are not together. Always she has to ask "do you love me?" As if his numerous rescues didn't answer her question already! She tortures Clark. She offers herself to him when he's trying to keep his distance and move on. She pleads with him with her eyes when he rejects her. This is not the unattainable distant Lana from afar of the original comics anymore, but a new "you're-in-my-face-Lana."

In other melodramas, when a couple breaks up even though they still love each other, they still go their separate ways. They get together eventually, but only after some dire and drastic episode which leads them to admit their love and finally be happy. How many dire and drastic episodes do Clark and Lana need? I know that the creators of Smallville are only posing these storylines as a hypothetical and substory to the original comics, but I don't find a continuum anymore. When Clark grows up to become a journalist, he can't mope around longing for Lana as if he never had her, as if she were the girl he could have had. He had more than several chances to be with her. And he can't argue that he couldn't be with her because he could never tell her the truth about himself--that has become his own issue. He has no one to blame but himself if he loses her. As a character, Lana has proven that she is reliable and maybe even keep a weighty secret, such as Clark's true identity. She's been in several situations where she had chances to witness Clark's powers that any person with a brain can put two and two together. If it were Chloe, she would have figured it out by now.

Thank God, Lois is coming in next season.

So Much Junk!

I didn't stay in my new apartment after I moved my stuff up there. I decided to come back home to clean out my old room. I even rearranged the desk. As I reshelve the books, sort the files and papers I've collected, I realized how much junk I've collected over the years. And I don't mean those tiny sentimental souvenirs, but other things. Being a teacher, I never noticed I amassed a large collection of blank notebooks and slips of paper with notes on them.

I went through the desk drawers and I started sifting through the trash and whatnot that's been sitting inside there. I donated one whole box of books and half a box of clothes and purses, and I'm still moving other things up to my new place. The only thing holding me back now is the desk junk on my floor.

But once everything is clean, I'm going to feel a big weight lift off my shoulders. I won't collect shit like that again and let it accumlate in my new apartment. I've learned an important lesson since my return from Japan: less is good.

Inland Empire or Bust!

Moving is a bitch... even with a U-Haul.

Men and Sports

As I watch the scoreboards for the BF's favorite football and baseball teams, sometimes I think this might give people the impression that I like those teams, too, because those are the only teams that I pay attention to. The more I look at the numbers that distinguish the winners from the losers, the more I wish I had some sort of ammo to email the BF and tell him that his teams are losing against my teams. The thing this: I don't have any favorite teams. My emails would be that much more fiery and interesting if I could just add a bit of "neener neener neener."

I admit that I had fun watching Super Bowl 2003. And it is kind of fun to watch his teams lose only to see him get moody.

Pictures, Anyone?

Just testing

Reasons Why I'm Happy To Be Moving Out Soon

• I can't stand it when my sister is downloading 25-minute anime episodes on a dial-up network.
• My sister is a drama queen when she's home, and I can't stand her loud "pay-attention-to-me" drama voice... especially when she's watching a DVD and she makes running comments to the air. She demands attention even when no one is there.
• My mother is too emotional to the point where I can't argue reasonably without her resorting to, "You hurt my feelings" as a way for her to tell me to just shut up and let her have the last point.
• I can't stand it when my parents are up past midnight watching TV while I'm reading quietly in my room, and then they come in to tell me why I'm not asleep yet. Why aren't they?
• My mom can't do anything by herself and she needs one of us to accompany her at all times, especially when doing errands.
• My mother keeps telling me to clean up my room. What's the point of cleaning it when I'm trying to move out?
• I admit I'm a completely selfish bitch, but I don't demand much except that I be left alone... which in this house, you're made to feel guilty about.
• My father's growing interest in new age music is starting to grate.
• That damn Filipino channel is beyond over-the-line fucking annoying.
• Being holed up with my family is like being forced to endure a painful family vacation.
• I have no privacy whatsoever.

Don't get me wrong: I like my family, but even my tolerance and patience have their limits. I thought that having one last month would be enough of a vacation, but if I had known staying at home for the last month would be this irritable, I would have made an effort to move out at the beginning of the month. Then I'd be at my new place by the end of the first week of August and would have had three weeks of absolute silence--my idea of a true vacation. Instead, I'm moving out this Friday and will only have about a week and a half of a true vacation before my new job begins.

Regrets are annoying.

Strange Link

I like Benno Fuhrman, and as I was doing a Google search on him, I came upon the Bob the Angry Flower website. My jaw almost dropped, for I had bought two comics and a poster from the creator of Bob the Angry Flower, Stephen Notley himself (and he autographed it!), at the San Diego Comic Convention last month. He did a review of "The Order," which I had recently seen on DVD two weeks ago. I still have mixed feelings about that movie, to which Stephen Notley, pretty much summed up my own feelings.

The only thing that puzzled me about "The Order" was the title. I felt it was misleading because it didn't fit the movie.

But Benno was still cute.

Quite Intellectual

I started playing poker. I never knew how much it's similar to chess-- in a thinking way, from betting, bluffing, planning, and coming up with strategies. A friend of mine actually plays pool, and when I watch her play, I'm doing the thinking thing again.

I should get into more thinking games... pool, poker, golf...

And I won five bucks tonight. Small dough, but I daresay that's pretty good for my first time.

Superstition

There's a Filipino superstition that if you dream of your teeth falling out, then someone is going to die.

I had a nap this afternoon, in which I dreamt of all my teeth in the back of my mouth, just started falling out as I sat in a meeting on the first day of school at my new job. I went to the bathroom as my teeth fell out one by one into the sink. They jingled like brittle porcelain with their sharp roots still intact.

I wonder if each tooth that fell out of my mouth signifies one person's death, of if the number of teeth is insignificant to the number of people who might die. Morbid thoughts indeed.

Too Cheesy For Me

Last night I watched Dario Argento's "The Phantom of the Opera." I was kind of disappointed; the phantom wasn't even disfigured. Julian Sands is too handsome to be the Phantom, and he shouldn't have sported long hair. For some reason, long hair really displayed his extremely pointy nose.

Pain

"A Knight's Tale" is the most painful movie ever to watch.

Those Kids...

In class today, the students and I were discussing one of Shakespeare's sonnets, "Sonnet 144," about a love triangle. The couplet at the end of this sonnet is as follows:

Yet this shall I ne'er know, but live in doubt,
Till my bad angel fire my good one out.

Vacation is Nigh!

I'm so ready for summer school to be over.

It's depressing being an English teacher sometimes. English teachers--the core of any school-- get blamed if a student can't read, if a student can't speak English properly, if a student can't understand, if a student can't properly analyze, if a student can't write, if a student can't spell... All these little things are the heart of literacy, of functioning independently, of problem-solving, of thinking. If a student can't do these things, he or she ends up failing in all the other subjects.

It hurts to teach English. It depresses me when I listen to a student read aloud and he can't even pronounce he word "tonight" correctly. It frustrates me that students think that answers are explicitly written and given, and they want me to tell them the answers if they can't find them in the book. It almost angers me when students just sit in class and say, "I don't understand" or "I don't know," but in reality, they are not even trying, nor do they want to because they are too lazy to do difficult tasks that require extra effort. They don't realize that they're in a never-ending cycle: they hate reading, so their reading skills will never improve. They can't spell, they use all kinds of words incorrectly, like using nouns and adjectives as verbs; they don't care about the comments I leave on their work because I'll always find the same errors on the rest of their schoolwork... all these problems can be fixed if they just expose themselves to reading more often.

Trying to teach the youth of today is like trying to drive a nail through steel. It all seems futile, and I'm getting frustrated.

Finally!

I kicked out Hormonal Loser from class today. He just wasn't doing anything and hanging around for the last week is not going to do any good for him. After I kicked him out, he comes back--nearly two hours later-- to try and beg to get into class again. He caught me just as I was leaving and we discussed his behavior in front of the principal and the secretary--who both already know about his stunning record. They agreed with me: Hormonal Loser is out.

My last week of summer school should be heaven now.

A Reason to Live

As a friend aptly described his four-day vacation just to attend the San Diego Comic Convention as his Ramadan, I must agree with him that a geek fest of gargantuan proportions is a well-worthy reason to endure  a typical San Diego heatwave.  Crowds get bigger and bigger every year. Geekiness is a popular trend now. I remember a time when all the stuff I used to like was obscure, and it made me (and the rare people who also knew) feel that we were some part of elite club with secret eyes that knew what to look out for. Nowadays, everything is trendy, everything is popular, everything is accessible to the point where hardcore fans, like myself, are just disappointed by the quality of mass merchandising.

I've been attending the Comic-Con for ten years now. Sometimes I still can't believe that I faithfully attend this event every year. I thought I would have outgrown it by now. I'm not into anime as much as I used to be, I'm not reading several comics at one time like I used to, and I'm not an avid collector of junk.  Why do I still go? Why do I endure the B.O. of fanboys who neglect their hygiene? Why do I torture my eyes by looking upon scantily-clad fat girls who think they have a size-three-action-figure body? Why are there so many people dressed as Klingons and Storm Troopers? Why are there so many boys with a samurai fantasy? And why do some girls think that being a fag-hag is cool?

Imagination has no limits, but for some, there is that sad state of not knowing where the boundaries of reality are. Every time I go to the Con, I have to prepare myself for the sheer horror of being around people who embrace the freakdom they feel is their "true identity."  They're fuckin' funny to watch.

Pet Peeves

1. Life as a teacher would be so easy if I could just fail all the students who don't do shit in my class.
2. I hate kids who think they're gangsters and try to be "black." What a bunch of wannabes.
3. Sometimes I don't like the kids who think that just because I'm a teacher, they think I'm supposed to be smart and infallible.
4. I hate the kids who think I'm their friend and that I'll give them hook-ups or special attention.
5. I hate lazy kids. My job is to teach. Their job is to learn. I'm not supposed to do every damn little thing for them.
6. Smart-alecky kids need to learn restraint and respect.
7. Hip-huggers need to get out of style soon.

Working Seven Days A Week

I wish I was at that point in my career where I don't have to spend my weekends doing lesson plans. The only thing I want to do on a weekend is enter grades, which should only take an hour of my time.
 
Thinking too much can be physically draining.

Right after typing my previous entry, I read this: Medicare Scraps Old Policy on Obesity.
 

Medicare is discarding its policy that obesity is not a disease, potentially throwing open the door for millions of overweight Americans to make medical claims for treatments such as stomach surgery and diet programs.

 
Our taxes paying for fat people's poor decisions. Lay off the food so Americans won't have to spend millions of dollars on liposuction surgeries. Damn you...
 

I'm a Bitchin' Teacher

What is it with people today who think that kids, especially teens, need to be sheltered from the real world? There are times when I think I can lose my job because I’m blunt with the truth and cold-hearted and uncompromising when it comes to education.
 
I had a conference with three students today. I know I sounded like a bitch. Conferencing with students or even parents is still a tricky thing with me. Part of me sounds like a complaining nag, and the other part me of is a concerned teacher at her wits’ end trying to get through to a student’s head about the poor decisions he/she is making.
 
I have two problem-students in my class this second term of summer school. The first student was in my class for the first term and he failed it because he wasn’t doing the homework and he was doing poorly on all the tests and quizzes. I call him Hormonal Loser. All he cares about is sex, girls, his car, and money (not that he’s rich). His vocabulary is limited to the two main cuss words (fuck and shit) and their variations. He never disrespects me, and so I give him credit for that. He uses the swear words as the universal words to everything he says in a sentence. Example: That was fuckin’ cool. He’s shittin’ me. Hell no, mothafuckah.
 
After hearing his expansive vocabulary for the past four weeks, his shit got old real quick.
 
My second problem-student, I call him Fuckin’ Leech of Society. He was in my class the first term, but he gave up and dropped. He did absolutely nothing then, and he’s doing absolutely nothing now. He has a poor attitude in class, he’s lazy, completely self-involved, and not one iota in his brain about accountability or responsibility.
 
Of these two problem students, I hate the Leech the most. He still hasn’t gotten any of the required books for the class and it’s been four days already with homework assignments—none of which he turned in because he doesn’t have his books. It’s a catch-22. Today, he starts complaining to me:
 
“I don’t have any of my books,” he says. 
“Then go get them,” I reply. 
“But the librarian won’t check them out to me because I have to pay a fine.” 
“Then pay the fine.” 
“I don’t wanna pay—“ 
“Then find your books, so you don’t have to pay.” 
“I lost my books.”
“That was your responsibility.” 
“She’s not going to check them out because I lost them.” 
“That was your responsibility.” 
“I don’t wanna pay.” 
“That is your responsibility. Why are you even complaining to me? I can’t help you. Those books were your responsibility—not mine. Fix your own problem.”
 
What part of the equation does he not understand?
 
Sometimes I blame the parents. I hate the parents who think that I should shelter their child by not telling them the truth about the real world and their child’s responsibilities as a growing adult. I hate the parents who shirked off their own responsibilities and thought that the schools would teach their child everything from morals, values, and manners, and maturity. I hate the parent advocates of education who think that a teacher’s responsibility, first and foremost, is to be nice to their child. I hate those parents who educate their kids and misinform them about their rights, telling them that teachers shouldn’t be demeaning.
 
My realism and cynicism can be misconstrued as demeaning to some students because they don’t get it. Thank goodness there are a lot more students who do get it. They smile and snicker when I tell the truth, especially to Loser and Leech. Those other students see that I don’t “baby” or shelter anyone in the class. I don’t give out A’s; they better work for it. I don’t give out answers; they better find it themselves. I don’t tell them how to think; they should think for themselves. I’m a teacher—not a surrogate  mother or a maid. I’m not going to hold anyone’s hand and lie that everything will be okay because it’s not. If they don’t do their homework, it’s a zero—simple as that; none of that “It’s-okay-by-me.-I-still-care-about-you” nonsense.
 
Hormonal Loser, some time during class, asked me, ”Why you bein’ so mean?”
 
“I’m not being mean. I’m being realistic.”
 
Welcome to the world I live in, losers.

I Want to Give Up Already

First semester is now over, and the second semester will start tomorrow. I get a whole new bunch of kids, too. Right now, I'm sick and I'm trying to lesson plan. Having to think and teach while I'm sick is the pits. I predict tomorrow will be a lousy day.

Lifeforce

What is it about working with kids that they just drain the energy out of me? Why am I so tired by midday?

Thank goodness we have the final tomorrow. No more major lesson plans. And after this, I get a new class as other students come and go.

Three more weeks... three more weeks. Another bout with Knowles, Shakespeare, and Sophocles, and lazy kids. I am so tired of thinking.

Screwed

I made a couple of parent phone calls today to inform them of their child's progress in my class. Usually when I make calls like these, it's because the kids aren't doing good and they are on the way to failure--again!

ME: "Please make sure that he/she is doing the homework every night."

PARENT: (pause...) "Homework? He/She says they never have homework..."

ME: (twitch) "Would you like me to email you the assignment calendar?"

PARENT: "That would be great."

ME: "Glad to help."

Little snot kids...

Let There Be Light

I turned on bunch of light bulbs today.

I love my job.

"I Have the Power!"

Today was the first day of summer school. I was expecting at least thirty kids, but about seven were absent. That's good. It means less students to deal with.

The first day was outstanding compared to my first day of teaching ever. I had plenty of stuff to do, the kids (knowing that summer school is their last chance to pass the course) were well-behaved. I heard no moans when they saw the course syllabus, nor any complaints about the many quizzes and assignments due on the first week. No one grumbled about bringing their book everyday, a heavy ten-pound behemoth of a text. Not only that, not all my students are staying for the entire six weeks, which means I could see some go and get new students maybe after the first three weeks are over.

It felt good... all that power and not one student brave enough to try and challenge me-- not when they know they can get possibly kicked out for little things. Summer school is strict that way. I'm feeling so confident because I already have old lesson plans and old things that I can use... and kids who have to be good and learn this stuff once and for all.

Power. Confidence. Happiness. Life can't get any better than this.

Shit. I shouldn't have said that; I might get into another car accident.

My Mind Is At Ease

I sat to thinking of my new teaching job for the 2004-2005 school year. I realized something about the whole hiring experience: they didn't hire me because I was Asian.

That put my mind at ease. I recalled my first time in the competitive battlefield of job-hunting. One district hired me because they were desperate. In retrospect, I'm okay with that now. But what I remember most was an interview with another district that automatically labeled me as "affirmative action candidate," which infuriated me because I don't believe in that policy.

As I think about the new school year that will approach in September, I smile to myself that the district that hired me this time saw me for my qualifications and credentials. The representative at the job fair saw my resumé and saw my "English teacher" title. They needed English teachers--plain and simple. When the principal interviewed me, he was impressed by my portfolio and teaching experience in Japan. I knew I nailed that interview. The funny thing is: I never filled out an application, so they were never aware of my racial status until they laid eyes on me. Well... maybe my strange name might have alerted them of my "foreignness," but that didn't really make them all the wiser.

During the entire process of applying, interviewing, signing contracts, and orientations, there was nothing about affirmative action candidacy. Nothing of the sort was ever brought up. No issues about minorities and my "obligation" to them. I was glad for that because I want to be seen as an individual, not part of the minority group. I'm an English teacher, not an Asian person for the quota.

Alchee (alkee)

I don't usually drink alcohol. I'm a lightweight and a sleepy drunk, too.

Yesterday, I attended the wedding of an old friend. One of the guests, another old friend who I hadn't seen in a long time, insisted that I should drink a little. He bought me a drink, and then another. After the reception, I went to the after-party.

Total drinks for the night:
1 small glass of champagne
2 glasses of mai tais
1 bottle of Smirnoff Ice

I felt a couple buzzes, but never outright drunk. Maybe I'm not a lightweight as I thought. Damn, I never drank so much at one event.

It was good.

An Eye For an Eye

First Nick Berg, now Paul Johnson.

Two things go through my mind:

1) If I were ever taken hostage, knowing that the United States does not negotiate with terrorists, would I be prepared to die for my country? Sometimes, I think yes, I would be, but that's easier said than done.

2) The other thing on my mind: anger and total frustration. What kind of country keeps taking hostages, and no matter how many times the world has said "NO, we will not negotiate," they still don't get the fucking message? I liken them to a spoiled child: they will never be satisfied no matter what is given them. Spoiled children need to be spanked. In this case, why can't we just bomb them already? I know that's harsh, but I'm saddened every time America's own servicemen are killed--endlessly it seems; I'm more frustrated when civilians are taken as hostages to be slaughtered, and I begin to HATE when I see or read of rotting corpses in the streets. Militant Islamists are beyond indecent and inhumane.

They didn't think 9/11 was enough that they had to keep piling on the woes for the American people. I'm wondering when (of if) America will ever seek vengeance. Those jihadists are all eager to go and see Allah; we should help them along. Kill them all in one go, and what's more--we shouldn't feel guilty because they all wanted to die anyway. And no one will miss them because they were a pain in the world's ass.

I'm so angry and frustrated right now.

Grammar Atrophy

I've studied grammar just to know how to write correctly and proficiently, but sometimes my mind gets boggled that I can't even think about grammar anymore. I was reading through a grammar book, and I can't answer one of the questions. So I pose it to you:

What is the past tense for can? (Not the can made of metal, but the can of "I can do this!")

The Start of the Teaching Blog

Summer session will start on Monday. Tomorrow is a prep day, so teachers can start doing lesson plans. I feel a little more prepared this time around unlike before, so I feel I'm a lot more ready than ever to get back into the classroom.

I am so excited about teaching again. I've already started my syllabus for the summer session (and for the 2004-2005 school year) and I'm working on lesson plans. My dad and I pulled out my old computer that had my grading programs, and I think I will install the testmaker in there as well. I'm so fired up with ideas, lesson plans, curriculum ammo, and books.

I like school. I can't wait till the real school year starts!

*smiles like a proud nerd*

And of course, I'll share my lovely stories of the [stupid] things kids say and do. You gotta love those.

Vultures

From Yahoo! News: After Julie McMurry's husband died last summer, Verizon Wireless told the Enumclaw, Wash. woman that she would have to pay an early termination fee on his cell phone contract. "I said, 'This isn't an arbitrary thing, I'd be glad to fax you a copy of the death certificate. The man's dead.'"

The Verizon rep said McMurry could either pay the fee or give the phone to another family member.

Ms. McMurry complained and so she didn't have to pay, but still... I can't believe a company would try to profit of a customer's death. What if a customer who had no family suddenly died, and Verizon tried to collect some early cancellation fee? Who'd get charge with the bill? Other Verizon customers, of course.

Parents, Do You Know Where Your Chidren Are?

Last night I joined my friends to catch the midnight showing of the new Harry Potter movie. There are several things about a midnight showing that my friends and I find more advantageous than a regular viewing: 1) no little children; 2) mostly adults; and 3) beating that weekend rush. When we arrived at the theater-- three hours prior to midnight (we ate at a restaurant nearby)-- we couldn't believe that a line had already started. So rather than hang out at the giant bookstore, we decided to go in line and wait with the other fanatics.

Fanatics-- not that my friends and I are fanatics-- but we do like the books. But the midnight viewing brings out the strangest crowds-- true fanatics, fanatics that were willing to watch the midnight viewing and dress up in costume--no matter how poorly made. And what was up with that Spiderman costume? Hello, wrong movie! He and his little wizard sidekick made absolute fools of themselves as they chased each other down the corrider. The gnome-sized magician waved his plastic wand around, "freezing" Spiderman. Spiderman would stay close to the pillars in a stupid "I'm stuck to the wall" pose. And no, these weren't six-year olds; they looked like high school students.

That's right, high school students. Last time I checked, I was pretty sure that San Diego had a curfew law for minors. What the hell were high school students doing at a midnight viewing, which would last until 2:30AM? High school students, who would have school the next day. High school students, who have to wake up at 5-6AM to start school by 7:30AM?

And their behaviors! So appalling! When the lines got crowded and cluttered in the corridor, they opened up the theater so we could sit inside for the remaining hour before the viewing. I saw high school students running everywhere like it was a playground-- even after they chose their seats. They kept getting up and running down the aisles. There was one young man who irked me so much that I wish I had a wet wad of tissue to throw at him. He kept running across the aisle and shouting stupid phrases and throwing stupid handsigns. I think someone shouted for him to calm down or something, and his fucking-ass rude response: "THE MOVIE'S NOT STARTING YET!!!" and throws up more ridiculous handsigns. What is it with teenagers and wild behavior? Just because parents weren't around, they think they can let loose and be rude without consequences? They only end up looking idiotic and immature. And then they wonder why adults never trust them?

And the girls. Why don't parents monitor what their daughters wear? Hip-huggers or low-rise jeans never used to irk me so much until last night. The wrong kinds of girls always seem to be the ones wearing them. What's the wrong kind? The fat ones. Those jeans were so tight around their hips, pushing up their fat only to make it pour out on top of their pants. They all looked pregnant with their pudgy bellies flowing forward like muffins crowning the edge of the cupcake holder. Or there's the overly skinny girl wearing hip-huggers only to reveal protruding bones. Yeah, like that's sexy!

The movie was done by 2:30AM. As we shuffled out of the theater, we saw more high school students from another theater waiting outside for other friends. Too many people were still lingering about outside the movie house. Why weren't the cops there? Why weren't the parents there? And no, eighteen- or nineteen-year olds don't count as real responsible adults when a minor is under their care. Think about it: a nineteen-year old will take full responsibility to save the ass of a misbehaving seventeen-year old? Yeah, right-- not unless they're related. It's every teenager for himself.

And parents are partially to blame. Why would they let their teenager out past the curfew law on a school night? A cell phone call away doesn't necessarily mean that their child is safer just because they can contact them whenever they worry-- if they ever worry at all.

You For a Day

I had this stupid idea when I got extremely bored one day. Since I had nothing to do, I thought about a "business" where a busy working individuals (i.e. you) can hire someone (i.e. a bored person like me) to do your errands for you. Hire these people for one day to do the little things that you don't have time to do, such as picking up your dry cleaning, picking up your lunch, picking up your kids, dropping off your mail, taking your car for routine maintenance jobs. You know, those little things that must be done between 9-5 before other offices close. We'll do everything you can't do because you are stuck in an office-- except housework and cooking because you can do that yourself once you get home from work.

It was just an idea, so don't call me.

Perspective

I found some old stories that I had written years ago, and I am thinking of rewriting and editing some of them, just for the sake of feeling that I completed them. The thing is I'm having a hard time writing again. I'm stuck with a very simple dilemma: should I write in first person, third person, or third person omniscient?

Until I solve this, I'm reading, rewriting, and recycling very sucky prose.

A Purpose To This Meaningless Ennui

I got a call today from one of the assistant principals from the former high school where I taught. He offered me a teaching position for summer school, teaching tenth grade English. Right on, Ms. Secretary who hooked me up! No interview necessary. Finally, I can get up in the morning without feeling like a lazy bum by the end of the day.

Disgust With Television

In one of those rare moments where I will actually watch TV, my sisters and I were glued to the tube to see who would win American Idol. I never bothered with this show before, and the most I've ever seen was this season where I saw two episodes-- tonight's finale being the second.

I was hoping that Diana would win. She had quite the range and I thought she had a pretty voice. Fantasia, on the other hand, tried to fake her range by belching out the vibratos to the max. My sister compared her voice to Xena's Amazonian yell ("AAIAAIAAIEEEEE!"). It was grating, and I can't believe she won. And Simon is just... I can't stand him.

I hate reality TV.

September Can't Come Fast Enough

The prospect of moving and starting a new job is getting me very excited. It'll be like going away to Japan, where I will explore a different community and a slightly different culture; let's face it: Los Angeles, Orange County, and San Diego have very different lifestyles with very different mentalities.

I don't know which I am more excited about, living away from home or starting a new job. I've felt like a "vagabond" for the past couple of years because, out of all my friends, I still live with my parents and worked odd jobs here and there. I'm a latebloomer. I can't wait to settle down with my own life. It will finally feel like I have something of my own.

It's Official

I signed my soul today. I'll start my new teaching job in the beginning of September. My sister and I have already decided on the living situation. Locations will remain anonymous though.

Guilty Pop Pleasure Regrets

I found my box of CDs in the garage. They were in storage because of the redecorating. As I checked my CDs and placed them back in the CD rack in my room, I decided to pull some albums out to listen to and reminisce since I haven't heard them in over a year.

One of my biggest regrets... Lasgo. I put that CD in the player and by the third track I had to shut it off. That's not the only CD I ever regret buying... soulDecision, White Town, and even a couple of Japanese pop CDs.

It's time to purge my CD collection.

It's a Happy Day

I'm not a sports fanatic, but I just saw a recap on baseball this evening.

Cincinnati Reds vs San Diego Padres. Padres won, 2-1.

I am a happy camper, yes, sirree. Life would be perfect if all baseball teams can just beat the Reds and all football teams can just beat the Raiders.

It's All Girly

I finally got around to changing the layout. It's pink and I like it. Of course, it'll take some time before I figure out the new template to put up my favorite links section again.

Remembering Emmett Till

When I was in elementary school-- I forgot which grade-- I remember a video history lesson about racism and one of the stories that my teacher told me about a young boy named Emmett Till. He was a young black teenager living in the 1950s who was visiting relatives in Mississippi. Story goes that he whistled at a white woman and for that, he was abducted, tortured, killed, and his body thrown in the river. His killers were acquitted, mostly because of a biased white jury.

The one thing I remember particularly about this story was of Emmett Till's funeral. His body was so badly beaten that etiquette would have called for his coffin to be closed during the ceremony. But his mother, wanting to show the atrocity of his torture and death, requested that the coffin should be open. People fainted at his funeral, and upon seeing a photo of the deceased, I don't think I will ever forget it either.

He was only fourteen years old. He never got any real justice. His two killers were acquitted and are now dead, but there is new evidence coming to surface that there are more people involved in his slaying that investigators are going to re-open the case.

I hope Emmett Till will finally get some justice and peace this time around.

Under Pressure

I'm up in Riverside and I met with a school district who offered me a job. I won't have 30 days to review my contract as they first stated because my references cleared and they are all set to go with hiring me. All that is missing is my John Hancock. I have a week to decide... just one week.

I was hoping that my first choice district would have contacted me by now, but I'm not going to pin any of my hopes on that now, so I am a bit disappointed.

While I was in the area, I even visited one of the schools, met with the assistant principal, observed two classrooms, and got a copy of the district's curriculum. I drove around the freeways and looked at the neighborhoods. If I were to compare the landscape, it reminded me of the far end of the 8 East freeway, near Viejas, where there are some outlet malls and a few houses.

I want to teach, but I'm so reluctant about relocating, mainly because the barren wastelands that are just mountains and deserts won't do much to heal my sanity, especially when I start breaking down.

One week.

Old Places, Familiar Faces

I took another subbing job today at the high school where I previously worked. I said hello to former students who spotted me, hung out with teachers I hadn't seen, and familiarized myself with what was already familiar. It was nice to see an old haunt.

One of my students pointed out that I have a habit of pushing my glasses up whenever they slide down my noise. I never knew I had that habit until she told me. She claimed that it was the only way she really recognized me. Several students from the classes I subbed gave me lip. Stupid dipshits. There are times when I get frustrated when that happens, but as long as I can find out their names and write them down to get them in trouble, I'm fine by the end of the day. I refuse to bring that kind of stress home!

On a good note, I said my hellos to all the administration-- from the principals to secretaries. I think one of the secretaries is going to hook me up with a summer job. If all goes well, I may teach remedial English during the summer for ninth and tenth grade. Woohoo!

Unhealthy America

I hear it all the time... kids with obesity problems, kids with diabetes, kids with high blood pressure. I have experience with kids who have bad manners. All of it... it's a mirror on American society. Kids who have bad manners did not learn discipline in the home. They think the world should just give them things on golden platter because that's what they're used to, never learning to say please or thank you; just a take, take, and take mentality. They are used to having food in the refridgerator stocked with soda and sweets. They stay in the house all day playing video games and playing on the Internet. McDonald's is easily accessible, an allowance is always there, and kids go about their lives because having everything is the norm. And the grown-ups. Sometimes just as bad. They don't have time to exercise, so they go for the plastic surgery or the jeans that remove cellulite. They don't have time to eat, they eat junk food on the go. They don't have time to raise their kids, they think that giving them money will make up for that.

It's sad when I watch TV only to find reality shows that exploit a person's need for an egotistical 15 minutes of fame. People just want sex. Dating shows are no longer abour courting and finding the perfect person, but more about a person's need to get laid. Other reality shows are about people stabbing each other in the back.

I do blame the media for all of this. I know that the whole of America isn't like this, but the media does distort the indecency to the point where I feel that I can't find anything good about America at times. America is the land where anything can happen, where people can find what they need, but it's coming to the point where greed and selfishness has become the norm. Call it capitalism or consumerism, but it doesn't always have to look so evil or so selfish.

Like an overweight person suing a fast-food restaurant, or an SUV driver who has to go to the gas station every three days, everyone needs to learn moderation and accountability. But everyone thinks those little things will impede on the normality of their lives. If you're fat, maybe you need to stop eating so much junk food and stop blaming the restaurants. If you have a gigantic SUV with two gas tanks and shitty gas mileage, you shouldn't complain about gas prices. Learn moderation, learn some common sense. And just because you can have it doesn't mean that you always have to have it.

Mood: Accomplished and Confident

I'm feeling accomplished. Last week I sent out two applications for teaching jobs, and I started a new second job this weekend for extra cash. I'm also feeling confident; I just got a response from one of the school districts and they're offering me a contract already. I still have to go in and talk to the people and get the details, and they'll give me a month to think about it. That district was my second choice... But hey, I have about a month to see if my first choice district will contact me, too.

My self-esteem is high right now, and it can only get higher. (heehee)

Sometimes I wish I can live in a neighborhood where there aren't so many wannabe-rockstars with a band. I hate hearing classic songs ripped to pieces by a person who just can't sing. My neighborhood is like a karaoke bar. It's pathetic.

The Answer to Life: 42

There are approximately seven weeks left in the school year. I haven't been getting many calls to substitute. I'm sure that teachers are in the crunch to teach their students in time for the big finals. No time for breaks, ergo, no need for substitutes. I need another job. I actually started doing applications for retail/sales-- bookstores, shopping malls... The thing is: I'm a teacher... a professional who was making $$$. I'm sure I'm not getting any calls because I'm overqualified for minimum wage jobs.

I'm stuck in limbo. It sucks. And I'm bored out of my mind as I linger about the house, trying to finding the purpose of my wasted days.

Reverse Culture Shock In Effect... Now

Today was my first official day of going back to work. Yes, audience, I started substituting again. As I walked on campus, marveling at being back in an American high school, I was also at a dismay when I started seeing the way girls dress. Did shirts gets tinier? Did skirts get smaller? Did low-rise jeans get lower? And those boys... sagging that you can see their boxers curve their asses. I hate playing dress code police. Why don't fathers check what their daughters are wearing? I almost began to miss the Japanese school uniforms.

Luckily, the classes I subbed weren't so bad... until the last period. Female culprit; her outfit: low-rise jeans and a black blouse baring a bit of midriff. Sounds and looks tame. In fact, I didn't even think much of it. Not until the very end of class when she turned in her desk and started talking to some of her classmates. She had been talking for most of the period, so when the bell rang, I called her to approach the bench.

In cold female to female honesty, I said to her: "I just wanted to say that when you sit down, your butt-crack shows."

She laughed. I don't know whether she laughed because she tried to hide her embarrassment or because she didn't believe me. Maybe she even laughed because I was just a substitute who had no real jurisdiction and she thought she was going to get away with it today. Or maybe she laughed because she thought she was going to be in trouble for talking so much and she didn't expect me to make a comment about her ass. She laughed and disregarded my comment. I couldn't tell her to pull up her pants. They were already low. I was so itching to say some degrading sexist comment. Must... control... myself.

And damn you, Britney Spears. I blame you for all of this.

Breaking Out of My Shell

Went to the job fair. I handed out 6 resumés! Now, I didn't just hand them out just so I can achieve my goal, but I gave them to districts that I seriously thought about teaching in. Not only that, I got interviewed on the spot by a school representative.

I'm so proud of myself. It's times like these when I feel I can actually conquer the world. I'm feeling more confident that I will get a job this coming school year.

The Psyche of Asian Submissiveness

There's a stereotype that all Asians are politely mannered and submissive, that we're such a friendly people. Maybe it's a cultural thing that all Asian parents teach their children. They encourage them to always do their best. I'm sure that non-Asian parents teach their kids those same ideals and values that hard work pays off, but I think that there's an element that is missing when Asian parents try to instill in their children those same ideals.

I could never actually describe this element... until now. It's that weird submissiveness psyche. I've always been taught that girls should never be forward, and I believed it was some age-old sexism that a woman's place is in the home; an independent and headstrong woman will never find a husband. A husband feels that it is his role to take care of his wife, and a woman who can take care of herself is a turn-off to any man who wants a traditional household. Believe it or not, this ideal is very much alive in Asia.

But I don't think it is much sexism as it is the psyche of being Asian. People from Asia with different cultures are at opposite poles with American ideals. In retrospect, I saw a lot of it back in my old university. And I'm seeing it more now in the job market. Asian parents only encourage their children to do their best, while I believe that Caucasian parents encourage independence. These two things-- doing one's best versus independence-- can alter the way a child will grow.

My parents have always taught that I should just do my best. If I ever failed, well... at least I tried. Those were always the comforting words: "At least you tried." Now as a teacher, I'm seeing it all over again. My Asian kids just seem to do the work, they sometimes participate in class, and they accept whatever I give them. They whole heartedly believe that if they do everything, they will get the best grade they possibly could. My Caucasian students are different. Why do they always challenge me? Why do they always argue with me when I give them a grade that they don't like? Why do they try to bargain with me when they fail assignments?

I took it as a sign of disrespect when they come up to me and argue their grade when it's not to their liking. But then I realized something: it's that very skill that makes them more competitive in college and most of all, in the job market. In college, I rarely participated in class, but all my White classmates said a lot. I begin to wonder, how much of their thinking has influenced the classroom to the point where it had affected my learning? I will never know because I never voiced my opinion and my perspective. I sat and listened. Sometimes I participated. I never argued about my grades even when I should have (like those shitty poetry and grammar classes taught by professors who didn't like their subject matter and obviously didn't care about seriously teaching it.) In the meantime, I've heard stories of my White classmates setting up appointments to see their professors during office hours, they loudly voiced their opinions in a lecture class, and in one case, I remember a male student arguing with a professor about abortion laws. I would never have the guts to do that-- not even in the privacy of an office.

And in the job market... while I hang back and politely introduce myself and answer all the questions, I see my White competitors taking initiative by making themselves known and heard. I came upon this two years ago while I was in the credential program. There was a job fair for teachers. I went and talked to some of the people and handed out my resumé. I made ten copies of my resumé and I only handed out three. I was intimidated at that fair. Intimidated by all the White people; intimidated that when I was talking to a recruiter, a White girl stood behind me eagerly waiting for her turn with resumé in hand; intimidated that while I waited to talk to a recruiter, a White person could talk for an endless five minutes to make himself or herself stand out from the crowd, saying everything from their name to other bits of information that was never on their resumé . They took control of their conversations, asking all sorts of questions. To sum it all: it looked like they were interviewing the recruiters. They took initiative.

After the conference, I talked to some friends in the same credential program. I only handed out three resumés while my classmate, who we used to tease as our "token White guy," handed out eight of his ten copies. I felt like a loser.

I've always believed that doing my best would always get me far, but now I'm thinking differently. Competing for a job is fierce and I have to be aggressive and prove to people that I am the best. Yet doing that is so difficult because it was never in my mentality to be aggressive. It's like being something I'm not. I believe in hard work, but I always thought it would pay off and I will get my rewards. In this case, I have to fight for my rewards.

I feel that that is what's missing in the dynamic of teaching Asian kids success. They are only taught that hard work is good, but hard work is just the basic thing. Competition and taking initiative are just as important. It's a mentality that is not really instilled in Asian culture.

I have a job fair to attend to this week. I may have more experience than those newbie fledgling student-teachers in the credential program, but that doesn't guarantee that I'll get a job. If there's one thing that I learned from Japan, it was that everyone saw me as the aggressive and individualistic American because I spoke my mind too much. But that was Japan; I need to stick out more here in America just as I stuck out too much over there. So, now I have a goal. I have ten newly updated resumés , and I better hand out at least five or more. (It depends on how many interesting districts will be there. I'm picky that way.)

Fledging student-teachers, beware!

I'm the Blonde One, and I'm All Right With That

Even though I'm a teacher (and generally stereotyped as a smart person), I can be really dumb at times. I admit: my degree and credentials only prove I am adept enough in the classroom, but when it comes to social graces and wit, I can be really clueless. One of my friends fittingly described that only in our inner circle do they actually find my naivete as a source of humor. I'm glad of that. I provide some enjoyment and maybe one day, their gentle rebukes --an oxymoron!-- will sharpen my soft-hearted gullible edges. In the meantime, I'm grateful that I have some friends who just let me be that way and don't point out the fact, nor do they demand, that I should be a smarter person just because of my occupation and academic background.

Up and Running

Ever since my return to Stateside, I've had a near-horrific experience when I discovered that the Internet has been unplugged at the house due to redecorating. I never knew how much my life has revolved around Internet-- from checking email (basic communication to friends) to routine paperwork (typing letters for job interviews) to mundane research (what district is hiring now?). I've wasted nearly three weeks doing nothing productive. Not to say that Internet is the only way to be productive, but it was the source of being productive.

Well, now that the Internet is up and running again... my days can finally start off properly.

Traitor to My Own Kind

When I was young, one of my sisters made fun of me because I listened to alternative music, a genre of rock and grunge. She called it "white music" because only white people created it and listened to it. It used to piss me off when she said "white music," as if it was a bad thing, hinting that I was "whitewashed." I argued once that she listened to rap music and pointed out that she wasn't black. But in my time, the majority of Asians in my high school were listening to rap, and her rebuttal was that it was "acceptable." 

Whitewashed. It's a stereotype, and then it's not. Ever since college, I hated this word and at the same time, I can easily identify with it. It's everything I am, and then am not. The first time I ever heard that word was in an old movie about Tom Sawyer where one of the characters was punished for misbehaving in school, so he had to "whitewash" the outhouse. I assumed that meant he had to clean it, so I always associated "whitewash" with cleaning and sterilizing. The other time I heard it, in its more offensive tone, was from my own sister. Just the tone of how she said it made me realize that I was different from her and the culture we grew up. 

My family is Filipino. My sisters and I grew up in America. In the place where we lived, we were surrounded by Mexicans, Filipinos, Blacks (African-Americans, if you want me to be PC about it), and some Caucasians. My high school was mixed with the Asians being the majority, but we never had much of an impact on the school culture. If anything, Black culture was popular-- everything from rap music, style and fashion, and language. My sister and I grew up around this, but she identified with it more than I did. She liked hip-hop and rap and R&B music and I liked alternative music. Simply put: she saw it as black and white. Maybe my sister saw me as an oddball because I wasn't like the majority of Filipinos at school who followed Black culture. 

I thought I found my niche in the world when I entered college. I was with people who had the same experience as I have: growing up in a multi-cultural environment. But college itself posed a different environment which made me want to get out of my comfortable niche. Affirmative Action was banned from campus, but its lingering effect haunted me for the rest of my college years. I went to college to discover myself and my limits and push my beliefs into ideas where I can develop myself further, and Affirmative Action was like a forceful protest of anti-whatever shouting to my face to believe their propaganda. Affirmative Action was a group of students preaching to me to be proud of myself and my culture and to support my culture by supporting Affirmative Action which will help me to support my culture. It was a roundabout argument which did not answer my lifelong question: what is my culture?

I have written before in past entries about biculturalism. It was my perfect niche. I am Filipino but I adapted to American culture. I felt comfortable with this because it perfectly described who I was. But living in Japan has made me rethink this. To the Japanese, I am not American because I am not white. But there are times when I don't feel like a Filipino because of the American ideals and history that I grew up with. Being bicultural means identifying with both cultures-- Filipino and American. And now I realized that I don't really identify with both equally. In truth, I identify more with American than with Filipino culture. As far as my Asian roots are concerned, I only know food. I know how to eat it, but I don't know how to cook it. Language-- I can understand it only a little, but I can't even speak it. And for cultural traditions and history that date as far back as the Spanish occupation in the 1500s, they are lost and meaningless to me. I can easily identify with American culture, but no matter how knowledgeable I am of American life, some people still see me as a foreigner because I am not white. Everyone wants to categorize. I am not fully Filipino because of my Americanized upbringing, but I am not fully American because I am not white. 

I once wrote that I didn't care about fitting into a category, but even after a while, I want to have my place in the world... without being asked those invasive questions about who I am and what I am. I have often thought of reintroducing myself to my own culture by learning the language, learning to cook, and having my mother speak to me only in Ilocano or Tagalog. I once thought about visiting the Philippines to reacquaint myself with Filipino people who have a deeper understanding of our culture and to participate in the daily lifestyle of pure Filipino traditions, but when I see Filipinos, I am turned off by their arrogance and pride. They don't like Americanized Filipinos, yet they try to aspire to be Westernized. The Japanese are the same way: they don't always like foreigners, but try to be Westernized. And even if they are Westernized, the Japanese still have a strong sense of unity and cultural pride, that despite Chinese and American occupations at different points in history, they have retained their core, adapting around cultural influences. 

Filipinos are different. They are fascinated by foreigners, they try to be Westernized, and in the end, when they become Westernized, they have an arrogant air about them which they will look down on their own people. I try to understand this strange mix of pride and disgust, from my perspective and from theirs. My aunt explained to me that 300 years of Spanish rule and then 50 years of American occupation has led the Philippines and the Filipino people into a state of confusion of who they are. After three centuries of submission to an authority that meant to rule and overpower them, and then freed by Americans who helped to educate them, but not really to rebuild their government, the Philippines are in a state of purgatory. They are trying hard to reestablish themselves and who they are, but are forever stagnant in arrested development while corrupt leaders play a game of power. Nearly four centuries of just succumbing to invaders, the Philippines only knows submission. They don't know leadership, and so they vote for actors who plead with emotions to be their future presidents. And for those already in power, it's a euphoria of fame and egomania. They think being on top means having their way, forgetting that they have a duty to the people first. Three hundred years of oppressive rule is the only kind of leadership that they know. So the people are forgotten. They have nothing left but their pride and whatever is left of their battered culture. They come from a country that has forgotten itself, so the people have only themselves. 

These are the Filipino people I see. They are left with their language and a small part of whatever is left of their roots. And when I see these people, they look down on me with condescending stares. I am an Americanized Filipino. They see me as one who has had a life of privilege, who never knew hardship or what it was like to be poor. Language is the only real sign of cultural loyalty, and since I don't speak it, I am a traitor to my own kind. They give me a condescending stare because they think they are better than me, a tainted Filipino, a "banana"-- white on the inside, yellow on the outside. And I return one arrogant stare with another. I am tainted. I am "whitewashed." I may not know true Filipino culture, but whatever I learned about my heritage, I learned from my parents--and maybe that's all I need. I am a traitor to my own kind because I don't have any love for my native country, and because I now fully understand the renunciation of my native citizenship--and I am glad for it. They look at me with loathing, and I return the favor. I look at those Filipinos with disgust because they used someone to get them out of the Philippines, particularly the women. They married someone who promised to get them out of poverty, and once they got out, they think they're better than the Filipinos who were left behind. And when they arrive in America, they still think they are better than the Americanized Filipinos who they deem to be tainted. What a bunch of hypocrites! But who's to blame them for that? The Philippines and the Filipinos were never uprooted per se, but our roots and our foundation have been stomped on, replanted, stomped on, recycled over and over again. The future of the Philippines is being built on shaky ground. The people reflect that: what is there to be proud of when one has to leave their country and try to be anything but Filipino? What kind of roots can one look back on when all we see is the end result of foreign occupation and brainwashing? What foundation do we build for our future when we ourselves embody the confusion that torments our country? 

I am ashamed to admit when I realize I have placed a stereotype on another person, especially on my own people. Time and again, I have been made to rethink about my identity and my position in a long history of personal self-discovery and its connection to my homeland. But I, too, have pride. Why should they have more right to label me without thinking about who they are? They are not any different from me. I grew up in America, and now they come and try to be American, too. I struggle everyday about who I am and the labels placed upon me. I may be "whitewashed," but I am no longer afraid to deny it because it's true. And yet the color of my skin constantly reminds me of my roots and family history and heritage, so I cannot deny that I am a person of color either. Not white, not Asian, but not in-between either. Unlike the other hypocritical Filipinos, I don't deny anything. But who's to say who is better than whom? All I know is that I have struggled with this since high school, and I will probably struggle with it for the rest of my life.

I recently got this email from a friend who I haven't heard from in a long time. He asked me how I was and why I was in Japan. His email seemed fairly long, giving me a quick rundown on his life and then asking me questions about mine. It seemed to me that he wanted to resume contact with a lost friend. We were good friends, and I think we still are, even though I haven't really spoken to him in three or four years.

So I emailed him back. I answered his questions, and I asked him more questions about what he was doing.

I never got a reply from him again.

Really, what is the point of sending out emails to people you have rare contact with in the past few years? Out of the blue, I get an email from a friend I haven't heard from in a long time, and when I send him a reply, we are back to where we were: no contact whatsoever. I'm not mad, but I was hoping to get a reply back, maybe even resume the friendship again.

If you really don't care, don't bother. If you just want to see that my email account is active and that I exist, just send some "TEST--HELLO!!" message. I'll send one back, and at least we made the courtesy to say hi.

Fantasy movies of the sword and sorcery variety don't always succeed in the theaters-- a rare exception for Lord of the Rings though. But what other fantasy movie had great success?

Dungeons and Dragons? Um... No.
Willow? Uh... maybe.
Conan adventures. Sure.

I want to scream because I just discovered that Elric might be made into a movie. I read the Elric Saga by Michael Moorcock when I was in high school. I love Elric. I always dreamed that maybe it would be a movie-- or better yet-- animation because the parallel universe is too complex for it to be realized in real settings. Yoshitaka Amano's Elric portraits are beautiful enough to make me think that Elric was made for animation.

Instead, I find this, comedian brothers possibly creating the fantasy world of Elric and Melnibone. I shall commence praying now...

Book Review: Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix

Five reasons why I like reading Harry Potter:
1. Hermione
2. Hermione
3. Hermione
4. Hermione
5. Hermione

It only took me three days to read. It was so good. What I really liked was Harry's character development and how flawed a person he can be. You think the main character of a book would be like a superstar, a goody-goody who can do no wrong, but this book really showed Harry's narrow-minded view of himself and how his "tragic me" mentality can land him in trouble. Hermione even points this out.

A new character in the book was Professor Umbridge. Rowling did a good job of making me really hate this character. I wish I could just reach into the book and strangle Umbridge and her "hem, hem." I loved how McGonnagall can really bite back at her with her sarcastic retorts.

And Snape. Who can forget our lovely Snape? I like Snape as much as I like Hermione. There's a scene in this book which really humanizes Snape as a person with feelings and a tormented past, not just a teacher who's out to make Harry's life miserable. And of course, I like Alan Rickman's portrayal as well.

As I read the book, I kept thinking of the actors who portray them in the movie. I wonder who will play the young James Potter, Sirius Black, and Snape... If I were an actor to play a part in the Harry Potter movie, I'd like to play Nymphadora Tonks (what a funky name!). I want to be able to change my hairstyle in several scenes.

Good book. Can't wait for the next one.