Five Year Reflection

When I first started teaching, I never believed that I would have lasted this long. I wanted to give up because I truly thought teaching was too hard. Five years later, I'm still here. I can honestly look back at my first year of teaching and laugh at it; I can laugh at my immaturity and my neophytic perspective that almost made me want to kill myself.

As a first year teacher, I would get all kinds of advice and inspirational aphorisms from veteran teachers who wanted to keep me in the field and keep me motivated. All the while, I used to silently think, "You have no fucking clue what I'm going through." It was colossal adjustment--trying to teach something when I did not know what I was teaching, grading work when I did not understand my own philosophy about measuring intellect, accepting the fact that my weekends would never be truly mine, disciplining kids when I never had my own, and feeling guilty when I needed a moment for myself. In a span of three weeks, I was emotionally drained and mentally pushed to the limits, stretched thin in between that I lost my balance and made a decision to leave the teaching field. I'm glad I did not leave. I'm glad that I discovered my own strength in determination and pride: my pride never would have let me accept that I failed at something I have always wanted and loved; my determination kept me afloat in, what appeared at the time, Sisyphean waters. If I hadn't known these two things existed within me, I never would have stayed in this profession.

During these five years, I've learned so much more and discovered new things about myself. I may not have as many epiphanous moments, but I have rejuvenating episodes with my students, and every year, I know that I am growing professionally, mentally, and even spiritually. I'm at a point where I no longer wish to know my future and have the wisdom of old age. As I grow comfortable with my life, I've learned to be patient and embrace each day: the future will always be there waiting for me, but the acquisition of wisdom and experience is what makes life worth living slowly.

Watching From the Mountaintop

Sometimes I think I stand on the verge of a cliff, just watching the slow decline of humanity and the fall of civilization.

Or am I the only teacher that feels this way?

Affirmation

As the semester ends, procrastinating students have been coming to me after school to ask for help on essays--college essays, final essays, writing tutorials, letters of recommendations, etc. I was feeling burnt out as students asked me to read their essays one more time.

Yesterday, while reading an essay, two students conversed about the difficulty of writing. They kept saying that my class was challenging and tiresome because I made them write too much. In a strange complementary way, they said that taking my class was like a "slap in the face" because they didn't learn much about writing essays in their previous English classes. My class was a "harsh reality," and that my Nazi-English teacher reputation was almost accurate--the fact that I'm not a Nazi makes the moniker partially true.

And here I thought I was losing my edge.