The Ice Cream Girl

When I was ten, my father came home from military deployment from South Korea and returned with a strange book called “The Melting of the Ice Cream Girl,” which is a how-to novel for novice teenagers dating in high school. This funny how-to manual had a story woven between its technical pages about a boy who had a crush on a girl at his school, but she barely noticed him. She wasn’t a snob at all, but she just had a crush on another boy who didn’t give her the time of day either. She and Boy #1 were in a class together, so they actually became friends, much to Boy #1’s happiness. Throughout the novel, Boy #1 laments as the girl of his dreams longs for popular Boy #2. The girl suddenly realizes that Boy #2 wasn’t worth her time, and then Boy #1 slowly makes his move. He sends her a secret message “IHATCOY” which puzzled her; and he then revealed at the end of the novel that IHATCOY meant “I have a tremendous crush on you.”

That novel seemed to set the standard for my romantic ideal notions of relationships. Girls want the “happily ever after,” but the real work of relationship is after the so-called happy ending. The question is: do we want that post-storybook happy ending?

“The Melting of the Ice Cream Girl” ended when Boy #1 got the girl of his dreams, but there was never a sequel about their lives after. Romance novels are the same way. We all have this notion that love will always be a happy journey of two people who are meant to be together, but as I got older, that notion is blown out of the water.

I hung out with friends about two weeks ago, and we openly discussed our lives—career, latest events… and dating. Sometimes I hate the topic of dating. Talking about dating opens up other topics connected to that, like relationships, ex-significant others, and sex. I don’t have much experience when it comes to any of those, so I still cringe or gasp when friends describe the latest practices of the dating scene: hooking up, breaking up, jerks who play around, ditzy girls who sleep around, dishonesty, hidden truths, and other things that just turn me off.

When friends asked me if I had dated anyone since my last boyfriend, I said no and that I was “done with dating.” Immediately, my three friends cried out, “NO!” Their tone was strange: it wasn’t a “NO!” of incredulity and disbelief, but a “NO!” that meant “some guy will be so deprived if you pull out of the dating pool now!” It was really complimentary how they adamantly tried to give me hope that there is someone out there, but as I've said before: I don’t care anymore.

When I think about the previous relationships I’ve been in and what the dating scene looks like now, I realize that I’m too old-fashioned to try dating the modern way. I’m not ready to settle down, but at my age, I’m not a spontaneous mid-20’s spring chicken either, which means I can be quite boring. There are times when I have that “been there-done that” attitude, but I think that kind of mentality comes with age. I’m not into clubbing, drinking at bars, or wild parties—never have been—yet people suggest that I should find a man in those places. Honestly, I don’t think I’ll find a man who has anything in common with me when he’d rather party and I’d rather stay home to watch a foreign film or cozy up to Earl Grey tea and a good book.

Yet the pressure of finding a mate always looms before me. People constantly ask me why a BITCH (Beautiful Intelligent Talented Caring Helpful) woman like me is still single. I’m pitied because I have a career I love but no Mr. Right, as if my life is incomplete; but I’d still be pitied even if I had a Mr. Right without a meaningful raison d’etre; after all: a modern woman needs something other than her man. Why is life’s success measured by relationships? I could have everything I want, except the trouble of a relationship, but I’m considered a failure just because I’m still single. I know I can’t compare myself to anyone of the cleric, but no one criticizes them for choosing the single life. It’s not a waste when a man or woman of the cloth decides to dedicate his or her life to helping others, but when the common layman decides to do the same, it’s a horse of a different color.

Do I think about spending my life with someone forever and forever? No, not anymore—not when everything I learn about men ruins any idealistic or realistic notion I had. Do I even think that I’ll ever meet the man of my dreams? I don’t wonder anymore; like I’ve said before: I’m resigned. If the man of my dreams enters my life when I’m 50, so be it. Until then, I’m not actively going to search in a club or bar, nor am I going to put myself out there in the booby-trapped jungle of modern dating. If you think I’m just a bitter single feminist, I’m not. I’m a single and very happy semi-feminist. I’m very content with my independence and everything else that I currently have that fulfills me. I always tell my students that my life is ice cream: I’ve already got peanut sprinkles and chocolate syrup. Men are just the cherry on top. Some cherries are just too tart, too soft, rotten, or not ripened enough. At this point in my life, cherries are optional. The ice cream is still good without them.

To Protest or Not to Protest?

A co-worker once said, "shit floats to the top," to describe how some people are just not fit for management duties. When my students often lament that presidents or leaders are inept, in their target's defense, I often say that leaders do their best within the parameters of their job. People can promise many things, but when certain rules or limitations are difficult to overcome in order to achieve a goal, leaders will look inept because nothing has been tangibly accomplished for all to see.

I'm beginning to feel that way. As a department chair, my priority now has been to revise curriculum and defend my colleagues in the professional decisions we all make. We have many ideas and goals, and I had hoped we would accomplish them while I was department chair. But it's difficult to achieve anything when management conflicts with the ideas we want to try. In real life, I begin to see that there are situations that really demonstrate how some things are easier said than done. I feel like I hit a dead end no matter what I do.

When I took on this position, I just wanted to implement ideas and procedures that I felt would benefit my colleagues and benefit the students. While everyone in my department has been supportive of the decisions I make, there is also a division amongst us: those who want to make change, and those who just want to stay in their classrooms while change happens around them. I guess I'm a radical when it comes to my beliefs, and in the past two weeks, I've opened up my big mouth too much that my department is getting a spotlight of unwanted attention from district management. And as I step up to the plate to defend myself and my colleagues, I'm also getting a full frontal of an ugly beast called "political micromanaging." I hate being told what to do, but when I'm being told to do something just because some inept leader said, "I said so," it is even more aggravating and frustrating; they want me on a leash. I don't like being the mediator for their dirty work.

In the midst of all this, I'm teaching students of American literature--a body of work which is full of patriotism and protest and ideals of nonconformity that shaped America. I'm inspired by this and in my own small way, I want to protest against the district of how teaching to a test isn't really teaching, nor are students really learning. As I read all this protest literature, I also have to think about how much am I willing to suffer for the sake of what I beleive in. Am I ready to be hated? Am I ready to get sent to the office for constant reprimand? Am I ready for embarassment and vilification as my name gets touted as the rebel English teacher from that school? Most importantly, as a leader at my school, am I ready to bear that burden if my department falls down with me, whether they supported me or not?

Upper management is an obstacle that I have to overcome, and at this point, I'm feeling the limitations slowly surround and restrict me. That being said, I find it difficult to do my job--whether it's teaching students or defending colleagues or revising curriculum--when shit floats to the top.

Sad Revitalization

I find it disappointing and almost pitiful that most musicians and actors I admired or liked in the '80s are now fodder for the reality shows that plague television. What is the point: our nostalgia for our past, or our eagerness to see our idols fall?

This Is a Test

Six years ago I wrote about how my car guages the perfection of my life, and each time I think too highly of how my life is perfect, I get into a car accident.

As of 7:45pm this evening, I became a victim of a hit-and-run accident. My emotions are running a bit high, from anger to relief. I'm angry because the other [teenaged] driver said he would help me out, and then he got into his car and drove off. I hope karma bites him in the ass. My car withstood the impact; I hope he and his passengers get whiplash, or his car will break down, or he'll get into another accident (because he drove away pretty fast).

But now I am left to ask myself: is my life perfect that God or fate had to send me another accident to remind me of how life is not always perfect? I'm not upset that my car is damaged; maybe that says that I'm not upset too much about the impact of this accident on my life. I'm relieved I'm not hurt. My car is still taking beatings for me. I'm content. Life is okay.

I still hope that teenager gets some karma back at him though.

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.

Pushed to the Limit

There's a saying that goes, "The reward for hard work is more work. "

Two years ago, I was left alone in my classroom so I could actually focus on teaching, planning, and grading. I connected so much with my students that they still come to me as seniors when they need help on essays. I can write a recommendation letter for them because I feel that I have known them solidly for two years. When I see those seniors, I feel proud that I did a good job. I get so many compliments from other teachers about how Class of '08 has a bunch of talented writers. They are living proof of my success and hard work.

That was two years ago. Hard work led up to leadership duties. I don't feel as successful teaching this year. I know this curriculum like the back of my hand; I've taught it for four years. Because I have so much on my plate this year, my focus has shifted to multi-tasking for various committees, clubs, and teaching. Some of the seniors noticed that I'm losing my "edge," and that I'm gone all the time. The juniors hate it when I have to go to a conference and leave them with a substitute. My current sophomores totally lack in writing skills--and I feel to blame for that because I'm not there to focus on teaching them.

I'm not feeling burnt out, but it's bothering me that I'm not the sharpest tool in the shed anymore either.

When Class of '09 graduates, I wonder if they'll prove to be another success story or a mediocre one.

Resigned

I realized that as I get older, I get more set in my ways. This becomes an obstacle when it comes to relationships and dating.

As I observe young couples, from teenagers to college students, they have an advantage that older couples don't have: flexibility and growth. As these young people grow, they mold and develop their ideas and emotions around people and experiences. In a relationship, there is so much discovery about oneself and about one's partner. They learn to compromise and grow together if they want to stay together.

But as people get older and develop their own ideas and self-worth, it becomes difficult to compromise who you are when someone new comes into your life. This is probably why I am still single. It's becoming difficult to find someone who has anything in common with me. I cannot make someone change, and he cannot make me change. The only thing left is to argue about who is right and who should bend to the other's will.

It never bothered me that I was single for a long time, but it did bother me that it left me to wonder if anyone out there was right for me. I think I am resigned to be single for the rest of my life, and I'm going to stop wondering about Mr. Right. At my age, they are either married or too set in their own ways that we would never work out anyway.

C'est la vie.

Best Day

I have been a fan of his since 1998, and I never saw him perform until he came to Long Beach on June 29, 2007. Oh, baby! I was so happy to see him in concert--finally!

Men

Relationships suck, especially with men who think they know you.

Graduation

Graduation has passed and school has finally ended. As a teacher, it's always my proud moment to see a student march and cross that stage for the graduation ceremony. Although there are some students who do not deserve to graduate, due to their own lack of work ethic, it's more heartbreaking when a student doesn't march because of adult responsibility. A student informed me that he will not participate in next year's graduation ceremony because he has enlisted in the marines.

I have great respect for our military, but this one hits me hard: depriving me of a moment I always look forward to. I only hope this changes sometime in the next year and that my student will still get to march in the 2008 procession.

Rekindle

An old internet friend found me after a six-year absence. It was odd to see an email from him. Through the power of Google, he searched my name and it was linked to the website of the school where I am employed.

I used to depend on the high population of the internet community to remain anonymous, but search engines are suddenly making that impossible. Not that I was trying to avoid him, but it was such a surprise to hear from him. It's an unexpected reunion, and it's such an odd thing that could ever happen in my life: a guy made an active search for me just to tell me that he misses talking to me.

TA

Sometimes I learn the most sensible things about life from my teacher's assistant.

A year ago, he came into my classroom after school, needing to talk to someone about his girlfriend and the complications and hassles of a relationship. Before I started to silently scoff about "teenage relationships" and drama, I listened to him and tried to understand his problems. His frustrations and opinions made me reflect about my relationship with an ex-boyfriend and the similarities of my relationship and the TA's relationship--regardless of differences in experience and age. My student did not ask for advice; he just needed to vent. But if he was seeking counsel from me, I would have to think carefully before saying anything, for I faced my own hypocrisy at that moment. In retrospect, I finally realized that letting the ex-boyfriend go was necessary, like conquering an inner demon. I have no regrets now. I learned something about relationships from my TA.

Another incident arose again. He came into my class to vent about another teacher who is screwing him over about assignments, and he's a bit stressed about his grade. We talked again for about an hour and the end of our conversation was about hobbies. He said he needed a new hobby in order to de-stress, and as he slowly observed my desk with a sarcastic eye, he flat out told me I needed to get a hobby, too.

I thought about all the hobbies I used to have: mountain-biking, reading fun books, writing fantasy stories, playing the cello... He's right: I need to get into a hobby again, maybe even a new one, like archery, knife-throwing, or shooting. I eat, breathe, sleep, and live my work, and he makes it known to me all the time. Maybe it wouldn't hurt if I had something else to occupy and cultivate my mind besides the decaying quality of my students' essays. *sigh*

My TA certainly lives up to his job description.

The End of Teaching

In the wake of the Virginia Tech massacre, apathy and inhumanity swept across our campus. I hate to generalize, but why do the few bad apples at our school ruin it for everyone else? In the past week, we've had fire alarm pulled, an object thrown at a teacher, and a lockdown because of a possible weapon-threat. When I asked my students why they don't care about taking care of their school, one student replied that it wasn't their job.

It was the most heartless and apathetic thing I have heard in my life. If there is one thing that will drive me from teaching, it's the inhumanity and immorality of the students. I feel like I bash my head against the wall trying to open their eyes about ethics, responsibility, values, and morality. I'm trying to teach them life skills about what it means to be part of a community and a larger society, but they could care less. That attitude affects me. One day, I'm going to be as numb and cold-hearted as they are, and I'll leave teaching before my work is done.

I'm still holding on for now.

Grief

When I returned to school this past Monday from Spring Break, I was excited to talk about my trip to Japan with my students. Instead, our entire school was stunned when we learned the news of a teacher's untimely death. When I read the email, I held it in and did not bother to tell my students. Part of me did not know how to process the news and my own emotions. Eventually, I broke down during second period where my entire class saw me cry openly. I was no longer in the mood to teach.

Today, there was a short memorial service at the school. So many teachers and students were out to share grief and release white balloons into the sky. Everyone was crying.

How do you continue on with the school day after such a somber and heart-wrenching event? I tried to go on with lessons, but I broke down again, this time in my fifth period class.

I hate losing control of my emotions, especially in front of my students. I don't like showing my vulnerability, I don't like revealing private thoughts and pains, especially. Not to mention that it makes everyone uncomfortable when they don't know how to comfort you or each other. What is a teacher to do when they are still expected to maintain some semblance of normality and console others' agony when they can barely ease their own?

Surreal

I broke up my first fight today: two girls pulling their hair in a deadlock embrace. When I first saw it, I asked with disbelief to a bystanding student: "Is this a fight?" The student nodded, and then I stepped in to break it up. It was awkward because I never want to grab students like I did, pushing them, and even looking dumbfounded because no one was there to help me.

I was lucky that it was a girl fight. I don't think I could step in the middle of a boys' fight while they throw punches.

The Power of Words

Words have power. Power does not always mean a good thing.

Today, in class, I had an argument with several students about the connotation of words, "gay" and "bitch." First of all, I know that words like that are not even appropriate for the classroom, but no matter how much I try, students stick to the words they know. Forget vocabulary lessons; they don't ever stick.

Anyway, the students and I got into it about the offensive connotation of those words. They defined "gay" as "stupid." That's the definition they know, and they think that's the definition that is right and acceptable now. Forget the dictionary meaning, the historical development of its slang meaning, the connotations and its offensiveness! The word "gay" is inappropriately misused constantly, and I'm sick of it, as with "bitch" and "fuck" and any other noun that's used as an adjective.

I got nit-picky about it, and they got nit-picky about how English is an evolving language. I agreed with that, but the purpose of an English class is to distinguish slang English and standardized English. To teenagers, it's all the same.

I expect too much from the immature teenage mind.

"300"

I saw a sneak preview of "300" this evening. I loved it! I have never seen gore, blood, and violence so beautifully done. I'm not into the whole CG thing, but this film was quite an aesthetic experience.

In comparison with the graphic novel, and the movie does take quite a few liberties with character development, especially with the queen. But it's not the characters that glared so much differently as much as the context. When I read the graphic novel, the whole reason for the war was to protect Sparta from an invasion. While watching the film, I couldn't help but notice that the theme of fighting for liberty was so prominent; it was like war propaganda for Bush. The original comic was published in 1998--well before 9/11 and the Coalition. But to see the story in this time's context, it has a whole different meaning.

But that's the English teacher in me critiquing and analyzing things. The comic geek in me is just so pleased that 98% of the film did not stray from the original comic, and of course, beautiful gore.

It's been a while since I posted a stupid kid story.

This one is a stupid story and an offensive one.

His name is the Mumbler, because he mumbles in class. He mumbles ad-libs when I teach, and when I ask him to repeat it, he says, "Nothing," like a coward. Like a whining child, he has to have the last word in every remark made in class. When I'm teaching, he has to add something, even if it has barely anything to do with the topic. When another student contributes to the discussion, Mumbler has to add a comment.

To put it simply: he is fucking annoying.

Today was the cherry on top. We were discussing Julius Caesar and his physical flaws, one being that he had epilepsy. The students and I discussed epilepsy before because Simon of Lord of the Flies was also an epileptic. Mumbler declared that he wanted to have epilepsy.

What the fuck?

I told him that I did not find his comment funny and that he should count himself blessed because he was healthy. I went off on him after class and how I found his comment offensive; it was an insult to any person who suffered from a dibilitating disease or illness. He did not understand why I was offended until I told him my grandmother suffered from epilepsy. Then he suddenly had the "Oh, shit! I offended the teacher" look on his face. When I asked him why he made that comment, he said because sick people "have an easy life."

I had to stop myself from going on a morality rant, so I told him he was a weakling coward who can't handle life and that asking for a disease was a cop-out. What a shithead.

Am I cruel to wish something bad happen to him so he'll know how easy his life will be when he's a quadraplegic or becomes mentally incapacitated after a car accident or even gets diabetes?