After attending a car show in town, I was sure to find a 1965 Dodge Dart, my absolute dream car. But out of 1001 cars (literally, there were that many), I only came upon a 1969 Dart. Wrong year and model. *sigh* I also came upon several 1969 Dodge Chargers, another hot car which I can totally appreciate as much as the Dart.
But while strolling down the streets in the midst of roaring engines and fresh diesel air, I came upon several models of the Chevrolet line that I just couldn't take my eyes away from--Novas, El Caminos, Camaros, and Chevelles. For the first half my life, Dodge has dominated my childhood, so I never appreciated any other automobile (until I started driving a Toyota). After that car show, I have to say that my automotive aesthetics have jumped a level now that I have seen what Chevys have to offer: I'm loving the 1969 Nova.
One day... one day I will have a muscle car of my dreams sitting in a garage of a house of my dreams... in San Diego.
Monday, May 04, 2009
Friday, May 01, 2009
Idiots of Society
After seven years of teaching (God has it been that long?), I have come across all kinds of students with myriad personalities. You think I've seen it all; but in comparison to teachers who have taught for over twenty years, I think I've only seen the tip of the iceberg. In my short teaching stint, I have come across three distinct types of students that I cannot tolerate:
A) The Apathetic-Lazy Student: this student just doesn't give a shit about anything. They don't have passion for anything, so they don't care about anything. Since they don't care about anything, they won't do work. Teachers ask themselves: why do you even come to school? I can generally tolerate this type of student because they have a tendency to sleep through class. They waste their time by coming to school but do nothing, so I'm not going to waste my time by encouraging them to work. They're usually not a behavioral problem. Why fix something that isn't broke, right?
B) The Genius-Lazy Student: this student is smart and intelligent and talented, but they choose when to do work. They think their intelligence is natural that it does not need to be nurtured rigorously. Deadlines and assignments are optional to them because they think they're above such tedious things that were meant for "regular" kids. They will do work only if they feel their grade is slipping. I hope their intelligence fades like an atrophied muscle, or that their intelligence remains stagnant as they proceed through college, because then they'll compete with students who DID learn and then they'll realize they're not really geniuses.
C) The Irrational Hypocrite Student: this student is immature when it comes to arguing or defending an idea. First of all, they come up with opinions based mostly on their own observations, so they have a narrow perspective on everything. And when I try to get them to open up their mind or make them see a flaw in their argument, they don't like to be proven wrong, so they'll make up some rule that only applies to them (because it proves them right), but the teacher is always wrong (because the rule doesn't apply to grown ups).
Although I cannot tolerate any of these types of students, I have acquired enough patience to put up with them. Two things can happen to the Apathetic-Lazy Student: 1) the student will eventually leave high school and slip through the cracks of society. They'll leech off their parents and become useless couch potatoes; or 2) some of these students are late bloomers, and eventually, they'll find something to be passionate about to get them moving on with their lives.
The Genius-Lazy Student will eventually discover that they're not as smart as they thought and they'll start taking college more seriously. They'll regret that they should have done more to be as competitive as a college freshman, and they'll realize they were idiots after all. On the other hand, a rare few actually become psychopaths.
Then there is the Irrational Hypocrite Student. I despise this student the most. I hate narrow-mindedness, I hate hypocrisy, I hate immaturity, and I hate irrationality. Immaturity can be fixed with age, but narrow-mindedness and hypocrisy can't. Those two things can only be fixed with experience and education. But to the Irrational Hypocrite Student, education is only learning how to read, not learning to understand the world. Experience is limited to what the student only wants to know, not what the world can offer. The Irrational Hypocrite Student will not take the time to see what teachers or other students can offer; they only know their ideas and their opinions and everyone else is wrong. And when they can't win an argument, they'll resort to cop-out statements, like "That's just you" or "That's how I am."
The Irrational Hypocrite Students are the ones that go out into the world thinking they're smart; in reality, they are the true idiots. The rest of American society can only hope that they won't mess with the gene pool. Ignorance breeds ignorance.
A) The Apathetic-Lazy Student: this student just doesn't give a shit about anything. They don't have passion for anything, so they don't care about anything. Since they don't care about anything, they won't do work. Teachers ask themselves: why do you even come to school? I can generally tolerate this type of student because they have a tendency to sleep through class. They waste their time by coming to school but do nothing, so I'm not going to waste my time by encouraging them to work. They're usually not a behavioral problem. Why fix something that isn't broke, right?
B) The Genius-Lazy Student: this student is smart and intelligent and talented, but they choose when to do work. They think their intelligence is natural that it does not need to be nurtured rigorously. Deadlines and assignments are optional to them because they think they're above such tedious things that were meant for "regular" kids. They will do work only if they feel their grade is slipping. I hope their intelligence fades like an atrophied muscle, or that their intelligence remains stagnant as they proceed through college, because then they'll compete with students who DID learn and then they'll realize they're not really geniuses.
C) The Irrational Hypocrite Student: this student is immature when it comes to arguing or defending an idea. First of all, they come up with opinions based mostly on their own observations, so they have a narrow perspective on everything. And when I try to get them to open up their mind or make them see a flaw in their argument, they don't like to be proven wrong, so they'll make up some rule that only applies to them (because it proves them right), but the teacher is always wrong (because the rule doesn't apply to grown ups).
Although I cannot tolerate any of these types of students, I have acquired enough patience to put up with them. Two things can happen to the Apathetic-Lazy Student: 1) the student will eventually leave high school and slip through the cracks of society. They'll leech off their parents and become useless couch potatoes; or 2) some of these students are late bloomers, and eventually, they'll find something to be passionate about to get them moving on with their lives.
The Genius-Lazy Student will eventually discover that they're not as smart as they thought and they'll start taking college more seriously. They'll regret that they should have done more to be as competitive as a college freshman, and they'll realize they were idiots after all. On the other hand, a rare few actually become psychopaths.
Then there is the Irrational Hypocrite Student. I despise this student the most. I hate narrow-mindedness, I hate hypocrisy, I hate immaturity, and I hate irrationality. Immaturity can be fixed with age, but narrow-mindedness and hypocrisy can't. Those two things can only be fixed with experience and education. But to the Irrational Hypocrite Student, education is only learning how to read, not learning to understand the world. Experience is limited to what the student only wants to know, not what the world can offer. The Irrational Hypocrite Student will not take the time to see what teachers or other students can offer; they only know their ideas and their opinions and everyone else is wrong. And when they can't win an argument, they'll resort to cop-out statements, like "That's just you" or "That's how I am."
The Irrational Hypocrite Students are the ones that go out into the world thinking they're smart; in reality, they are the true idiots. The rest of American society can only hope that they won't mess with the gene pool. Ignorance breeds ignorance.
Thursday, April 30, 2009
Bad as Twilight
While cleaning up some notebooks in my home office, I came upon a black binder with lots of organized paper. I thought it was an old college reader with articles of educational importance. But upon opening this notebook, I found an old "novel" I had written when I was in high school.
I have to confess: I was into that whole vampire thing during my junior year, but my nocturnal fix was satiated by the great Anne Rice and the original Bram Stoker. I loved the mythology that they created to give their vampires a believable human quality: morality and love. There is a beautiful irony about an evil creature who can be moral. People are like that, too: evil by nature because we are selfish, but trying so hard to be good and resist the temptation to engage in selfish acts. That was the fascination I had with vampires: their reflection on humanity, when they themselves are not considered human.
As I read my old high school novella, I cringe at the vampire I created, a dark creature wallowing in grief and guilt over sins she commits. It's so emo that I'm ashamed to say that I wrote this crap. I was no Anne Rice or Bram Stoker. At age seventeen, my writing was comparable to Stephanie Meyer. Yes... my writing was that bad.
The philosophical irony that I tried to embody only eluded me. I really should rewrite this novel. After a decade, I think my writing has obviously matured. And I know I can do better: I'm older and wiser, and I've seen much more of this irony that humans have.
I have to confess: I was into that whole vampire thing during my junior year, but my nocturnal fix was satiated by the great Anne Rice and the original Bram Stoker. I loved the mythology that they created to give their vampires a believable human quality: morality and love. There is a beautiful irony about an evil creature who can be moral. People are like that, too: evil by nature because we are selfish, but trying so hard to be good and resist the temptation to engage in selfish acts. That was the fascination I had with vampires: their reflection on humanity, when they themselves are not considered human.
As I read my old high school novella, I cringe at the vampire I created, a dark creature wallowing in grief and guilt over sins she commits. It's so emo that I'm ashamed to say that I wrote this crap. I was no Anne Rice or Bram Stoker. At age seventeen, my writing was comparable to Stephanie Meyer. Yes... my writing was that bad.
The philosophical irony that I tried to embody only eluded me. I really should rewrite this novel. After a decade, I think my writing has obviously matured. And I know I can do better: I'm older and wiser, and I've seen much more of this irony that humans have.
Saturday, April 25, 2009
The End
The school year is not officially over, but I can officially say that this has been the worst year ever. I'm ready for it to end already, and June cannot come soon enough.
As I run through the events that defined this school year from the rest, I dread that I have to be here again for the next school year. I become more desperate to leave Riverside and go back home to San Diego. Another year of ghetto fabulous students and lifestyle.
The countdown begins. I need the summer to rejuvenate... badly.
As I run through the events that defined this school year from the rest, I dread that I have to be here again for the next school year. I become more desperate to leave Riverside and go back home to San Diego. Another year of ghetto fabulous students and lifestyle.
The countdown begins. I need the summer to rejuvenate... badly.
Friday, April 03, 2009
It's All In the Timing
My taxes were completed yesterday. It's one of those years when I have to pay up to the government. *sigh*
As the accountant did my taxes, she informed me of this "great opportunity" if I am in the market to buy a house. Instantly, I began to daydream of owning a small piece of property, back in my hometown of San Diego... maybe in a suburban area similar to where I grew up; or maybe some place far from my parents, like Mira Mesa or further north. Oh, the possibilities...
But, alas... my occupation is inextricably linked to the state budget. And with teachers being laid off, now is just not a good time for me to think about looking for a new position in my hometown of the now unattainable San Diego county. Houses abound, but teaching jobs aren't.
Damn the economy. My dreams are that much further away from me.
As the accountant did my taxes, she informed me of this "great opportunity" if I am in the market to buy a house. Instantly, I began to daydream of owning a small piece of property, back in my hometown of San Diego... maybe in a suburban area similar to where I grew up; or maybe some place far from my parents, like Mira Mesa or further north. Oh, the possibilities...
But, alas... my occupation is inextricably linked to the state budget. And with teachers being laid off, now is just not a good time for me to think about looking for a new position in my hometown of the now unattainable San Diego county. Houses abound, but teaching jobs aren't.
Damn the economy. My dreams are that much further away from me.
Thursday, March 19, 2009
Enlisted
In the past week, my world has been rocked and chaos has entered my life. But it's nothing tragic, nothing depressing. Quite the contrary, I've been on an emotional roller coaster that has been nothing but positive; I’m riding the clouds of teddy bears and hearts. I feel like I'm in high school again. Butterflies flip inside my stomach, smiles appear randomly, and affectionate words have made their way beyond the journal and into tangible forms for him to cherish.
I got cherries and peanut sprinkles this time.
I got cherries and peanut sprinkles this time.
Tuesday, March 10, 2009
My Inner Mrs. Smith
I have a fascination with weaponry--knives especially. But tonight, a friend invited me to go to a shooting range.
He had two guns: a 9mm and a 45mm. I liked the 9mm, and this was my best shot:
He had two guns: a 9mm and a 45mm. I liked the 9mm, and this was my best shot:
Tuesday, February 24, 2009
Wise
I hate the way the people misuse this word: wise. They use it as a suffix to make words into an adverb. Here are some examples that I've heard this week:
1. From a student during discussion: "He's saying that we're only smart, not with books, but... like, computer-wise."
2. From a school counselor: "We don't know how this is going to work, you know, registration-wise."
3. From a speaker at a recent school board meeting: "This [budget cuts] is going to affect everyone... classroom-wise."
As an English teacher, I know that I have to be open-minded about the flexibility of the English language. It is constantly changing every day in small ways, influenced by everything from foreign languages to pop culture. But there are actual words to use rather than making them up or combining them. What does "wise" mean in the above cases? It certainly does not mean "to be intelligent" or "all knowing." To use "wise" as a suffix--which is not even an official suffix--means "in the context of." Sometimes people just add the suffix because it makes the root word suddenly seems "better." This is what students usually do.
The misuse of words: a pet peeve of mine.
1. From a student during discussion: "He's saying that we're only smart, not with books, but... like, computer-wise."
2. From a school counselor: "We don't know how this is going to work, you know, registration-wise."
3. From a speaker at a recent school board meeting: "This [budget cuts] is going to affect everyone... classroom-wise."
As an English teacher, I know that I have to be open-minded about the flexibility of the English language. It is constantly changing every day in small ways, influenced by everything from foreign languages to pop culture. But there are actual words to use rather than making them up or combining them. What does "wise" mean in the above cases? It certainly does not mean "to be intelligent" or "all knowing." To use "wise" as a suffix--which is not even an official suffix--means "in the context of." Sometimes people just add the suffix because it makes the root word suddenly seems "better." This is what students usually do.
The misuse of words: a pet peeve of mine.
Friday, January 23, 2009
The Stripper In Me
Yesterday afternoon, a student came to ask for help on the research assignment I had given. We had a half-hour conversation to discuss her ideas and how to organize them when, all of a sudden, my cell phone blared its ring tone while receiving a call. As the phone sang to Def Leppard's "Pour Some Sugar on Me," my student's eyes widened and she began to laugh.
"What?" I asked.
"You like that song?" she asked.
"Yeah."
"That's a stripper song--" she began. My jaw dropped, but she quickly recovered: "No, I like that song, too!"
"Stripper song?" I gasped with shock. "Nuh-uh. What do you mean a stripper song?"
"I watched them on VH-1, and they said that they wrote that song for strippers. It's their 'stripper anthem.' Seriously! That's what they said."
"I wasn't thinking of strippers when I downloaded this song. I just like the song; it's good rock music."
"I know," she said defensively with a laugh. "I mean, I like it too."
"I was twelve when I discovered their music. The last thing on my mind at twelve years old would be strippers."
"Come on... You're an English teacher. Didn't you read the lyrics?" She proceeds to sing a few words to ruin my innocent interpretation of the song: "Do you take sugar? One lump or two?"
"Stop!" I cover my ears. "A stripper song?" I said with disappointment, and then sighed. "My gosh... how many of my friends--especially guys--have heard this song ringing from my phone and probably thinking I'm a kinky girl? Damn it."
I changed the ring tone already.
"What?" I asked.
"You like that song?" she asked.
"Yeah."
"That's a stripper song--" she began. My jaw dropped, but she quickly recovered: "No, I like that song, too!"
"Stripper song?" I gasped with shock. "Nuh-uh. What do you mean a stripper song?"
"I watched them on VH-1, and they said that they wrote that song for strippers. It's their 'stripper anthem.' Seriously! That's what they said."
"I wasn't thinking of strippers when I downloaded this song. I just like the song; it's good rock music."
"I know," she said defensively with a laugh. "I mean, I like it too."
"I was twelve when I discovered their music. The last thing on my mind at twelve years old would be strippers."
"Come on... You're an English teacher. Didn't you read the lyrics?" She proceeds to sing a few words to ruin my innocent interpretation of the song: "Do you take sugar? One lump or two?"
"Stop!" I cover my ears. "A stripper song?" I said with disappointment, and then sighed. "My gosh... how many of my friends--especially guys--have heard this song ringing from my phone and probably thinking I'm a kinky girl? Damn it."
I changed the ring tone already.
Monday, December 15, 2008
The Age Thing
I am not really self-conscious about my age; after all, it is only a number within my mind. Often, I have been complimented about my age and how I never really look like someone in their thirties. It is also those same compliments that never make me lament about how old I am getting every year. In addition, my occupation, my non-marital status, and my whimsical and noncommital attitudes towards life have always had people guessing my age at around 25-28. I never complained.
I never really thought about how old I am. It is not something I obsess about... until now.
Recently, I have been toying with the idea of teaching abroad. There are times when I miss Japan and the experience I had there: I miss the cultural exchange and history of a new country, the daily intellectual stimulation of working in a different school environment, the interaction with students who have different ideas and experiences, and most of all, the traveling and touring of a local or regional area. In preparation for this venture, I began updating some professional documents. As a seasoned educator, my experience should be a marketable asset; I have so much to offer to any school. I am at the top of my game. Unfortunately, my age is working against me. Of all things, who would have thought that age would become a disadvantage?
Teachers are like cars. We cannot deny that they are needed in our daily lives, but everyone wants the new one. The 2009 model will have built-in GPS, DVD/TV screens, rear camera, satellite radio, MP3/CD player with iPod capabilities; the new model may even parallel park itself. The old 2002 models will have some outdated features like adjustable seats and steering wheel, digital radio, and CD/tape deck. And it does not matter if the 2002 model upgraded on a few things: new rims, new MP3/CD player and digital radio, new paint job, attached GPS and XM Satellite radio... those things don't matter when you look at its mileage: 130,000 miles. It's old. It's outdated.
As I submit résumés and applications for teaching abroad, there are moments when I despair that I am in competition with young graduates. Is there some subliminal message that thirty-year olds should just settle down already? Were we meant to fade into our forties and leave other goals and dreams unfinished? Young teacher graduates and I have so much in common: optimism, energy, open-minds, love for travel, love for teaching, and love for cultural diversity. But my age and experience will set me far off from them... so far off, that I am pushed aside to make way for the youth.
I never really thought about how old I am. It is not something I obsess about... until now.
Recently, I have been toying with the idea of teaching abroad. There are times when I miss Japan and the experience I had there: I miss the cultural exchange and history of a new country, the daily intellectual stimulation of working in a different school environment, the interaction with students who have different ideas and experiences, and most of all, the traveling and touring of a local or regional area. In preparation for this venture, I began updating some professional documents. As a seasoned educator, my experience should be a marketable asset; I have so much to offer to any school. I am at the top of my game. Unfortunately, my age is working against me. Of all things, who would have thought that age would become a disadvantage?
Teachers are like cars. We cannot deny that they are needed in our daily lives, but everyone wants the new one. The 2009 model will have built-in GPS, DVD/TV screens, rear camera, satellite radio, MP3/CD player with iPod capabilities; the new model may even parallel park itself. The old 2002 models will have some outdated features like adjustable seats and steering wheel, digital radio, and CD/tape deck. And it does not matter if the 2002 model upgraded on a few things: new rims, new MP3/CD player and digital radio, new paint job, attached GPS and XM Satellite radio... those things don't matter when you look at its mileage: 130,000 miles. It's old. It's outdated.
As I submit résumés and applications for teaching abroad, there are moments when I despair that I am in competition with young graduates. Is there some subliminal message that thirty-year olds should just settle down already? Were we meant to fade into our forties and leave other goals and dreams unfinished? Young teacher graduates and I have so much in common: optimism, energy, open-minds, love for travel, love for teaching, and love for cultural diversity. But my age and experience will set me far off from them... so far off, that I am pushed aside to make way for the youth.
Monday, December 08, 2008
Represent?
The talk of the school today was the boxing match between Oscar de la Hoya and Manny Pacquiao. The Mexicans were disappointed that De la Hoya lost, while the one Filipino student in class gloated with pride. During some down time, the Filipino student asked me if I watched the fight, and I told him that I didn't watch boxing or any type of sports. He informed me that Pacquiao was Filipino and that I should have watched it.
Inside, I was rolling my eyes. Really? Because I'm Filipino, I have to watch another Filipino person? For what? I hate it when my mother watches the Filipino Channel. My student said that I had to watch the fight in order "to represent" Filipino pride. I flat out told him, "I don't believe in representin'."
"You're whitewashed," he said with disgust.
"I know I am," I shot back with pride.
"You should be ashamed." He rubbed his index finger across his other index finger like a six year old.
"I'm not," I said with a smirk, and at that point, I had to bite my tongue before I said, "Fuck you, you little FOB. Don't tell me what I should be representin, don't tell me what I should be ashamed of, don't tell me what I should do and how I should think when it comes to representin Filipino culture. I know I'm whitewashed, and I'm not ashamed--so don't tell me what to do or how to feel pride. You know who should be ashamed? You should. Your parents left the Philippines. You should be ashamed for not adopting your new home country. You should be ashamed for not representin America. If you have so much love and pride for the Philippines, then go back there. Why do you think I said NO to advising your Filipino Club?"
It is because I am a teacher that I'm not allowed to spew personal diatribes. I do not represent Filipino pride because let's get one thing straight: I never had any. When it comes to representin', it's all about me and my ideas and my beliefs and my individuality. Collective cultural pride does not mean anything to me.
Inside, I was rolling my eyes. Really? Because I'm Filipino, I have to watch another Filipino person? For what? I hate it when my mother watches the Filipino Channel. My student said that I had to watch the fight in order "to represent" Filipino pride. I flat out told him, "I don't believe in representin'."
"You're whitewashed," he said with disgust.
"I know I am," I shot back with pride.
"You should be ashamed." He rubbed his index finger across his other index finger like a six year old.
"I'm not," I said with a smirk, and at that point, I had to bite my tongue before I said, "Fuck you, you little FOB. Don't tell me what I should be representin, don't tell me what I should be ashamed of, don't tell me what I should do and how I should think when it comes to representin Filipino culture. I know I'm whitewashed, and I'm not ashamed--so don't tell me what to do or how to feel pride. You know who should be ashamed? You should. Your parents left the Philippines. You should be ashamed for not adopting your new home country. You should be ashamed for not representin America. If you have so much love and pride for the Philippines, then go back there. Why do you think I said NO to advising your Filipino Club?"
It is because I am a teacher that I'm not allowed to spew personal diatribes. I do not represent Filipino pride because let's get one thing straight: I never had any. When it comes to representin', it's all about me and my ideas and my beliefs and my individuality. Collective cultural pride does not mean anything to me.
Wednesday, November 19, 2008
What Would a White Man Do?
I hope my audience does not think I am a racist or a sexist for writing such a title for this entry, but I wanted to expand on what I had previously written four years ago: The Psyche of Asian Submissiveness. In that entry, I reflected on my experience as a submissive Asian person who was too shy to take any iniative at job fairs and so naive to think that I could be a suitable employee anywhere. I was a complete contrast to Caucasian counterparts--individuals who had the ambition and the drive to hunt, not just for a job, but for a suitable employer.
There are days that I still think I am a novice when it comes to navigating through Americanized social mannerisms. And when I say "Americanized," I mean "white ways." It does not matter that I consider myself American and was raised in an American social environment; at the heart of it all, I was raised with Asian mentality and mannerisms. The behavior and the mentality are so innate that I do not even notice how I act unless I come across some other behavior that starkly contrasts to what I know. It is at those particular moments when I find myself asking, "What would a white man do?"
Today I needed an important document from a former professor. I gave him two weeks advance notice that I needed his assistance. I have deadlines coming up, and he has not responded. If he procrastinates any further, I could be losing a golden opportunity that could definitely change my life.
My submissive Asian side tells me that I should passively wait. I had already emailed him once before to remind him. I'm sure that he understands the importance of his assistance in this matter.
But what would a white man do? Would he sit passively and wait? Or would he take some form of action so as not to lose that life-changing golden opportunity? Would he politely ask for his professor's help as a gentle reminder? Or would he assertively request that the professor take some urgent action? Would a white man be bold and audacious to just write up the document and ask the professor to verify it with his stamp of approval? Or would he be breaking social conduct if he did that?
I ask myself: what would a white man do?
There are days that I still think I am a novice when it comes to navigating through Americanized social mannerisms. And when I say "Americanized," I mean "white ways." It does not matter that I consider myself American and was raised in an American social environment; at the heart of it all, I was raised with Asian mentality and mannerisms. The behavior and the mentality are so innate that I do not even notice how I act unless I come across some other behavior that starkly contrasts to what I know. It is at those particular moments when I find myself asking, "What would a white man do?"
Today I needed an important document from a former professor. I gave him two weeks advance notice that I needed his assistance. I have deadlines coming up, and he has not responded. If he procrastinates any further, I could be losing a golden opportunity that could definitely change my life.
My submissive Asian side tells me that I should passively wait. I had already emailed him once before to remind him. I'm sure that he understands the importance of his assistance in this matter.
But what would a white man do? Would he sit passively and wait? Or would he take some form of action so as not to lose that life-changing golden opportunity? Would he politely ask for his professor's help as a gentle reminder? Or would he assertively request that the professor take some urgent action? Would a white man be bold and audacious to just write up the document and ask the professor to verify it with his stamp of approval? Or would he be breaking social conduct if he did that?
I ask myself: what would a white man do?
Sunday, November 09, 2008
Veteran's Day
Growing up in San Diego, the military was always around me. My father served in the Navy, most of my friends' fathers served in the Navy; a few of my friends served and are still serving in the Navy, Army, Air Force, and National Guard; and now I have students who serve the military as well. I am proud of the United States military, and sometimes I wish I could do more than just declare my support for them. Veteran's Day is one way to do that, and I am glad that our veterans are here to remind us about what they fought for, and why they should be honored on November 11th.
Veteran's Day is a holiday that originated in World War I to commemorate Armistice Day. Of all the wars that I have studied during my high school years, World War I is the most dismal and grievous. Never have I read about a war in which most of the soldiers were under the age of twenty-one, most of them fresh out of high school. When the war dragged on, the recruits were getting younger and younger. So many young men, who had their whole lives ahead of them, inspired by the new technological era of the twentieth century, suddenly vanished into a valley of death created by that same technology. Never have I read about a war in which most of the soldiers never knew what they were fighting for or were confused about the reasons for the war. Nearly an entire generation of intellectual young men disappeared, men who could have contributed to our world in more positive ways than being sacrificed in a war that was deemed meaningless and tragic.
Ninety years later, I like to hope that mankind has learned something from that first world war. Yet we still find ourselves in the middle of international conflict. The soldiers range from high school graduates to experienced leaders. They are not as naive or innocent like the young men of World War I. I like to hope that our experienced leaders--whether they be on the front or here at home serving office--not only protect our freedom, but also value the lives of our young soldiers who are fighting, not discount them as expendable resources. We should honor our military so that they know they are not taken for granted. These men and women put their dreams and goals on hold to keep a threat at bay, and many have already given their blood to protect the freedom of others as well as for those here at home.
Ninety years from now, when this is all over, I hope that the future generation will not look back and say that we have sacrificed an entire generation of men and women to what might be called a meaningless and tragic war. This Veteran's Day and for all future Veteran's Day holidays, we should always remember that all our veterans in all the past wars gave their lives for their country and for their fellow man. It should not matter if the war was won or lost; we should always remember that someone died protecting us, our values, and our country.
Veteran's Day is a holiday that originated in World War I to commemorate Armistice Day. Of all the wars that I have studied during my high school years, World War I is the most dismal and grievous. Never have I read about a war in which most of the soldiers were under the age of twenty-one, most of them fresh out of high school. When the war dragged on, the recruits were getting younger and younger. So many young men, who had their whole lives ahead of them, inspired by the new technological era of the twentieth century, suddenly vanished into a valley of death created by that same technology. Never have I read about a war in which most of the soldiers never knew what they were fighting for or were confused about the reasons for the war. Nearly an entire generation of intellectual young men disappeared, men who could have contributed to our world in more positive ways than being sacrificed in a war that was deemed meaningless and tragic.
Ninety years later, I like to hope that mankind has learned something from that first world war. Yet we still find ourselves in the middle of international conflict. The soldiers range from high school graduates to experienced leaders. They are not as naive or innocent like the young men of World War I. I like to hope that our experienced leaders--whether they be on the front or here at home serving office--not only protect our freedom, but also value the lives of our young soldiers who are fighting, not discount them as expendable resources. We should honor our military so that they know they are not taken for granted. These men and women put their dreams and goals on hold to keep a threat at bay, and many have already given their blood to protect the freedom of others as well as for those here at home.
Ninety years from now, when this is all over, I hope that the future generation will not look back and say that we have sacrificed an entire generation of men and women to what might be called a meaningless and tragic war. This Veteran's Day and for all future Veteran's Day holidays, we should always remember that all our veterans in all the past wars gave their lives for their country and for their fellow man. It should not matter if the war was won or lost; we should always remember that someone died protecting us, our values, and our country.
The Five-Year Cap
In the past few months, well before I resigned my position as a department chairman, I had been feeling restless and anxious. As much as I love starting a new school year, some part of me also dreaded having to face another year of nonstop grading, meetings, lesson plans, and student apathy. Every day of my job is never ever boring, but some aspects of my daily routine are mundane, and they have lost their stimulation. If I am no longer curious or intellectually stimulated, my day can be filled with ennui and frustration.
Someone told me that five years is the cap of any career before one starts to get bored. I have been teaching for six years now. I guess this explains my restlessness. Despite the economy and the job insecurity--even for teaching, I want something new. I just don't know what will bring back that stimulation.
Someone told me that five years is the cap of any career before one starts to get bored. I have been teaching for six years now. I guess this explains my restlessness. Despite the economy and the job insecurity--even for teaching, I want something new. I just don't know what will bring back that stimulation.
Saturday, October 18, 2008
I Didn't Ask
Eleanor Roosevelt once said, "No one can make you feel inferior without your consent."
I am very careful when I ask for someone's opinion, especially when I ask about myself. I often ask for objective opinions from friends when my own thoughts obscure self-reflection and inner musings. It is not everyday that I ask for others' opinions, so those moments are rare, but it is annoying when someone just has to share their observations--even when I never asked.
Friendships--no matter how close or distant-- still hang on delicate balances. In the past, I know I have offended friends when I opened my mouth and said something. I took it for granted that friends would forgive me because I was being honest and truthful. But just because what I had to say was honest or truthful does not mean it has to be said openly. Most times, people do not want to hear truth out loud. Spoken words are like the knells of church bells, announcing truth to everyone.
I grew more conscious about this as years passed, and I am more careful about the things I say when I am around anyone--whether they are close friends or new acquaintances. No one wants to hear things said about themselves.
Recently a friend emailed me... a long dogmatic email, of which I do not know what prompted such a response. He just had to tell me his observations about me over the past four years--when I never asked. I grew irked that he had nothing to do but keep mental notes about me. Not only that, everything this individual shared was stuff I already knew (because I am self-reflective that way). Did he think he was doing me a favor by telling me this? Did he think he was enlightening me? What was the point, other than to share what he thought about my life and career like it was a casual intellectual discussion one can have about Tolstoy.
I was annoyed. I never asked for his opinion; he just had to share. Nothing he said was hurtful, nor did it make me feel inferior, but I guess I am more annoyed because he was analyzing me all this time. Ugh.
My bottom line thought: Reflect on your own life, not on mine.
I am very careful when I ask for someone's opinion, especially when I ask about myself. I often ask for objective opinions from friends when my own thoughts obscure self-reflection and inner musings. It is not everyday that I ask for others' opinions, so those moments are rare, but it is annoying when someone just has to share their observations--even when I never asked.
Friendships--no matter how close or distant-- still hang on delicate balances. In the past, I know I have offended friends when I opened my mouth and said something. I took it for granted that friends would forgive me because I was being honest and truthful. But just because what I had to say was honest or truthful does not mean it has to be said openly. Most times, people do not want to hear truth out loud. Spoken words are like the knells of church bells, announcing truth to everyone.
I grew more conscious about this as years passed, and I am more careful about the things I say when I am around anyone--whether they are close friends or new acquaintances. No one wants to hear things said about themselves.
Recently a friend emailed me... a long dogmatic email, of which I do not know what prompted such a response. He just had to tell me his observations about me over the past four years--when I never asked. I grew irked that he had nothing to do but keep mental notes about me. Not only that, everything this individual shared was stuff I already knew (because I am self-reflective that way). Did he think he was doing me a favor by telling me this? Did he think he was enlightening me? What was the point, other than to share what he thought about my life and career like it was a casual intellectual discussion one can have about Tolstoy.
I was annoyed. I never asked for his opinion; he just had to share. Nothing he said was hurtful, nor did it make me feel inferior, but I guess I am more annoyed because he was analyzing me all this time. Ugh.
My bottom line thought: Reflect on your own life, not on mine.
Thursday, October 16, 2008
Time
"Time is money." This is an expression we have heard many times in the past. Given that we are a society that is paid by the hour, time is measured by the money we earn. We give our time to the companies and businesses that pay us; but with the economy in such decline, and the complexity of modern life so all-consuming, time is precious commodity that should not be measured by dollar signs.
About a month ago, I resigned from my position as a department head. It was a decision I made based on very personal reasons, and I had to tell myself that this was for my own good. It was difficult, at first, to let go of something that I have gotten used to over two years; there was still this inexplicable longing to continue to fight battles and not give up. I think that was the thing that bothered me most: I felt I gave up. Disappointing myself was the worst feeling.
I openly revealed to very few colleagues about my reasons, and they supported my decision that I step away from the responsibilities I once had. In the past two years, I really felt I had given up my blood and sweat for the good of our school. At one point, I called unwanted attention to the department and almost put my head on the chopping block--all because I believed in something. I have sacrificed nearly every free moment to my work--for my students, for the department, for our school, and even for the district. My own life was on hold--relationships failed, friendships on hiatus, hobbies ignored, stories untold. I kept telling myself that I would balance things out eventually, but it never happened.
Unfortunately, it took personal problems to arise to give me that wake up call. It made me rethink about my priorities. I love my work, but devoting 110% of my time to a school that is facing budget cuts and is not paying me enough to fix their problems, made me realize that time is a precious commodity that cannot ever be regained, nor can it be paid back. After pondering this for a week or so, I am now content that I gave up being a leader; my pride will heal and the disappointment will fade. I have gained so much more in the long run: priceless minutes and hours that I finally can call my own.
Since my resignation from department chairman, I have invested more time in actual teaching and getting to know my students. I have brought less work home because I finish most of it at school. Friendships have reformed and I actually have quality time to spend with people. I have read more books in the past month than in the past two years. Now my mind is flooded with linguistic inspiration, and I do not know which story to start writing again. Maybe I will actually start an exercise routine like I had planned over two years ago. There are so many things I can do now. I feel that my life is back in my hands again, even if only a little.
I was never one to measure my job's worth in dollar signs, so I don't really care much about the money, but I do care about my time. That is worth more than money any day.
About a month ago, I resigned from my position as a department head. It was a decision I made based on very personal reasons, and I had to tell myself that this was for my own good. It was difficult, at first, to let go of something that I have gotten used to over two years; there was still this inexplicable longing to continue to fight battles and not give up. I think that was the thing that bothered me most: I felt I gave up. Disappointing myself was the worst feeling.
I openly revealed to very few colleagues about my reasons, and they supported my decision that I step away from the responsibilities I once had. In the past two years, I really felt I had given up my blood and sweat for the good of our school. At one point, I called unwanted attention to the department and almost put my head on the chopping block--all because I believed in something. I have sacrificed nearly every free moment to my work--for my students, for the department, for our school, and even for the district. My own life was on hold--relationships failed, friendships on hiatus, hobbies ignored, stories untold. I kept telling myself that I would balance things out eventually, but it never happened.
Unfortunately, it took personal problems to arise to give me that wake up call. It made me rethink about my priorities. I love my work, but devoting 110% of my time to a school that is facing budget cuts and is not paying me enough to fix their problems, made me realize that time is a precious commodity that cannot ever be regained, nor can it be paid back. After pondering this for a week or so, I am now content that I gave up being a leader; my pride will heal and the disappointment will fade. I have gained so much more in the long run: priceless minutes and hours that I finally can call my own.
Since my resignation from department chairman, I have invested more time in actual teaching and getting to know my students. I have brought less work home because I finish most of it at school. Friendships have reformed and I actually have quality time to spend with people. I have read more books in the past month than in the past two years. Now my mind is flooded with linguistic inspiration, and I do not know which story to start writing again. Maybe I will actually start an exercise routine like I had planned over two years ago. There are so many things I can do now. I feel that my life is back in my hands again, even if only a little.
I was never one to measure my job's worth in dollar signs, so I don't really care much about the money, but I do care about my time. That is worth more than money any day.
E Pluribus Unum
... oh sing your life
all the things that you love
all the things that you loathe
Don't leave it all unsaid
somewhere in the wasteland of your head
and make no mistake, my friend
your pointless life will end
but before you go
can you look at the truth?
You have a lovely singing voice
a lovely singing voice
and all of those
who sing on key
they stole the notion
from you and me
excerpt from "Sing Your Life" by Morrissey
The words are simple, but when I first heard this song , it got to me. It's a song that reminds me how important it is to have an individual stamp on life, and that no one else has the right to tell my story or tell me how to be. It's a song of empowerment.
all the things that you love
all the things that you loathe
Don't leave it all unsaid
somewhere in the wasteland of your head
and make no mistake, my friend
your pointless life will end
but before you go
can you look at the truth?
You have a lovely singing voice
a lovely singing voice
and all of those
who sing on key
they stole the notion
from you and me
excerpt from "Sing Your Life" by Morrissey
The words are simple, but when I first heard this song , it got to me. It's a song that reminds me how important it is to have an individual stamp on life, and that no one else has the right to tell my story or tell me how to be. It's a song of empowerment.
Tuesday, September 16, 2008
Wishful Thinking
In September of 2002, when I first started teaching, I was so stressed out that I would wish to get into a car accident while driving home, so I wouldn't have to go into work the next day. Then I did get into a car accident, and I suddenly regretted my wish because I wasn't stressed anymore.
That feeling--the one of wishing, not regretting--came back again last night while I was driving home.
As an experienced teacher, this is not a good sign.
Recently, I have found myself wishing that I could be a first year teacher again--but I quickly changed my mind. I didn't like the stress, I didn't like the ignorance, and I didn't like my newbie lesson plans. Instead, now I wish I was a second year teacher again. I'm more knowledgeable from the things I learned during my first year, and I wasn't as stressed. What I liked most about being a fledging teacher was being left alone to teach. That's what I miss: being with students.
All these leadership responsibilities get in the way of teaching. They get in the way of me and the students. They get in the way of a lot of things I would like to do. Not only that, colleagues who criticize and complain are worse than students. I feel my position as a department chair is obsolete. Basically, I'm getting paid to be the messenger who gets shot at repetitively. I'm not a leader, I'm a human shield for the department... and they're not even paying me enough for that.
That feeling--the one of wishing, not regretting--came back again last night while I was driving home.
As an experienced teacher, this is not a good sign.
Recently, I have found myself wishing that I could be a first year teacher again--but I quickly changed my mind. I didn't like the stress, I didn't like the ignorance, and I didn't like my newbie lesson plans. Instead, now I wish I was a second year teacher again. I'm more knowledgeable from the things I learned during my first year, and I wasn't as stressed. What I liked most about being a fledging teacher was being left alone to teach. That's what I miss: being with students.
All these leadership responsibilities get in the way of teaching. They get in the way of me and the students. They get in the way of a lot of things I would like to do. Not only that, colleagues who criticize and complain are worse than students. I feel my position as a department chair is obsolete. Basically, I'm getting paid to be the messenger who gets shot at repetitively. I'm not a leader, I'm a human shield for the department... and they're not even paying me enough for that.
Sunday, September 07, 2008
Chicken or the Egg?
I'm a season behind, but it's nice to see David Duchovny back in witty form. I'm wondering if this show is good for him, given that he's going into rehab for sex addiction.Sunday, August 17, 2008
It's Not Flattery To Me
In the past two weeks, I've been strangely hit on by men. I say "strangely" because I don't really consider myself a magnet for the male eye. Actually, I don't even pay attention if the opposite sex is paying attention to me. A few times in the past, male friends had to tell me that some guys were trying to pick me up because I was too naive to notice anything beyond the "Hey, how you doing?" greeting.
In truth, being picked up on is not something I consider flattery or complimentary. I don't know whether I am being complimented or just being ogled. Other times, harmless questions are an invasion of privacy. Take the two men who tried to hit on me the past two weeks: both have asked, in some indirect and elliptical manner, if I was involved with someone. The cable guy who came to repair the internet asked if I lived alone or with a boyfriend; while a new colleague at work (under the guise of trying to get to know me), asked if spend my freetime with anyone. Then he complimented my body type--whatever!
In both cases, I find it to be an invasion of privacy. Cable guy: you came to fix my internet. I don't care about small talk. New colleague: I don't date coworkers, and neither should you try to use the workplace to pick up anyone else. I believe being hit on or being picked up must be at a place that is appropriate for social gathering--either a bar or a coffee shop or a restaurant. Maybe even in random place that instigates conversation, like a bookstore (not a library) or concert hall. But never while someone is at work or is working. Cable guy should not have asked about my living situation while trying to work on wires around my apartment, and new colleague should not have complimented my body while I was doing inventory. In both situations, I was not in the mood to be hit on. That's the key: I have to be in the mood. Here are other examples of places where I was hit on, and I was actually turned off:
I have pretty much knocked out all the places where one could be picked up, but there have been ideal places where men have spoken to me in a friendly way and I was engaged in conversation. Although numbers were never exchanged, that's the beauty of it: I never felt like he was ogling me or trying to pick me up. It's nice to just have a conversation and expect nothing out of it:
In truth, being picked up on is not something I consider flattery or complimentary. I don't know whether I am being complimented or just being ogled. Other times, harmless questions are an invasion of privacy. Take the two men who tried to hit on me the past two weeks: both have asked, in some indirect and elliptical manner, if I was involved with someone. The cable guy who came to repair the internet asked if I lived alone or with a boyfriend; while a new colleague at work (under the guise of trying to get to know me), asked if spend my freetime with anyone. Then he complimented my body type--whatever!
In both cases, I find it to be an invasion of privacy. Cable guy: you came to fix my internet. I don't care about small talk. New colleague: I don't date coworkers, and neither should you try to use the workplace to pick up anyone else. I believe being hit on or being picked up must be at a place that is appropriate for social gathering--either a bar or a coffee shop or a restaurant. Maybe even in random place that instigates conversation, like a bookstore (not a library) or concert hall. But never while someone is at work or is working. Cable guy should not have asked about my living situation while trying to work on wires around my apartment, and new colleague should not have complimented my body while I was doing inventory. In both situations, I was not in the mood to be hit on. That's the key: I have to be in the mood. Here are other examples of places where I was hit on, and I was actually turned off:
- Library: I was studying for a final, and I was stressed out trying to write a paper. Some dude tried talking to me in Tagalog--which I don't even speak. Then he tried asking for my phone number. I was stressed. I was studying. I wanted a quiet place. No, I was not in the mood.
- Lecture hall at a university: I was waiting for friends. I was drawing, then I was reading. Some guy asked to see my drawing and tried to talk to me. Conversation was going nowhere. It made me uncomfortable. I fled as soon as I spotted my friends.
- Wedding: Weddings are a great place to meet people, but not after the guy reveals he impregnated his history teacher at sixteen years old. As a teacher, I was appalled and disgusted. It not only killed the mood, he gave me the heebeejeebees the rest of the evening.
- In my own home: repairmen should just come and fix whatever they need to fix. Don't try to check me or my place out. In addition, you're not hot when you're all sweaty and dirty.
- At work: I'm too preoccupied with kids and work. Ninety percent of the time, I will not be in the mood to talk about my personal life. The other ten percent, I'm too preoccupied with my students' personal lives.
I have pretty much knocked out all the places where one could be picked up, but there have been ideal places where men have spoken to me in a friendly way and I was engaged in conversation. Although numbers were never exchanged, that's the beauty of it: I never felt like he was ogling me or trying to pick me up. It's nice to just have a conversation and expect nothing out of it:
- CD shop: some guy translated a French title for me and we started talking about traveling.
- bookstore: some guy recommended a vampire novel, so I recommended one for him, too. We had a great conversation about books.
- geek convention: some guy didn't have a camera and asked if I could take a picture of him and the celebrity we were in line to see; we exchanged email addresses, and we're still friends to this day.
- on an airplane (50/50 luck with who you sit next to): the guy who sat next to me was an engineer, and he initiated conversation by saying hello. I asked how planes fly, and in laymen's terms, he talked about lift, air molecules, drag, wing curvature, etc. Physics was my favorite science. Academic nerd talk can be quite stimulating.
- museum: I was in Japan when this happened. An elderly gentlemen offered to take me into the Tokyo National Museum when he saw me heading in, because he could go in free with a guest. With the little English he knew, and the little Japanese I knew, we strolled through the medieval wooden print exhibition and talked about each other's cultures.
In these places, I never felt ogled or threatened. Intellectual conversation certainly helps to move things along. If any of these men asked had asked for my phone number, I would have been inclined to give it. Only one asked for my email, but even then, we turned out be good friends. None of these men asked about my personal life or if I was attached to anyone. Good conversation hooked me in, and I would have talked about anything once I got comfortable. I find it flattering the most when a guy notices I'm smart first, sexy second.
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