Cutting the Dead Weight

After nearly a month of silence, I was invited to lunch to visit a friend, only to have him tell me that he was mad at me. We had it out, and neither one of us apologized. This was a colleague, and we have (or had) been friends for about five years. He accused me of valuing my job more than our friendship. I never thought of it that way before, but now that he brought it up: I think it's true, and so I admit it: I am a selfish person, even when it comes to friendship.

There is nothing wrong with spending time with coworkers outside of the workplace, but when I discover things about a person that could intrude with his professional life, I can't lie for him when he gets into trouble. And yes, I may even lose respect for that person. So if I value MY job more than his job and our friendship, then it's a loss I'm willing to live with.

Symbol of Your Life

I see it everywhere: marks of individuality, signs of uniqueness, symbols of the "me."

There is a long history of the tattoo; one can even argue that God made the first one for Cain--a symbol that singled him out as a murderer. In ancient Egypt, mummies have been discovered with symbols and signs on their bodies, characters and designs to represent love, honor, respect, even punishment. Tribes from all over the world practice the art of tattooing to mark the men and women of status. Tattoos obviously have had a cultural impact in the world today, which is why I don't find them to be repulsive; tattoos seem part of the norm.

When I was a senior in high school, I secretly wanted a tattoo. But I did not dare reveal this wish because tattoos had such a dubious reputation as "marks of deviance." But the way I saw it, tattoos were a form of storytelling. Whenever I saw one, I would ask what it represented, and certain individuals would proceed to tell me the story of what their insignia meant. Gangsters sported them to show their allegiance, bikers showed off their artistic value, and servicemen collected them as they traveled.

I always thought to myself, "If I ever got a tattoo, what would it be?" I pondered this fantasy all the way through college, but I did not dare enter a tattoo parlor to even browse. Two things stopped me at that time: my future in a professional career and my indecisiveness. At age 20, I knew that some people (future employers, whoever they may be) would not look too kindly at a "mark of deviance." I knew I wanted to be a teacher, but I could not imagine myself wearing long sleeves for most of my life just to cover up a tattoo in the classroom. Besides, tattoos were meant to be shown; what was the point if I covered them most of the time? At age 20, I also knew I had a future that would change and shape who I was. The last thing I wanted was a tattoo that no longer meant anything to me at age thirty or forty; a symbol of regret and idiocy.

Now that I am older, I still ponder that question: "If I ever get a tattoo, what would it be?" I have thought and thought about this, and now I know what I want. I realized that I am comfortable now in my own skin, who I am and what I am and what I will be in the future. I think these symbols (yes, two of them) are apt in my personality and philosophy of life. And I have been thinking about this for the past four months. So what's stopping me?

Commitment.

I am comfortable in my own skin that I like my skin just the way it is: unmarked. As I have jokingly said to friends, a wedding ring can be taken off, but a tattoo is for life. One would even ask, "So why do you even want one now?" I know that there are so many ways a person can express their individuality, and for me, it always through this blog expressing my ideas. But a tattoo is also a way of expressing that I am a person of ideas, and most of all, a person who is multi-faceted. Even a teacher gets tired of being pigeon-holed as a "role model" for the future generation. It may be repulsive and it may be frowned upon, but a "mark of deviance"--may it be a tattoo, the unusual car, the strange knickknacks, the odd haircut or hair color, the piercings, the clothes, the jewelry--allows us to be who we need to be and allows us to be who we are.

A picture is worth a thousand words, and a tattoo symbolizes so much and encompasses so many ideas. In two pictures, my whole life and being is subtly told. I remember my past and where I come from; I remember my purpose in life as I live each day in the present; and I will keep in mind of what the future holds for me whenever I stray from who I really am. It's what we all strive for: remembering who we really are and staying true to ourselves.

Materialism

As my older sister prepares to move back in with my parents, due to an impending divorce, my sisters and I have begun prepping our old rooms to make room for her and her children's belongings. It has been an arduous task because my parents are packrats; they refuse to throw anything away. As my sisters sifted through the garage, we grew frustrated at the old furniture, excessive clothes, and excessive junk that has accumulated from nearly 30 years of living in that house.

In all honesty, even I was guilty. Even though I have moved out of my house years ago, my old room still contains much of my things--mostly books. They are and always will be the bane of moving. I'm good about my clothes--if they don't fit or if I haven't used them, I will donate them. I'm the same with books--if I never liked the book or if it's something I will not miss, I'll donate them to the public library. Yet as a teacher, I acquire more books than I can get rid of.

I now live in an apartment, and I take up about seventy-five percent of the space--mostly through shelving and books and a home office. I do worry that one day I will die and no one will know what to do with my stuff. I don't want that to happen. I wonder about that now as I look at my parents' garage. When I die, I hope the only thing my descendants have to worry about is donating books and clothes and selling my CD collection on Craigslist or eBay.

Last weekend, I carted my books from my old room back up to the apartment. My sister said I should buy more shelves. That's the last thing I want to do: buy more furniture. I was quite envious when the boyfriend said he was able to pack everything he needed in a military-regulated bag. I wish I could do that. If push comes to shove, I wish I could pack up all my clothes into two large suitcases. But that's not easy when I've moved out since 2001. I've acquired furniture that made my life functional and collected knick-knacks that have defined my life. I keep thinking of the day when I will one day move again, and how much of a hassle it is to move and pack up this much stuff. I keep thinking of the day when I will die, and my descendants will probably throw most of my stuff away anyway: to them, it's junk. To me, it's sentimentality and a defined life. I realize my own hypocrisy when it comes to materialistic things. The only difference between me and my parents: I know when to throw stuff out.

Yesterday, I went through my closet. I am going to donate one-third of my clothes. That's a lot of clothes. Just seeing how much more room I have in my closet made me realize how much I don't always need more stuff. I have even rediscovered old clothes that I have forgotten because they were packed away in the depths of storage bins. I feel a great load has been lifted off my back because I got rid of so much stuff. If only going through my home office was just as easy. I spent half a day working through my closet and bedroom, but it takes me days to reorganize my desk and shelves.

If I ever have kids, I hope they have the foresight and enough gumption and deceit to get rid of clothes from when I was thirty. When I retire from my job, I hope new teachers will ransack my classroom for stuff they will need to start their careers. And when I reach my sixties, the goal will be that the garage of my house will still fit two cars (shiny muscle cars of the Dodge or Chevy variety).

Simplify, simplify, simplify.

Anti-Technology

I use technology as a tool. I use technology as a social network. I also use technology to publish this blog. Technology is part of my life--it comes as a computer, a cell phone, and an iPod. It has been part of my life since my father put together a "home brew" PC in 1994. I know what my life was like before computers and internet pervaded my habits and became part of my daily activities.

As Governor Schwarzenegger proposes the "Digital Textbook Initiative" in California, I fear Ray Bradbury's futuristic society of Fahrenheit 451 coming to life. In his book, Bradbury predicts that television will take over society by brainwashing and censorship. Television will be the only form of communication for information--completely regulated by government. Although Bradbury's fear focused on television, television itself is metonymical for technology in our current times. Replace television with Internet, computers, or media; it's all the same. And they're all a deadly combination.

In a sociological sense, the internet has benefited us as well as handicapped us. The benefits are obvious: communication and access to information. It has made the world more globally connected. I have made international penpals through the internet, stayed in touch with relatives and friends across the country, and exchanged ideas with colleagues and professionals in my field. Internet and computers have made my life easier in that sense. But as a teacher, I see a greater handicap: the dehumanization of a new generation.

Seven years ago when I first started teaching, iPods were not yet invented and cell phones were not that prevalent in the classroom. I had students who would listen to me when I lectured and listened to each other when we had discussions. I had students who grew to know each other in the classroom as the year passed. The only problem I had to deal with when it came to writing was "text message" spelling, which was easily corrected because students still knew the differences between all the homophones.

Seven years later, I have seen a great change in the sophomores I teach from the sophomores of 2002. I have to compete for students' attention because they would rather listen to their iPod or send text messages to students in another classroom. When I assign a book to read, they immediately ask if there's a movie version. Their reading skills have declined because they don't recognize how real words are correctly spelled. Homework competes with Myspace and Facebook. And what about the exchange of ideas during class discussion? Forget that. Discussion is an argument because they don't want to learn the rules of engagement. The classroom is one large chatroom and whoever types the fastest is the one who gets the floor. In this case, the one who shouts the loudest dominates. And forget ideas. They would rather gossip about someone's blog or Myspace and then bring that drama to the classroom where it distracts from lessons.

Wikipedia is omniscient.
Google is god.
Youtube is all-seeing.
Myspace is all-knowing.

Yet students are not learning anything useful. Sure, they're learning social skills, but not the kind that will help them in the working world. They know how to start drama through Myspace, but they don't know how to fix it when it invades their waking life. They may know how to blog, but they write incorrectly. And although they have a wealth of information at their fingertips, they don't learn anything. Their writing has deteriorated, they don't absorb ideas, they don't build on what they know, they don't correct their mistakes. The computer will do it all for them. Microsoft Word corrects mistakes (except homophones), Google will find information, cut and paste and plagiarize, and turn it in for a grade. But did they learn anything?

Now our California governor wants to digitalize textbooks. He says it is to save money. As Bradbury wrote, "there's more than one way to burn a book." I'm a concerned teacher. Schools can't afford computers for each student or each classroom. I can teach without a book, but the dynamics of a classroom will change. Students will not pay attention to me if they're browsing the web. Students won't care to socialize or get to know each other if they're glued to the screen. What guarantee will I have that students will read digitalized textbooks anyway? They will still have iTunes playing in the background while chatting with friends while they are supposedly doing homework or research.

Information--from music to academics--is a downloadable megabyte temporarily stored from hard drive to thumb drive or music player. Students don't appreciate the art of CD covers or read liner notes from their favorite artists. They don't turn pages to understand words and ideas, but quickly scroll down for subheadings. They don't take the time to read, to understand, to digest, and most of all, to absorb and appreciate what they have. The Internet is like a shopping center, a place where they can get everything. Download means free, so students view knowledge like they view the latest trends: disposable.

As an English teacher, a teacher of the humanities, it is my job to teach students to understand life, people, and the community. Through literature, I hope to teach sympathy for others outside of their own reality, I hope to expose them to ideas that will build their own and beyond. Through writing, I hope to drive them to action that will change the world. But the way students encapsulate themselves in their own selfish and sheltered lives, they care less about others. Why be humane when Myspace drama is so much more entertaining? Although they are globally connected, why should they care about saving Darfur? They are so connected to technology that they are disconnected from humanity.

Technology is a tool. Just because the Internet stores a bunch of information, it does not mean it is not smart. It does not know right from wrong. It is an objective calculator. Unfortunately, our future generation reflects that: they are not smarter than previous generations even when they have a wealth of knowledge at their fingertips. Although they know right from wrong, they don't care if they are not affected. Their brains are like the computers: storing information when they need it, but deleted afterwards. They don't build on past knowledge; they start over.

Technology is beneficial for our knowledge, but has dehumanized many of us in many ways.

The Mother Card

The Mother Card. Women pull this like some black people pull the "race card" when they don't get their way or don't like what they hear.

I am single. I have no children. I have dedicated myself to my career. This is the choice I have made. This is not to say that I am against marriage or against having children; it is just those options were not part of the path that I have chosen to walk. If they cross my path in the future, I certainly am open to it; but at this point in my life, I am deaf to the biological clock.

In a woman's life, there is a prominent fork in the road: career or motherhood. Men never had that choice because most men don't think the responsibility of care-taking as a career. They were taught to just succeed in their life, mostly through their profession. But women do have to make that choice. If they focus on their career, they postpone motherhood. If they choose motherhood, it's difficult to go back to the working world. If they strive for both, which is possible, neither job is perfect. In the workplace, they will get criticized for not dedicating enough time to their job; and at home, Mommy may not always have time for the family or just seem "too busy" for anything else.

I have chosen to dedicate myself to my profession. I realize the consequence of my choice: delayed marriage, delayed motherhood, or even the possibility of staying single and childless for the rest of my life. I understand the choice I made and I can certainly live with it. I have been criticized that I am a workaholic and that I need "a personal life." I'm not insulted when people say such things, but I do get insulted when another woman says to me, "What will happen when you have kids?" or when they insinuate that having a husband or having children will "cure" me of my workaholism. The women who make these kinds of comments to me are usually the women who try to have both: career and motherhood.

I give praise to the women who actually perfected their half-and-half lifestyle, but from personal observation, I have not seen one woman who has chosen both career and motherhood perfect both aspects of their lives. The women who have children leave school early so they can be with their own kids, so their work suffers. The general complaint from coworkers and students is that those women are unavailable or delay paperwork (i.e. grades and progress reports). When these same women ask for help on how to teach certain things, or ask for tips or suggestions, they also reply that my suggestions or tips are too time-consuming for their lifestyle.

I leave it at that. Like all lesson plans that I give out, teachers need to make it their own and make it fit their personality and style. When I criticize women for their lack of time or dedication to their job, I keep it to myself. I don't openly criticize their life or their children. I will never say to another woman that children got in the way of her career. I realize that if I said anything about it, I am holding them to a standard that I live by, which is not right. Career was my choice. Half-and-half was theirs (and if you ask me, half-assed). I just wish those women would have the same courtesy towards me. They should not assume that I am a workaholic just because I lack a husband or lack children of my own. I do not want their pity because they (mistakenly) think my life is empty without the joy of motherhood.

My life is defined by my choices, not societal expectations that all women should be mothers.

Vehicular Envy

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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:

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.

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.

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.

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.

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?

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.

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.

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.