I am no longer in the Land of Smiles. My last couple of months there were frenzied with work, activity, spending time with students, co-workers, friends, and when I left, I cried on the plane, thinking that perhaps leaving was the worst possible idea for me at the time.
I am currently in Taiwan now, teaching English. Only a three hour bus ride from my family in Taipei, I'm at a perfect distance where I'm alone, but I am still close enough to my family so that I can spend time with them.
The reason for not posting anything right after I left Thailand was due to the fact that I couldn't find any sufficient words to 'end' my time there, because I feel like I can't ever really not go back to Thailand. I've established a family there, and there are always students who sneak on facebook during class and send me cute little messages. Right now, I'm planning on saving up some money to go back and visit Thailand.
I also realized that while I was out having fun and enjoying my time teaching, I never got a chance to relate that to my blog which has been a bit of a downer when I did blog. I hope that this offsets whatever negative experiences that I've posted in the past, as I discovered that the reason I hadn't been enjoying myself is due to my ability to taken in my surrounding emotions and internalizing them.
My first semester in Tak was unhappy. Not only was I struggling in a new country, new job, new context, but I had been struggling making friends. My work environment was filled with negative energy, and it started to take root in my own head. I was having problems with my own personal life as well, and I didn't have enough positive reinforcement to keep my morale up. As a result, I plummeted into the dark swirl of cultural shock, not understanding why things weren't going the way I thought they would.
I returned to Taiwan for a month to see my family during Thai New Year, and realized that I wanted to do a lot more with my time in Thailand. When I returned, a very good friend reached out to me and started to give me things to do that stirred both my professional passion and my creative passion. I learned the guitar. I wrote my own song *composed by another friend of mine*. I started teaching government officials. And during this time, we had two new teachers arrive at the school--both amazing, compassionate, with positive energies--and I was opening myself to meeting more people and doing my best with my students. I took a more lenient approach on how my students should be learning the material I'm presenting them, and somehow things took off. I met friends all around Thailand, and began to understand that there was more to me than just a sulking, brooding mess and a failure of an educator.
I learned plenty about myself when I was in Thailand--and the turn-around couldn't have come at a better time. I felt that I was strong enough to pull through anything, but I was also realistic enough to know when I need a good cry, a good lockdown in the room with my favorite movies, snacks, and skype with my friends back home, then I should indulge myself once in a while to do so. I've discovered that the best thing about being me is that I shouldn't deny myself any negative feelings, should they crop up, as long as I kept it under control.
Currently, settling down in a specific place and country for an indeterminate amount of time is still not something that I can wrap my head around, but I am content being near family and in a different place with different people. I now work for a private English language school, which is still very different compared to a public, government-funded school. There are differences, and there are difficulties. But just as I pulled through in Thailand, I know that I can pull through anywhere else!
Thank you for those of you who have been following this blog and have been supporting me and cheering me on when I needed it most. I don't plan on continuing blogging any future adventures, as I've opted to keep a journal instead. Life is one incredible journey. The best thing we can do is live it and enjoy it, even during the bad times.
Monday, February 4, 2013
Tuesday, July 24, 2012
Countdowns.
Generally, countdowns mean that you're excited. You're tortured by the numbers, and every morning, you think "when will the double-digits become single-digits?" and "when will the single-digits disappear?" And at certain breaking points, you think "WHY THE HELL DOES TIME MOVE SO DAMN SLOW?"
Lately, I've taken to counting down. Every time something wrong happens at the school, I think "5 more weeks! YOU CAN DEAL WITH IT FOR FIVE MORE WEEKS!" But I've realized that it's only put me in a horrible mindset that allows me to not put forth the energy and effort that I usually would put into a project, that my students deserve. I know that the school isn't the place for me, but it doesn't mean that having an expiration date means I should stop dedicating myself to my students. I love them, and they have no idea just how much.
I see my M4 students once a week. I've got 5 weeks left. I only teach them 5 more times. With the way the school is taking me away from my actual job by making me do other things, I'll teach them even less than that. How quickly time flies after you realize the number of times you'll see your students are dwindling.
I've started packing. I've always hated packing, but this time I really hate it because I've become so at home here. (It's almost as depressing as the day I finished packing up my apartment back in Iowa.) I have friends who support me here, and back home, and I have students who wave and say hello to me whenever we pass each other on the streets. I have students who try so hard to talk to me in English when it's just so simple to say "hello" and walk away.
Through all of the hard times at the school, dealing with my personal demons, the only reason I could pull through without an inkling of self-destructing thought is because I have these amazing students and friends. Cutting out anything that brings thoughts of self-destruction eliminates darkness, and having bright, beautiful people in my life, makes me so grateful. There are so many people I want to thank that I feel like I haven't the ability to do these expressions of gratitude any justice.
Countdowns are depressing.
Lately, I've taken to counting down. Every time something wrong happens at the school, I think "5 more weeks! YOU CAN DEAL WITH IT FOR FIVE MORE WEEKS!" But I've realized that it's only put me in a horrible mindset that allows me to not put forth the energy and effort that I usually would put into a project, that my students deserve. I know that the school isn't the place for me, but it doesn't mean that having an expiration date means I should stop dedicating myself to my students. I love them, and they have no idea just how much.
I see my M4 students once a week. I've got 5 weeks left. I only teach them 5 more times. With the way the school is taking me away from my actual job by making me do other things, I'll teach them even less than that. How quickly time flies after you realize the number of times you'll see your students are dwindling.
I've started packing. I've always hated packing, but this time I really hate it because I've become so at home here. (It's almost as depressing as the day I finished packing up my apartment back in Iowa.) I have friends who support me here, and back home, and I have students who wave and say hello to me whenever we pass each other on the streets. I have students who try so hard to talk to me in English when it's just so simple to say "hello" and walk away.
Through all of the hard times at the school, dealing with my personal demons, the only reason I could pull through without an inkling of self-destructing thought is because I have these amazing students and friends. Cutting out anything that brings thoughts of self-destruction eliminates darkness, and having bright, beautiful people in my life, makes me so grateful. There are so many people I want to thank that I feel like I haven't the ability to do these expressions of gratitude any justice.
Countdowns are depressing.
Sunday, July 8, 2012
Mid-semester Changes.
Midterms are coming up. I've been busy teaching at the school and outside of the school, grading fashion show presentations & scripts, writing up midterms, preparing for the 'dating situation' presentation for the next unit, and tutoring on top of that -- and that's only for teaching-related stuffs. I've been trying to get things for AFTER my contract is over as well, and try to find some socializing time with the amazing people I call friends and some Rochelle time.
So as you can see, I've been a bit busy. Busy in Rochelle terms equal: "Bonified Underslept Superoverworked Yankee." And I'm a Yankee only because there's really no other word I could think of that begins with a Y besides "Yellow-bellied lizard" and "Yahooligan" and "Yo-yo."
It was posted on my facebook wall the other day, two photos of a teacher's schedule. It looked suspiciously like the one I have now, except some classes are moved around and the M5s (11th grade) have been added onto it. There was no explanation.
Later, I received a facebook message from my coordinator (bosslady) explaining the situation about how parents were complaining about how M5 students were not being taught English by a native English speaker. Every other grade had native English speakers teaching them--why don't their precious M5s?
So the school decided to add on extra classes to my schedule, switch everyone else's class schedules around, to accommodate the demands of these parents.
Don't get me wrong. I understand that they want their kids to learn English from an English speaker. I totally understand. I think it's wonderful that they want that for their students. But what I don't understand is why is the school changing around the entire schedule for more than a couple of classes in the middle of the term when midterms are coming up next week? And why are we starting those classes with a teacher who is probably not as capable of running a class of 11th graders because her teaching styles are much better suited for the younger learners? Why couldn't the school wait until next semester when they are creating the new schedules to make sure that the M5s are being accommodated? And why didn't they ASK ME FIRST?
Had they asked me before making this executive decision about my teaching schedule without me, I would have willingly said yes. No complaints--maybe a bit of a laugh and slight critical eye about changing around all of these schedules when the school year has already started, but other than that, I would be willing to teach the M5s. It's my job, and honestly, I like teaching. But when they completely disregard what I have to say in the matter and say, "Here's your new schedule. You start on Monday" without talking to me OR my coordinator (as we were both left in the dark in a state of shock and slight annoyance), it becomes a problem about how they treat their teachers.
And please allow me to make this clear: if you are the one rearranging MY schedule, please talk to me directly. Don't just make the schedule, put it on my COORDINATOR'S desk without any prior discussion with her, and then say "go." I am not your lackey. I am not here to serve you. I am here to teach students, and I would like to be treated as a human being with concerns and opinions and a choice in the matter.
Also, I find it unfair that they are only accommodating the students whose parents pay them a lot of money, when their concern should be for all of the students. If I'm going to teach M5, you better hope I'm teaching all of them. Not just M5/1, M5/2, and M5/3. It's no wonder all of the lower-level students feel abandoned and can't get excited about learning. It's because the teachers are not excited about teaching them. It's assumed that these students are all dumb because they're in the lower classes, but they're not. In this way, the school and the teachers are denying them the opportunity to be better, to help them rise up. How can they rise without having someone believing in them? At this age (teenagers!), everything is about outside influence. And if they get the feeling that one thinks they are stupid and not even worth the effort, then how can they be blamed for feeling that way and perpetuating the image that these people set upon them?
But, my new M5s, I am glad to have you. Now I have more students to torture with my creative projects and presentations. How fun for me! Moohahahahah. :) And who knows? I might just get one of your classes to help me with English Day on Thursdays! Extra points. I promise. :)
Some clarification to end this post: I am not as upset about the extra classes as I am about the lack of any care that the school has for me as a human being and a teacher. I am not angry--just frustrated because I'd like to think that I'm doing a well enough job at what I'm supposed to be doing to be treated like a teacher. And to my friends who are seemingly more frustrated at the school than I am: don't worry. I'm actually feeling pretty level-headed about it, despite this long post complaining about this aspect of the school at the moment. I'm going to leave the school on a good note, do a good job, and maybe in the future, I can come back and say "hi. remember me?" and everyone will say yes with sincere open arms.
So as you can see, I've been a bit busy. Busy in Rochelle terms equal: "Bonified Underslept Superoverworked Yankee." And I'm a Yankee only because there's really no other word I could think of that begins with a Y besides "Yellow-bellied lizard" and "Yahooligan" and "Yo-yo."
It was posted on my facebook wall the other day, two photos of a teacher's schedule. It looked suspiciously like the one I have now, except some classes are moved around and the M5s (11th grade) have been added onto it. There was no explanation.
Later, I received a facebook message from my coordinator (bosslady) explaining the situation about how parents were complaining about how M5 students were not being taught English by a native English speaker. Every other grade had native English speakers teaching them--why don't their precious M5s?
So the school decided to add on extra classes to my schedule, switch everyone else's class schedules around, to accommodate the demands of these parents.
Don't get me wrong. I understand that they want their kids to learn English from an English speaker. I totally understand. I think it's wonderful that they want that for their students. But what I don't understand is why is the school changing around the entire schedule for more than a couple of classes in the middle of the term when midterms are coming up next week? And why are we starting those classes with a teacher who is probably not as capable of running a class of 11th graders because her teaching styles are much better suited for the younger learners? Why couldn't the school wait until next semester when they are creating the new schedules to make sure that the M5s are being accommodated? And why didn't they ASK ME FIRST?
Had they asked me before making this executive decision about my teaching schedule without me, I would have willingly said yes. No complaints--maybe a bit of a laugh and slight critical eye about changing around all of these schedules when the school year has already started, but other than that, I would be willing to teach the M5s. It's my job, and honestly, I like teaching. But when they completely disregard what I have to say in the matter and say, "Here's your new schedule. You start on Monday" without talking to me OR my coordinator (as we were both left in the dark in a state of shock and slight annoyance), it becomes a problem about how they treat their teachers.
And please allow me to make this clear: if you are the one rearranging MY schedule, please talk to me directly. Don't just make the schedule, put it on my COORDINATOR'S desk without any prior discussion with her, and then say "go." I am not your lackey. I am not here to serve you. I am here to teach students, and I would like to be treated as a human being with concerns and opinions and a choice in the matter.
Also, I find it unfair that they are only accommodating the students whose parents pay them a lot of money, when their concern should be for all of the students. If I'm going to teach M5, you better hope I'm teaching all of them. Not just M5/1, M5/2, and M5/3. It's no wonder all of the lower-level students feel abandoned and can't get excited about learning. It's because the teachers are not excited about teaching them. It's assumed that these students are all dumb because they're in the lower classes, but they're not. In this way, the school and the teachers are denying them the opportunity to be better, to help them rise up. How can they rise without having someone believing in them? At this age (teenagers!), everything is about outside influence. And if they get the feeling that one thinks they are stupid and not even worth the effort, then how can they be blamed for feeling that way and perpetuating the image that these people set upon them?
But, my new M5s, I am glad to have you. Now I have more students to torture with my creative projects and presentations. How fun for me! Moohahahahah. :) And who knows? I might just get one of your classes to help me with English Day on Thursdays! Extra points. I promise. :)
Some clarification to end this post: I am not as upset about the extra classes as I am about the lack of any care that the school has for me as a human being and a teacher. I am not angry--just frustrated because I'd like to think that I'm doing a well enough job at what I'm supposed to be doing to be treated like a teacher. And to my friends who are seemingly more frustrated at the school than I am: don't worry. I'm actually feeling pretty level-headed about it, despite this long post complaining about this aspect of the school at the moment. I'm going to leave the school on a good note, do a good job, and maybe in the future, I can come back and say "hi. remember me?" and everyone will say yes with sincere open arms.
Thursday, May 31, 2012
The Pros and Cons of Overclocking.
Allow me to explain my absence with one very convenient word: overclocked.
I remember in high school when I wrote fanfiction to alleviate harsh reality, I had just become confident enough in my writing to post them online. I 'met' (as one could meet another through MSN messenger) someone who was interested in my writing. We did several fanfic collaborations, one of which was called "Overclocked" about one of the main characters from our mutually-adored anime who overworked herself until someone had to remind her that it was okay to take a break once in a while.
Looking back, I realize now that it was a typical, ideal romantic story that girls dream about, and boys occasionally fulfill, because I feel that regardless of what I do, what my friends do, we are constantly overclocked with work, ambitions, and dreams. There are those who attempt to get by doing the minimal amount of work to get them by. And then there are those who do everything they can to fulfill their duties, whatever those duties may be.
My grades in school never followed the 'Asian stereotype'. I wasn't an A student, and I struggled through the maths and sciences--which was really my fault because I had applied to math and science academies for both middle and high school (and got in. Don't ask me how.) I excelled in English, but even then, there were Asian classmates who did better, despite my strong grasp of grammar and unfailing love for Shakespeare. My father never pushed me to get straight As because he wasn't an A student either. He always encouraged me to do my best, and as long as I did my best, that was all he asked for. The first time I actually pushed myself to work hard was for Mr. B's English AP class. We were required to memorize and research one poem. The more creative, the better the grade. Well, that, or the shorter the skirt, the better the grade. Being my arrogant self with a rotten-eff-you-society attitude, I was determined to get a good grade without having to compromise my dignity and intelligence with questionable wardrobe choice.
I ended up with the poem with the least amount of research available for my own research. Mr. B had given me the "you poor soul" look when I told him that I had signed up for George Wither's "Shall I, Wasting in Despair". (Even after six years, I remember this poem!) I spent hours in the university library, researching the poem, to create my own interpretation of the poem. I spent many sleepless nights perfecting my presentation and my paper. I had props to go along with the poem. I made every single classmate a flower because Wither's mentioned a friggin' flower in the poem.
Judgment day: I received a 125 out of 120. It was the most invigorating moment of my life, when my hard work, creativity, and determination paid off, and I got what I wanted (and deserved) without having to wear a low top or short skirt during presentation day.
This story may be a bit long-winded, but it was this moment when I became obsessed with doing something to its fullest so that I can prove to myself that I'm not unworthy,that as long as I work hard, I can get somewhere in life. I don't have natural talent and I don't have any luck, but with my father's guidance, with my determination, I became this person I am today, even if it meant that I'm overclocking it. There are pros and cons to every situation, and here is a list of pros and cons to overclocking:
Cons:
- You lose sleep. Constantly.
- You're exhausted. And possibly ill.
- Once you begin to overclock, others will assume that you can handle more, and give you more, which prolongs your overclockage, which begins to wear you down.
- People who don't overclock will tell you to shut the *censored* up when you mention that you have a lot of work. They'll tell you that you deserve it for being a "pushover."
- You stop having 'me' time.
Pros:
- A profound sense of accomplishment.
- People will notice your hard work eventually. It just takes time. And once they do, you feel that much closer to them because they will do everything they can to make sure that you stay.
- When you get a chance to go to bed, you will always experience deep sleep.
- Weariness of the body does not necessarily weariness of the soul. Sometimes overclocking it can feel overbearing, but other times it can be invigorating for the soul and the heart.
- You end up having really good conversations with others who overclock. These will be your long-term companions.
- Working hard will almost always give you what you deserve.
- You will almost never be bored.
- You may be a "pushover", but you're doing something rather than doing nothing. You're helping some way or other, and making your impact on even one person's life.
- You realize who are the ones who love you, who appreciate you, who care about you.
- You learn never to give up when the tough gets going. This stays with you forever.
I overclock too much. I used to have someone to remind me to step back, take a walk, do a little writing, and give my brain a break, even if it's holding hands silently in the dark or having drivel conversation whilst lying in bed. But now I have to grow up, wake up, and realize that the only person who can take care of me now is me. Those who tell me I'm a pushover can continue their lives wandering from here to there without touching lives, but it won't affect the way I see life and the way I see myself. So now I'll be better at balancing my health, but that doesn't mean I'll stop being hardworking. It's in my blood. It's in my personality. I'm not going to deny myself who I am.
One last pro of overclocking: you really start to appreciate what you have and who you have in your life.
Thanks, GS, GA, S, and D, for putting up with my rants, my tears, my darkness and bitterness, and staying by my side during my loneliest and darkest of hours; for the fun times and the hard times and the drunken times; for the encouragement and the love and the support despite my leaving the Midwest for someplace that doesn't always make me happy. We'll all live on the same continent one day, and I'll make it up to all of you by making lots of dumplings.
Thanks, LB (aka: mom), for always knowing what to say to make me feel better, even when I feel like absolute donkeyturd; for giving the best hugs; for caring about me and saying things that make me feel like I'm your daughter; and for inspiring me to keep going, to be a better teacher, to be comfortable in my own skin and open up to my students, and have faith in myself.
Thanks, AS, for putting opportunities into my hands and making me take them; for always being a silent, understanding pillar of support; and for always making me feel welcome in your home when I am in need of time away from myself. And thank you for giving me all these opportunities to teach and spread my wings. Without you, I wouldn't have gotten to where I am today, and I wouldn't be able to be on the way of getting past my demolished expectations.
And lastly, but most certainly not the least:
Thanks, dad, for never pushing me to get As; for encouraging me to go out and explore the world as long as I'm not doing anything too stupid; for putting up with my teenage years when I was such a horrible and unfilial daughter; for putting me through university; for forcing me to go to the University of Iowa even if it meant that you'd be living in that big house all by yourself; for reminding me that you love me after you found out that I was cutting myself every night; for raising me all alone after mom passed away. I hope that I can grow up to be someone you can be proud of. I love you.
I remember in high school when I wrote fanfiction to alleviate harsh reality, I had just become confident enough in my writing to post them online. I 'met' (as one could meet another through MSN messenger) someone who was interested in my writing. We did several fanfic collaborations, one of which was called "Overclocked" about one of the main characters from our mutually-adored anime who overworked herself until someone had to remind her that it was okay to take a break once in a while.
Looking back, I realize now that it was a typical, ideal romantic story that girls dream about, and boys occasionally fulfill, because I feel that regardless of what I do, what my friends do, we are constantly overclocked with work, ambitions, and dreams. There are those who attempt to get by doing the minimal amount of work to get them by. And then there are those who do everything they can to fulfill their duties, whatever those duties may be.
My grades in school never followed the 'Asian stereotype'. I wasn't an A student, and I struggled through the maths and sciences--which was really my fault because I had applied to math and science academies for both middle and high school (and got in. Don't ask me how.) I excelled in English, but even then, there were Asian classmates who did better, despite my strong grasp of grammar and unfailing love for Shakespeare. My father never pushed me to get straight As because he wasn't an A student either. He always encouraged me to do my best, and as long as I did my best, that was all he asked for. The first time I actually pushed myself to work hard was for Mr. B's English AP class. We were required to memorize and research one poem. The more creative, the better the grade. Well, that, or the shorter the skirt, the better the grade. Being my arrogant self with a rotten-eff-you-society attitude, I was determined to get a good grade without having to compromise my dignity and intelligence with questionable wardrobe choice.
I ended up with the poem with the least amount of research available for my own research. Mr. B had given me the "you poor soul" look when I told him that I had signed up for George Wither's "Shall I, Wasting in Despair". (Even after six years, I remember this poem!) I spent hours in the university library, researching the poem, to create my own interpretation of the poem. I spent many sleepless nights perfecting my presentation and my paper. I had props to go along with the poem. I made every single classmate a flower because Wither's mentioned a friggin' flower in the poem.
Judgment day: I received a 125 out of 120. It was the most invigorating moment of my life, when my hard work, creativity, and determination paid off, and I got what I wanted (and deserved) without having to wear a low top or short skirt during presentation day.
This story may be a bit long-winded, but it was this moment when I became obsessed with doing something to its fullest so that I can prove to myself that I'm not unworthy,that as long as I work hard, I can get somewhere in life. I don't have natural talent and I don't have any luck, but with my father's guidance, with my determination, I became this person I am today, even if it meant that I'm overclocking it. There are pros and cons to every situation, and here is a list of pros and cons to overclocking:
Cons:
- You lose sleep. Constantly.
- You're exhausted. And possibly ill.
- Once you begin to overclock, others will assume that you can handle more, and give you more, which prolongs your overclockage, which begins to wear you down.
- People who don't overclock will tell you to shut the *censored* up when you mention that you have a lot of work. They'll tell you that you deserve it for being a "pushover."
- You stop having 'me' time.
Pros:
- A profound sense of accomplishment.
- People will notice your hard work eventually. It just takes time. And once they do, you feel that much closer to them because they will do everything they can to make sure that you stay.
- When you get a chance to go to bed, you will always experience deep sleep.
- Weariness of the body does not necessarily weariness of the soul. Sometimes overclocking it can feel overbearing, but other times it can be invigorating for the soul and the heart.
- You end up having really good conversations with others who overclock. These will be your long-term companions.
- Working hard will almost always give you what you deserve.
- You will almost never be bored.
- You may be a "pushover", but you're doing something rather than doing nothing. You're helping some way or other, and making your impact on even one person's life.
- You realize who are the ones who love you, who appreciate you, who care about you.
- You learn never to give up when the tough gets going. This stays with you forever.
I overclock too much. I used to have someone to remind me to step back, take a walk, do a little writing, and give my brain a break, even if it's holding hands silently in the dark or having drivel conversation whilst lying in bed. But now I have to grow up, wake up, and realize that the only person who can take care of me now is me. Those who tell me I'm a pushover can continue their lives wandering from here to there without touching lives, but it won't affect the way I see life and the way I see myself. So now I'll be better at balancing my health, but that doesn't mean I'll stop being hardworking. It's in my blood. It's in my personality. I'm not going to deny myself who I am.
One last pro of overclocking: you really start to appreciate what you have and who you have in your life.
Thanks, GS, GA, S, and D, for putting up with my rants, my tears, my darkness and bitterness, and staying by my side during my loneliest and darkest of hours; for the fun times and the hard times and the drunken times; for the encouragement and the love and the support despite my leaving the Midwest for someplace that doesn't always make me happy. We'll all live on the same continent one day, and I'll make it up to all of you by making lots of dumplings.
Thanks, LB (aka: mom), for always knowing what to say to make me feel better, even when I feel like absolute donkeyturd; for giving the best hugs; for caring about me and saying things that make me feel like I'm your daughter; and for inspiring me to keep going, to be a better teacher, to be comfortable in my own skin and open up to my students, and have faith in myself.
Thanks, AS, for putting opportunities into my hands and making me take them; for always being a silent, understanding pillar of support; and for always making me feel welcome in your home when I am in need of time away from myself. And thank you for giving me all these opportunities to teach and spread my wings. Without you, I wouldn't have gotten to where I am today, and I wouldn't be able to be on the way of getting past my demolished expectations.
And lastly, but most certainly not the least:
Thanks, dad, for never pushing me to get As; for encouraging me to go out and explore the world as long as I'm not doing anything too stupid; for putting up with my teenage years when I was such a horrible and unfilial daughter; for putting me through university; for forcing me to go to the University of Iowa even if it meant that you'd be living in that big house all by yourself; for reminding me that you love me after you found out that I was cutting myself every night; for raising me all alone after mom passed away. I hope that I can grow up to be someone you can be proud of. I love you.
Sunday, April 29, 2012
Purpose.
Life isn't a well-drawn-out plan. It's actually more like a story that a 6th grader would write in attempt to lose herself in what she believes are complications and drama that spices up a romance and demonstrates that true love always conquer all. There are always unexpected plot twists, unanticipated changes in the script, convenient cop-outs because of the annoying writer's block. And when you look back at what happened, you wonder where you went wrong, and why didn't you see it earlier, and you knew better, what the heck were you thinking?
Thailand became one of those places, where the Unexpected rolls around in the hay with Expectation, and you're left with a mess in your bedroom, your head, your heart, and the story ends in a bitter, unfinished, unsatisfying farewell.
But it's when you're in these situations where you learn the most about yourself, or at least learn that crying helps alleviate some of the frustration, the confusion, the loneliness, and that it's okay to cry. It is NOT okay to wish that you had a bottle of tequila to drink alone in your room watching zombie movies in an attempt to bury yourself in a fantasy world to escape reality. It is NOT okay to think that things would be so much easier if you could just off yourself because you have a mental problem that allows you to think that your existence is all for naught, so you're just better off dead. But it's okay to cry, to call someone close to cry and mutter unintelligible nonsense to, to cry when you are finally in the arms of the one or two or three people you know protects and loves and cares about you.
My first week back in Thailand was this roller coaster, but I think that it's given me back my sense of self-respect. I never thought that being a teacher was denying myself a rich future. I love the moment my students' eyes light up when they understand what I've been teaching them; I love the moment I walk into a new classroom with new students and they stare at me in wonder, wondering what I'm teaching and what they'll learn; I love the moment the first day of class ends, and my new students say good-bye, grins decorating their faces as they bounce out of the classroom; and I love the moment my students realize that they can practice English with me any time they'd like because they trust me. Money can't buy me these experiences, these connections I've made with these kids who have no idea how many times they've saved me from feeling worthless and stupid and ugly and lonely.
My students have made me realize just how much I love teaching. They're teenagers, which means they have mood swings; they have elevated levels of hormones dancing around the classroom; they have a short attention span in their studies; they have broken hearts and exciting, new loves; they have books they're dying to finish (so they try to finish it in class); they have fights with friends; they have family problems, boy problems, girl problems; but they are enthusiastic (though not necessarily in class), and they love to play games just as long as it doesn't result in homework. So many times have I thought that I couldn't handle it anymore, that I was alone, that I can't trust myself to do anything right, and all those times, teaching them has uplifted me, has made me smile when I thought I couldn't possibly smile again.
We are still in the pre-semester courses right now. I've met my M1/2 students, and they are the cutest, most enthusiastic 7th graders on the face of the planet. I've seen half of my M2/2 students at their extra language school where they are writing their own songs and will be recording them next week (these songs will also be on VEVO and their local radio station!) And next week, I will see my M4/1, M4/2, and M4/3 students for their pre-semester English course.
We've got a 3-day English camp for the district's teachers from May 9-11. Our two new OEG teachers will be arriving in Tak May 11th. An all-farang meeting is May 14th. School starts May 16th. English Day is every Thursday, and is my responsibility to plan them all. M4 will have an English Camp May 19-20. And I will start teaching government officials again sometime within mid-May. So I've just got to get my emotions together, kill off anything that makes me sad, and continue the last 4 months in Thailand in gusto.
Meanwhile, I will continue to finish downloading my zombie movies, and maybe play a little Resident Evil 4 to kill off my inner-demons the rest of the summer vacation.
My purpose in life is to complete my duties and responsibilities of whatever role I'm in. Emotions should not play any part in that, so I refuse to be anything but strong.
Thailand became one of those places, where the Unexpected rolls around in the hay with Expectation, and you're left with a mess in your bedroom, your head, your heart, and the story ends in a bitter, unfinished, unsatisfying farewell.
But it's when you're in these situations where you learn the most about yourself, or at least learn that crying helps alleviate some of the frustration, the confusion, the loneliness, and that it's okay to cry. It is NOT okay to wish that you had a bottle of tequila to drink alone in your room watching zombie movies in an attempt to bury yourself in a fantasy world to escape reality. It is NOT okay to think that things would be so much easier if you could just off yourself because you have a mental problem that allows you to think that your existence is all for naught, so you're just better off dead. But it's okay to cry, to call someone close to cry and mutter unintelligible nonsense to, to cry when you are finally in the arms of the one or two or three people you know protects and loves and cares about you.
My first week back in Thailand was this roller coaster, but I think that it's given me back my sense of self-respect. I never thought that being a teacher was denying myself a rich future. I love the moment my students' eyes light up when they understand what I've been teaching them; I love the moment I walk into a new classroom with new students and they stare at me in wonder, wondering what I'm teaching and what they'll learn; I love the moment the first day of class ends, and my new students say good-bye, grins decorating their faces as they bounce out of the classroom; and I love the moment my students realize that they can practice English with me any time they'd like because they trust me. Money can't buy me these experiences, these connections I've made with these kids who have no idea how many times they've saved me from feeling worthless and stupid and ugly and lonely.
My students have made me realize just how much I love teaching. They're teenagers, which means they have mood swings; they have elevated levels of hormones dancing around the classroom; they have a short attention span in their studies; they have broken hearts and exciting, new loves; they have books they're dying to finish (so they try to finish it in class); they have fights with friends; they have family problems, boy problems, girl problems; but they are enthusiastic (though not necessarily in class), and they love to play games just as long as it doesn't result in homework. So many times have I thought that I couldn't handle it anymore, that I was alone, that I can't trust myself to do anything right, and all those times, teaching them has uplifted me, has made me smile when I thought I couldn't possibly smile again.
We are still in the pre-semester courses right now. I've met my M1/2 students, and they are the cutest, most enthusiastic 7th graders on the face of the planet. I've seen half of my M2/2 students at their extra language school where they are writing their own songs and will be recording them next week (these songs will also be on VEVO and their local radio station!) And next week, I will see my M4/1, M4/2, and M4/3 students for their pre-semester English course.
We've got a 3-day English camp for the district's teachers from May 9-11. Our two new OEG teachers will be arriving in Tak May 11th. An all-farang meeting is May 14th. School starts May 16th. English Day is every Thursday, and is my responsibility to plan them all. M4 will have an English Camp May 19-20. And I will start teaching government officials again sometime within mid-May. So I've just got to get my emotions together, kill off anything that makes me sad, and continue the last 4 months in Thailand in gusto.
Meanwhile, I will continue to finish downloading my zombie movies, and maybe play a little Resident Evil 4 to kill off my inner-demons the rest of the summer vacation.
My purpose in life is to complete my duties and responsibilities of whatever role I'm in. Emotions should not play any part in that, so I refuse to be anything but strong.
Wednesday, April 25, 2012
Back in Tak.
And thus, I have left paradise and returned to Hell. Literally. And when I say literally, I mean the actual temperature in Tak feels like I'm boiling in the Land of the Punished. 40-45 degrees Celsius every day. That's about 104-113 degrees Fahrenheit every day. I now understand how lobsters feel. At least I'm not in boiling hot water. Yet.
I'm sure there are things to write about (like my trips in Taiwan!), but I am currently overburdened with teaching stuff, so I suppose that's a post for another day.
Friday, March 30, 2012
Family Matters.
My biggest concern regarding being with my family for a month was that I had changed too much in Thailand and they wouldn't recognize or like me anymore--and then the whole month would be unbearable. I can't exactly explain why I felt this way, but perhaps it had a lot to do with how I handle situations in real life, and how I actually react when talking to my family and friends.
For example, I taught M3 (9th grade) and they were graduating from lower Mattayom to be in the higher Mattayom class. I was not informed by the school of their graduation ceremony until a student on facebook asked me if I was going to be there to watch her give a speech. I would like to think I handled it maturely when I entered the English department and asked them whether or not it was true, what time was the ceremony, and what should I wear? They gave me the answers I needed, and I stopped visiting the English department the rest of the week except to fill up my water bottle. I also happened to find out that day that my M6 class graduated the day before, without anyone having told me anything about it. To which I mentally gave them all the middle finger.)
However, as I relayed this story to my family who so innocently asked "How are you doing at the school? Are things getting better?", my anger got to the point where I burst out in tears and asked them whether or not I was wasting my time at a school who really doesn't see me as a teacher because they didn't have the decency to tell me that my own students were having a graduation ceremony. (My tears were angry tears, by the way, so naturally, I sounded hysterical and crazy over Skype.) And this then led to many other complaints which I have been harboring since our last conversation about two weeks ago.
Regardless, I was aware of the fact that whenever I talked about the school or about Thailand, I was bitter, angry, frustrated, and not at all pleasant to talk with. I was afraid that it had become a strengthening characteristic of mine to be bitter, angry, frustrated, and unpleasant, and that this change would, naturally, affect the way that I am around my family. I do see that as a characteristic, in all honesty, the past week I've been with them, with dark moods, anger management issues regarding a Toshiba order and an incompetent sales policy, and being almost unable to prevent myself from using words that would surely lead to mouth-washing with soap and a stern talking-to. I did come to realize, though, that while dark moods tend to swoop in unannounced and unwelcomed, my family seems to take it into stride and sometimes slap me in the face (metaphorically) with a dose of reality by reminding me that I've still got three weeks left in paradise, and if I don't enjoy it now, I'm stuck in Thailand for another five months with no hope. (Okay, so they don't put it that way, but I'm good at reading between the lines!)
It seems, though, as I was gone for a while, my family have been experiencing their own problems, each in the privacy of their own corners of the world, and that their problems are just as daunting as my own. Futures are always uncertain; hearts are always broken, taken advantage of, ripped off and pulled apart; and bitterness is covered with a face of indifference or simple disappearance. But the one thing I know that I can count on is my family. Because they know me. They know me inside and out, and they know that I need to stop thinking about work and need to sort out what I want to do in the future. They know that I'm a bitter, bitter person and that it's hard to get me out of those ruts, but they also know that I'm easily pleased with nature and that I love good vegetarian food and a good walk around the neighborhood. (They also know my Taiwan sweet tooth and my love for complex carbohydrates.) They don't know about my love life or my struggle with my Chinese-American identity. They don't know that I harbor intense hatred for only one person and that I intend to find him. And they don't know about my struggles with writing or my passion for it. But they know me. And out of all of the people I've had the fortune (and misfortune) of meeting, very few know how to handle me.
Without family, where on earth would I be?
The grass always seem greener on the other side of the fence. However, I think the grass is always greener on the side of the fence that my family's on. Even though there are a couple spots that's a bit yellow and had obviously been urinated on, it's still greener and cleaner and always feels like home.
For example, I taught M3 (9th grade) and they were graduating from lower Mattayom to be in the higher Mattayom class. I was not informed by the school of their graduation ceremony until a student on facebook asked me if I was going to be there to watch her give a speech. I would like to think I handled it maturely when I entered the English department and asked them whether or not it was true, what time was the ceremony, and what should I wear? They gave me the answers I needed, and I stopped visiting the English department the rest of the week except to fill up my water bottle. I also happened to find out that day that my M6 class graduated the day before, without anyone having told me anything about it. To which I mentally gave them all the middle finger.)
However, as I relayed this story to my family who so innocently asked "How are you doing at the school? Are things getting better?", my anger got to the point where I burst out in tears and asked them whether or not I was wasting my time at a school who really doesn't see me as a teacher because they didn't have the decency to tell me that my own students were having a graduation ceremony. (My tears were angry tears, by the way, so naturally, I sounded hysterical and crazy over Skype.) And this then led to many other complaints which I have been harboring since our last conversation about two weeks ago.
Regardless, I was aware of the fact that whenever I talked about the school or about Thailand, I was bitter, angry, frustrated, and not at all pleasant to talk with. I was afraid that it had become a strengthening characteristic of mine to be bitter, angry, frustrated, and unpleasant, and that this change would, naturally, affect the way that I am around my family. I do see that as a characteristic, in all honesty, the past week I've been with them, with dark moods, anger management issues regarding a Toshiba order and an incompetent sales policy, and being almost unable to prevent myself from using words that would surely lead to mouth-washing with soap and a stern talking-to. I did come to realize, though, that while dark moods tend to swoop in unannounced and unwelcomed, my family seems to take it into stride and sometimes slap me in the face (metaphorically) with a dose of reality by reminding me that I've still got three weeks left in paradise, and if I don't enjoy it now, I'm stuck in Thailand for another five months with no hope. (Okay, so they don't put it that way, but I'm good at reading between the lines!)
It seems, though, as I was gone for a while, my family have been experiencing their own problems, each in the privacy of their own corners of the world, and that their problems are just as daunting as my own. Futures are always uncertain; hearts are always broken, taken advantage of, ripped off and pulled apart; and bitterness is covered with a face of indifference or simple disappearance. But the one thing I know that I can count on is my family. Because they know me. They know me inside and out, and they know that I need to stop thinking about work and need to sort out what I want to do in the future. They know that I'm a bitter, bitter person and that it's hard to get me out of those ruts, but they also know that I'm easily pleased with nature and that I love good vegetarian food and a good walk around the neighborhood. (They also know my Taiwan sweet tooth and my love for complex carbohydrates.) They don't know about my love life or my struggle with my Chinese-American identity. They don't know that I harbor intense hatred for only one person and that I intend to find him. And they don't know about my struggles with writing or my passion for it. But they know me. And out of all of the people I've had the fortune (and misfortune) of meeting, very few know how to handle me.
Without family, where on earth would I be?
The grass always seem greener on the other side of the fence. However, I think the grass is always greener on the side of the fence that my family's on. Even though there are a couple spots that's a bit yellow and had obviously been urinated on, it's still greener and cleaner and always feels like home.
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)