It's almost June. June means I'll be leaving soon. Leaving soon means one thing to me. Freedom.
And what does freedom mean to me? Surprisingly, I don't have a single clue.
For the first time a couple weeks ago, I actually felt a twinge of regret in my heart. I started spending my free time in daydreams of open roads, clear skies, fresh air, good food. I sat in my chair and thought about friends, family. I lay in my bed and couldn't stop thinking about how much more comfortable my bed back home is...
I think most people call it, being homesick. Chalk it up to China to leave me feeling foreign feelings. Foreign...I just chuckled.
I'm dreading my decision that I have a strong premonition I'll be making--the decision, to find work in Hong Kong. I dread it because, well because that would mean staying away from home for an even longer period of time. But if I think about it for more than a few seconds I realize, it's also just a tad bit exciting.
Why? Well, I guess Hong Kong is a little bit like home too.
Thursday, May 29, 2008
Wednesday, May 14, 2008
"Teacher, your game isn't fun at all."
said two girls in my class today.
I can't get over how funny things work in life. I was biking earlier this morning and thought to myself, "You know, I think I'm actually starting to enjoy teaching, in some small, strange way, despite all the struggles and the fact that I'm not a real 'teacher'." Then, as life would have it, during my last class, someone took a sledgehammer and hit my newfound revelation square in the face.
It was during one of my "peasant classes", one where the majority of the students are apathetic to the point where I now run the class in a really relaxed, let's just chat and have fun kind of way (mostly to keep my vitality going which is a rarity these days). Still most of the students don't pay attention, but I can have some small conversation with some of students. In the end, I decided to do a little game of practicing asking questions with some team competition involved. And then at the end, those two girls hit the jackpot.
And they didn't stop there. I only understood maybe 80% of their words, but I got almost 100% of their meaning, and then some. "Teacher we've done this before. You're too relaxed, calm, and easy going. You don't care about our class. That's why everyone's so loud and doesn't listen to you. You should care about us."
It doesn't matter whether their statement had weight to it or not. They had guts, I give them that. Two Chinese girls willing to speak their mind, finally. Of course, it doesn't change the fact that I was indignant, but at the same time, I couldn't deny that for their class, I actually didn't care a whole lot.
I didn't respond, and in retrospect, I'm glad I didn't. I could have defended myself with a flood of excuses. In fact, I don't know if I would call them excuses. They're almost facts that are so overbearing I could list them all and once again realize it's just impossible to run this class. I could have justified my position to anyone and be vindicated. But in the end, what would have defending myself done to change the situation of the class?
Nothing.
The girls would feel bad for bringing it up (or even more indignant), I would feel better about myself but still upset about the situation, and the class would just be the same next week. It always comes down to the students, and more than anyone, they always lose.
Regardless of how I felt about that moment, or the job in general, I'm beginning to realize how crucial a teacher's job is. It's easy to get lost in the bureaucracy of my job here. I'm not necessarily treated well, severely underpaid, the environment isn't conducive, the faculty don't seem to care, no one has any real suggestions, I could go on and on. And of course, when other people e-mail me to ask me about my perspective about this place, I give them my honest opinion as objectively as possible. Truthfully, I think losing foreign teachers for a year would really wake the administration up to the fact that they need to decide what they want this foreign English teacher program to be, that they need to provide some backbone if they don't want the foreign teachers to go crazy.
But that, in the end also harms the students. Everything always comes down to the students. It has to. There aren't many jobs where every little decision has a direct impact on someone's life. If I don't feel like planning because something ruined my mood, the students lose. If a previous class was rowdy and the following class I decided to do something ridiculous in revenge, the students lose.
I've never felt so much pressure to not focus on myself.
I can't get over how funny things work in life. I was biking earlier this morning and thought to myself, "You know, I think I'm actually starting to enjoy teaching, in some small, strange way, despite all the struggles and the fact that I'm not a real 'teacher'." Then, as life would have it, during my last class, someone took a sledgehammer and hit my newfound revelation square in the face.
It was during one of my "peasant classes", one where the majority of the students are apathetic to the point where I now run the class in a really relaxed, let's just chat and have fun kind of way (mostly to keep my vitality going which is a rarity these days). Still most of the students don't pay attention, but I can have some small conversation with some of students. In the end, I decided to do a little game of practicing asking questions with some team competition involved. And then at the end, those two girls hit the jackpot.
And they didn't stop there. I only understood maybe 80% of their words, but I got almost 100% of their meaning, and then some. "Teacher we've done this before. You're too relaxed, calm, and easy going. You don't care about our class. That's why everyone's so loud and doesn't listen to you. You should care about us."
It doesn't matter whether their statement had weight to it or not. They had guts, I give them that. Two Chinese girls willing to speak their mind, finally. Of course, it doesn't change the fact that I was indignant, but at the same time, I couldn't deny that for their class, I actually didn't care a whole lot.
I didn't respond, and in retrospect, I'm glad I didn't. I could have defended myself with a flood of excuses. In fact, I don't know if I would call them excuses. They're almost facts that are so overbearing I could list them all and once again realize it's just impossible to run this class. I could have justified my position to anyone and be vindicated. But in the end, what would have defending myself done to change the situation of the class?
Nothing.
The girls would feel bad for bringing it up (or even more indignant), I would feel better about myself but still upset about the situation, and the class would just be the same next week. It always comes down to the students, and more than anyone, they always lose.
Regardless of how I felt about that moment, or the job in general, I'm beginning to realize how crucial a teacher's job is. It's easy to get lost in the bureaucracy of my job here. I'm not necessarily treated well, severely underpaid, the environment isn't conducive, the faculty don't seem to care, no one has any real suggestions, I could go on and on. And of course, when other people e-mail me to ask me about my perspective about this place, I give them my honest opinion as objectively as possible. Truthfully, I think losing foreign teachers for a year would really wake the administration up to the fact that they need to decide what they want this foreign English teacher program to be, that they need to provide some backbone if they don't want the foreign teachers to go crazy.
But that, in the end also harms the students. Everything always comes down to the students. It has to. There aren't many jobs where every little decision has a direct impact on someone's life. If I don't feel like planning because something ruined my mood, the students lose. If a previous class was rowdy and the following class I decided to do something ridiculous in revenge, the students lose.
I've never felt so much pressure to not focus on myself.
Friday, May 9, 2008
In the Mirror. Already.
I knew it would come soon, but I hardly expected the e-mail to come, now.
It was an e-mail from someone else--the next person to come to my school to be exact--asking for my thoughts, opinions, and overall impression of the place.
It's interesting on two counts. One, I'm not even through with being here. And two, well, it makes me already stare at my own experiences so far, look myself in the mirror, and ask myself...
"What have I done? What have I accomplished? What have I experienced?"
I wrote her a rather lengthy e-mail detailing my school, the city, the environment, and other mundane questions she asked about. And of course, I went into details about my teaching experience, which has changed significantly since I last wrote (in a good way for me, in a raise the white flag kind of way) and I'll write about the next time.
But the question I mostly inquired about, and asked her to reflect on it herself, was what her goals were in coming here in the first place.
I was in a unique position when I applied. I had just sent in my graduate school applications and had some time to burn, and so burn away time I did. I came here to China, to get some teaching experience and just to try something different.
And that's exactly what has happened. I'm here, I now have some teaching experience under my belt (though not of the type I imagined), and I am here, experiencing something different. Most of what I have experienced and learned has been about two things. One, my own cultural identity, and two, a realization on how big the world is and more importantly, how small I am.
I'll touch on number two first. Studying abroad in Hong Kong two years ago already made me realize how big the world is. Living in a place completely different from home does that to you. You see that there are people in the world who live lives completely different from the way you do yourself, yet often share variations on--if not exactly--similar topics. Everyone has dreams. Everyone has hopes. Everywhere there is some concept of family, though obviously its purpose differs.
Coming here in China, took that view and destroyed it. It was like I had experienced first hand how big the world was in Hong Kong, and then someone took a bat to my brain and said, "You think this is big? You have no idea." The concept is the same. People in the world who live lives completely different from my own, but to what great lengths? I can only imagine other parts of the world now. Living in China, especially in this rural place of sorts, has been so different from everything I ever experienced, it's a series of never ending shocks. The people here are so culturally different from the things I know, the things I call familiar, everything I've seen. To experience first hand the people, their lifestyle, what their window of the world looks like...it's an exercise in exhilaration and awe (at least, for the curious and open minded.) I can only imagine how much life must be different for people in Africa. The Middle East. I often wonder, what if really, I were to switch places with some of the students here? What if I traded my western upbringing for this rural place in rapidly developing China? All they know of my home is what they see on TV (state run I might add), and the postcards I show them.
Yet all this is an exercise in a mental struggle, which brings me to point one: identity. The problem with all this observation doing, is that I'm in China, and that ethnically, I'm Chinese. It's a struggle, because despite my own views, I'm somehow told here and there that I should be able to identify with my "motherland," which is a ridiculous thought to begin with, please don't seriously ingrain it into anyone's head. The problem being what I stated before. Everything here is culturally different from the things I know, the things I call familiar. It all boils down to one concept.
China is foreign to me.
It's not just some "oh I'm Asian American of course China's foreign". It's a true realization that China, and I, have almost nothing in common. Their communication style is weird, the implications ridiculous to me, the context sensitivity tiring, their methodology mind baffling. I've always internally compared myself to my other Asian American friends and always felt less Asian. That always left me with a mixture of pride, and a feeling I won't classify as shame. More like, confusion. Should I be more Asian? Should I be more...anything?
And today, I give an emphatic yet simple answer. No.
In a way this is the best thing this experience could have done for me. In college I was (in a way) incorrectly told that I was Chinese for a reason (which is true), but the implications where subtly drawn in the sand that that meant certain things for my identity, and for what that meant I should identify with. That's finally beginning to be done away with...the idea that I need to identify with something. I can just be who I am and identify with what I do identify with, and be curious and open minded about the rest.
It was an e-mail from someone else--the next person to come to my school to be exact--asking for my thoughts, opinions, and overall impression of the place.
It's interesting on two counts. One, I'm not even through with being here. And two, well, it makes me already stare at my own experiences so far, look myself in the mirror, and ask myself...
"What have I done? What have I accomplished? What have I experienced?"
I wrote her a rather lengthy e-mail detailing my school, the city, the environment, and other mundane questions she asked about. And of course, I went into details about my teaching experience, which has changed significantly since I last wrote (in a good way for me, in a raise the white flag kind of way) and I'll write about the next time.
But the question I mostly inquired about, and asked her to reflect on it herself, was what her goals were in coming here in the first place.
I was in a unique position when I applied. I had just sent in my graduate school applications and had some time to burn, and so burn away time I did. I came here to China, to get some teaching experience and just to try something different.
And that's exactly what has happened. I'm here, I now have some teaching experience under my belt (though not of the type I imagined), and I am here, experiencing something different. Most of what I have experienced and learned has been about two things. One, my own cultural identity, and two, a realization on how big the world is and more importantly, how small I am.
I'll touch on number two first. Studying abroad in Hong Kong two years ago already made me realize how big the world is. Living in a place completely different from home does that to you. You see that there are people in the world who live lives completely different from the way you do yourself, yet often share variations on--if not exactly--similar topics. Everyone has dreams. Everyone has hopes. Everywhere there is some concept of family, though obviously its purpose differs.
Coming here in China, took that view and destroyed it. It was like I had experienced first hand how big the world was in Hong Kong, and then someone took a bat to my brain and said, "You think this is big? You have no idea." The concept is the same. People in the world who live lives completely different from my own, but to what great lengths? I can only imagine other parts of the world now. Living in China, especially in this rural place of sorts, has been so different from everything I ever experienced, it's a series of never ending shocks. The people here are so culturally different from the things I know, the things I call familiar, everything I've seen. To experience first hand the people, their lifestyle, what their window of the world looks like...it's an exercise in exhilaration and awe (at least, for the curious and open minded.) I can only imagine how much life must be different for people in Africa. The Middle East. I often wonder, what if really, I were to switch places with some of the students here? What if I traded my western upbringing for this rural place in rapidly developing China? All they know of my home is what they see on TV (state run I might add), and the postcards I show them.
Yet all this is an exercise in a mental struggle, which brings me to point one: identity. The problem with all this observation doing, is that I'm in China, and that ethnically, I'm Chinese. It's a struggle, because despite my own views, I'm somehow told here and there that I should be able to identify with my "motherland," which is a ridiculous thought to begin with, please don't seriously ingrain it into anyone's head. The problem being what I stated before. Everything here is culturally different from the things I know, the things I call familiar. It all boils down to one concept.
China is foreign to me.
It's not just some "oh I'm Asian American of course China's foreign". It's a true realization that China, and I, have almost nothing in common. Their communication style is weird, the implications ridiculous to me, the context sensitivity tiring, their methodology mind baffling. I've always internally compared myself to my other Asian American friends and always felt less Asian. That always left me with a mixture of pride, and a feeling I won't classify as shame. More like, confusion. Should I be more Asian? Should I be more...anything?
And today, I give an emphatic yet simple answer. No.
In a way this is the best thing this experience could have done for me. In college I was (in a way) incorrectly told that I was Chinese for a reason (which is true), but the implications where subtly drawn in the sand that that meant certain things for my identity, and for what that meant I should identify with. That's finally beginning to be done away with...the idea that I need to identify with something. I can just be who I am and identify with what I do identify with, and be curious and open minded about the rest.
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