Lately, I've been addicted to dreams.
The habit started a little over a year ago during first semester senior year. I started having really vivid, colorful dreams, the kind that you wake up and never want to forget, but inevitably do. I usually wake up in a semi conscious state and drift away the next one or two hours daydreaming. No matter what activity I have planned for the morning, or what work needs to be done, I almost always make excuses: "O I can get that done in half an hour, I don't really need to get up now" "O I don't have to do that today..." I long for an extra moment to spend in an adventurous, imaginary world.
Here's what Anne Bogart learned from her new production of "Midsummer Night's Dream":
I think what I've learned is that when we go to sleep we all become fairies. That we lose the limitations of the body. So fairy is the other side of the day. That's what I've learned in rehearsal.
Perhaps this tells me something. I'm not happy with my present situation in the real world, so I long for fake one.
When I actually do get up (at the last possible minute), I feel an overwhelming sense of guilt and pledge to get up early tomorrow morning.
But the cycle repeats.
To make matters worse, I have this nasty habit of going to bed at 3 or 4am every night. There were days where the night seemed long and I thought of 5am as a deep part of the night that no one ever saw. But nowadays I am as familiar with 5am as I am with 5pm.
Although I blame myself, the hours of my job to have an effect on me. I come to work around 2pm and usually leave around 9 or 10pm. Naturally, I'm tired when I get home after working with kids all day. But taking a nap means death. If I fall asleep, that means my entire sleep schedule will suffer, and I'll be right back to going to bed at 5am, waking up at 1pm, losing half the day.
This must stop.
Last week I made a change. I've been exercising several times a week since December, usually at night after work. Finally realizing how crazy this behavior is, last week I forced myself to get up one hour early (11am) and exercise for 40 minutes. I did this four times last week and had an overwhelmingly good response. I entered work energized and with ceaseless positive attitude. Better still, I'm sufficiently tired by 1am, and last night I got to sleep around 2am. My ultimate goal is 10am and I think I can do it.
But I will still daydream. In an effort to pour more art into my life, I bought a poster of Van Gogh's "Starry Night" and hung it over my bed. I've spent well over an hour at a time staring at this painting, following my thoughts as I race through time, pondering memories of the past and present. Day-dreaming really has become a drug for me, ha.
24.2.11
22.2.11
A difficult student
Here goes, my first case study on a problem student. My teaching abilities have grown exponentially over the past six months, and I'm very proud. But the experience hasn't been without its problem students, and I finally feel it's necessary to get my feelings on this student out of my system.
Korean middle school students don't really have any reason to take my class seriously. There's no homework, the grades are guaranteed to be an A- or higher (I don't stick to this practice), I can't call their parents, there's no such thing as a parent teacher conference, or even a conference with the academy director, and I'm not supposed to make the class any more interesting than what's written in the book. And it doesn't help that the book is murder for their minds. It's so boring.
I've found ways of bending the rules over the past six months, sometimes keeping my unorthodox lesson plans secret from the school staff. If the students are bored, I blame myself first. It's my job to motivate them. It's my job to bring variety and relevant material into the classroom. But sometimes you get a kid that no matter how hard you try, they won't respond to any of the tricks in your bag.
I have one class of middle school students that just feels impossible to teach. The class is made up of about 6 students, roughly half girls, half boys. With the exception of two girls, no one speaks in the class. They just sit there in dead terror and every question I ask is follow by a 10-30 pause. I don't know whether to just give them the answer or try in push them into the right direct, because that almost always scares them even more and they end up freezing right up.
I call these students the zombie students. They move at the pace of a snail, stare at you with blank dead eyes, and rarely answer a question within 30 seconds. I've built up a couple strategies to deal with these sorts of students, but I'm having far more trouble with the other kind: the sulky teenage girl.
I can never seem to keep these girls quiet. They're always talking, either to their friends or on their cellphone, which I repeatedly tell them to put away. If I separate them, they'll talk to each other in Korean from different corners of the room, even while I'm talking. I tried standing directly in front of them to block their view of their friends; it doesn't help - they talk right through me.
These students are also difficult because they are quite negative and snotty. They always come to class with a negative attitude and will counter any attempts at positive reinforcement with everything from snide comments to down-right insults, all conducted in Korean of course to further sting the blow. These students will answer your questions in Korean to your face, and call you names to your face, using the power they get from the language barrier to their full advantage.
Such was the case of Sara, a 14 year old student in this class. She completely ignored me from the start, never answering questions, always on her phone. Always making fun of me, always doing satires of my voice, never participating in the class. I would ignore her and focus on the other students, but her behavior was so loud and obnoxious that it was distracting to everyone. I noticed that she really hates confrontation and she would get really uncomfortable when I got up close to her and asked her what the problem was. What do you do with students that want to be ignored?
The first incident occurred when I took her phone away. After several warnings I just wrestled it out of her hand and set it on my desk, telling her she would get it back when the bell rang. Fifteen minutes later I handed her back her phone, and after giving me a dirty look she stormed out of the class. This clearly meant war. I treated her like a child in front of the entire class and I would have to pay the price. Of course, she doesn't need me in order to be perceived as a child; she does a fine job of that on her own. But from this day forth, she had no other objective than to make my life hell.
Over the next few weeks the snottiness intensified. Her flagrant behavior was all directed at me, to piss the hell out of me. She talked over other students as they answered questions. She called me names to my face. No matter what question I asked she set off on a torrent of belligerent Korean, avoiding my gaze, and speaking to her friend. I moved her to every corner of the room. I even confronted her with the question "Do you hate me? Why?" Maybe I got through to her, but she wouldn't respond.
Her Korean teacher was of no use. When I asked for advice on the situation, the Korean teacher simply said, "She acts that way in my class too." That was not helpful.
Finally I couldn't take it anymore. Classes are fifty minutes, and one day Sara finally rolled in, 40 minutes late. She came forty minutes late to a fifty minute class! Why she bothered to come, I have no idea. She ignored me from the unexpected moment she entered the room, barging in, and plopping herself right down next to her friend where she started a very loud conversation. I calmly walked over toward her and squatted in front of her desk.
"Why are you late Sara?"
I got a bunch of garbled Korean spat out at me.
"Sara, you are 40 minutes late. The class ends in 10 minutes. Why are you late?"
I squared me down in the eye and started saying something in Korean. I didn't know what, but it was very nasty.
"Sara, please leave." I pointed to the door. "Go, now."
I finally got some English out of her: "Really?"
"Yes. Leave."
"Good. I'm going home."
I never intended for her to go home, but that's exactly what she did, barging out of the classroom, screaming at the director, telling him she would never come to my class again. I only wanted her to wait outside in the lobby. Her friend Sierra ran after her. I didn't see tears at all - only hot anger.
The final incident took place the following week. Sara did come back to the class. She was 10 minutes late this time, arriving right in the middle of a spelling test. She barged through the door in her typical manner and began a loud conversation with her friend.
I told her three times to be quiet, as I was right in the middle of delivering a spelling test, and it was unfair to the other students. All I got were dirty looks. The third time I screamed at her to sit down and be quiet. No response. I marched out of the room, got the director's wife, and told her what happened, expecting some sort of punishment.
Nothing.
The director's wife didn't say anything to me, and quietly took Sara out of the room.
That was in November. Sara hasn't been inside my classroom since.
Today I said hello to Sara as I passed her in the hallways. I got a nasty look and a a mocking return on my hello, behind my back of course. I can't believe she still wants to fight me, four months after this battle.
I don't know if she will ever come back to my class, but it appears that the academy has given her the option of not attending my class. That means I may never teach her again. While I do think we needed a break from each other, in order for Sara to see that her behavior was unacceptable, and bitching and complaining will not get what she wants from the world, I want her to come back , especially now that I've had time to detoxify the students and improve my management of the classroom. But she may not come back; she doesn't have top. As long as the academy lets her do as she pleases, Sara's behavior won't change, and as she sees it, she's won.
Korean middle school students don't really have any reason to take my class seriously. There's no homework, the grades are guaranteed to be an A- or higher (I don't stick to this practice), I can't call their parents, there's no such thing as a parent teacher conference, or even a conference with the academy director, and I'm not supposed to make the class any more interesting than what's written in the book. And it doesn't help that the book is murder for their minds. It's so boring.
I've found ways of bending the rules over the past six months, sometimes keeping my unorthodox lesson plans secret from the school staff. If the students are bored, I blame myself first. It's my job to motivate them. It's my job to bring variety and relevant material into the classroom. But sometimes you get a kid that no matter how hard you try, they won't respond to any of the tricks in your bag.
I have one class of middle school students that just feels impossible to teach. The class is made up of about 6 students, roughly half girls, half boys. With the exception of two girls, no one speaks in the class. They just sit there in dead terror and every question I ask is follow by a 10-30 pause. I don't know whether to just give them the answer or try in push them into the right direct, because that almost always scares them even more and they end up freezing right up.
I call these students the zombie students. They move at the pace of a snail, stare at you with blank dead eyes, and rarely answer a question within 30 seconds. I've built up a couple strategies to deal with these sorts of students, but I'm having far more trouble with the other kind: the sulky teenage girl.
I can never seem to keep these girls quiet. They're always talking, either to their friends or on their cellphone, which I repeatedly tell them to put away. If I separate them, they'll talk to each other in Korean from different corners of the room, even while I'm talking. I tried standing directly in front of them to block their view of their friends; it doesn't help - they talk right through me.
These students are also difficult because they are quite negative and snotty. They always come to class with a negative attitude and will counter any attempts at positive reinforcement with everything from snide comments to down-right insults, all conducted in Korean of course to further sting the blow. These students will answer your questions in Korean to your face, and call you names to your face, using the power they get from the language barrier to their full advantage.
Such was the case of Sara, a 14 year old student in this class. She completely ignored me from the start, never answering questions, always on her phone. Always making fun of me, always doing satires of my voice, never participating in the class. I would ignore her and focus on the other students, but her behavior was so loud and obnoxious that it was distracting to everyone. I noticed that she really hates confrontation and she would get really uncomfortable when I got up close to her and asked her what the problem was. What do you do with students that want to be ignored?
The first incident occurred when I took her phone away. After several warnings I just wrestled it out of her hand and set it on my desk, telling her she would get it back when the bell rang. Fifteen minutes later I handed her back her phone, and after giving me a dirty look she stormed out of the class. This clearly meant war. I treated her like a child in front of the entire class and I would have to pay the price. Of course, she doesn't need me in order to be perceived as a child; she does a fine job of that on her own. But from this day forth, she had no other objective than to make my life hell.
Over the next few weeks the snottiness intensified. Her flagrant behavior was all directed at me, to piss the hell out of me. She talked over other students as they answered questions. She called me names to my face. No matter what question I asked she set off on a torrent of belligerent Korean, avoiding my gaze, and speaking to her friend. I moved her to every corner of the room. I even confronted her with the question "Do you hate me? Why?" Maybe I got through to her, but she wouldn't respond.
Her Korean teacher was of no use. When I asked for advice on the situation, the Korean teacher simply said, "She acts that way in my class too." That was not helpful.
Finally I couldn't take it anymore. Classes are fifty minutes, and one day Sara finally rolled in, 40 minutes late. She came forty minutes late to a fifty minute class! Why she bothered to come, I have no idea. She ignored me from the unexpected moment she entered the room, barging in, and plopping herself right down next to her friend where she started a very loud conversation. I calmly walked over toward her and squatted in front of her desk.
"Why are you late Sara?"
I got a bunch of garbled Korean spat out at me.
"Sara, you are 40 minutes late. The class ends in 10 minutes. Why are you late?"
I squared me down in the eye and started saying something in Korean. I didn't know what, but it was very nasty.
"Sara, please leave." I pointed to the door. "Go, now."
I finally got some English out of her: "Really?"
"Yes. Leave."
"Good. I'm going home."
I never intended for her to go home, but that's exactly what she did, barging out of the classroom, screaming at the director, telling him she would never come to my class again. I only wanted her to wait outside in the lobby. Her friend Sierra ran after her. I didn't see tears at all - only hot anger.
The final incident took place the following week. Sara did come back to the class. She was 10 minutes late this time, arriving right in the middle of a spelling test. She barged through the door in her typical manner and began a loud conversation with her friend.
I told her three times to be quiet, as I was right in the middle of delivering a spelling test, and it was unfair to the other students. All I got were dirty looks. The third time I screamed at her to sit down and be quiet. No response. I marched out of the room, got the director's wife, and told her what happened, expecting some sort of punishment.
Nothing.
The director's wife didn't say anything to me, and quietly took Sara out of the room.
That was in November. Sara hasn't been inside my classroom since.
Today I said hello to Sara as I passed her in the hallways. I got a nasty look and a a mocking return on my hello, behind my back of course. I can't believe she still wants to fight me, four months after this battle.
I don't know if she will ever come back to my class, but it appears that the academy has given her the option of not attending my class. That means I may never teach her again. While I do think we needed a break from each other, in order for Sara to see that her behavior was unacceptable, and bitching and complaining will not get what she wants from the world, I want her to come back , especially now that I've had time to detoxify the students and improve my management of the classroom. But she may not come back; she doesn't have top. As long as the academy lets her do as she pleases, Sara's behavior won't change, and as she sees it, she's won.
Growing Up
Today, just before running out the door, I downloaded Copeland's Appalachian Spring onto my mp3 player. I opened the door in a rush to get to the bus station and I was stopped silly. It's been cold for as long as I remember (since November) and even just last week the Korean winter dumped a load of snow onto Masan's streets. But today it was sunny, warm, and smelled of spring. Of course all the trees are dead, but it was WARM! For the first time in months I took off my black coat and stepped outside, feeling quite naked in my sweater and sports coat.
Every spring I look forward to this feeling: a renewed energy, a sense of space, free from the cramped cabin fever of winter, brilliant sunshine. I just want to rush outside, roll in some grass and listen to music with the windows wide open. Unfortunately there's still a bite of cold in the air, and there's no grass, as it's all dead from the winter.
As I got on the bus headed for Pusan, I started listening to Copeland's Appalachian Spring and the music hot me so hard. Copeland's music is distinctly American. Whenever I listen to this piece I always get a sense of wide open spaces and nature waking up from winter's slumber. I see rushing brooks, ice melting off trees and still pools of water deep within the forests. I felt a longing, a pain for home. This music takes me back to the woodlands of upstate New York and as I looked out onto the dead, brown Korean mountains, I thought of all the places I've been over the past eight years. Home has always been a suffocating place for me, but it's where I grew up, and I can't help but feel attached. I miss going on long walks trough the damp forest by my house, adventuring by the creeks and waterfalls, the open rolling grassy hills and the tall shady pine trees.
And it hit me suddenly how much I've changed.
In all my years of 'finding myself' I haven't once thought of the word 'maturity'. I recall coming back from my amazing London experience recharged, confident, and grounded. Carole remarked: "You got manly. You've really grown up." I didn't think much about her comment then, but a year and a half later it finally makes sense.
Returning back to the Hamilton bubble after my London experience was harsh. I felt trapped after spending months wandering the streets of London and nearby cities. I managed the first semester of senior year very well, but I fell apart the second semester: my fear and insecurity about my post-grad future dragged me down.
But I LET it drag me down. I look back and realize how immature I acted. This time in Korea has been exactly what I needed because it has re-done what London did for me two years ago: It forces me to behave like an adult. It forces me to challenge my current identity. Like a baby, I am re-learning how to interact with people, all over again. How does one make friends? How does one interact in society? How does one behave in a professional environment? Working and living in a different culture has given me the perspective to evaluate how I interact with people; rather than a fish stuck in a bowl (as I felt in America), I feel able to watch myself inside the bowl.
Here’s a quote from a book I’m reading called “The Learning Gap”, a study comparing education in Asian and American elementary schools:
Meaning often emerges through contrast. We do not know what it means to work hard until we see how others work. We do not understand what children can accomplish until we see what other children the same age do. So it is with cultures. Cross-cultural comparisons can help us discover characteristics of our own culture that we fail to notice because we are so familiar with them. Through such comparisons, our perceptions become clearer and sharper. (The Learning Gap, 16).
And I would add that not only can cross-cultural comparisons help us understand our own culture, but ourselves, the individual, as well.
Every spring I look forward to this feeling: a renewed energy, a sense of space, free from the cramped cabin fever of winter, brilliant sunshine. I just want to rush outside, roll in some grass and listen to music with the windows wide open. Unfortunately there's still a bite of cold in the air, and there's no grass, as it's all dead from the winter.
As I got on the bus headed for Pusan, I started listening to Copeland's Appalachian Spring and the music hot me so hard. Copeland's music is distinctly American. Whenever I listen to this piece I always get a sense of wide open spaces and nature waking up from winter's slumber. I see rushing brooks, ice melting off trees and still pools of water deep within the forests. I felt a longing, a pain for home. This music takes me back to the woodlands of upstate New York and as I looked out onto the dead, brown Korean mountains, I thought of all the places I've been over the past eight years. Home has always been a suffocating place for me, but it's where I grew up, and I can't help but feel attached. I miss going on long walks trough the damp forest by my house, adventuring by the creeks and waterfalls, the open rolling grassy hills and the tall shady pine trees.
And it hit me suddenly how much I've changed.
In all my years of 'finding myself' I haven't once thought of the word 'maturity'. I recall coming back from my amazing London experience recharged, confident, and grounded. Carole remarked: "You got manly. You've really grown up." I didn't think much about her comment then, but a year and a half later it finally makes sense.
Returning back to the Hamilton bubble after my London experience was harsh. I felt trapped after spending months wandering the streets of London and nearby cities. I managed the first semester of senior year very well, but I fell apart the second semester: my fear and insecurity about my post-grad future dragged me down.
But I LET it drag me down. I look back and realize how immature I acted. This time in Korea has been exactly what I needed because it has re-done what London did for me two years ago: It forces me to behave like an adult. It forces me to challenge my current identity. Like a baby, I am re-learning how to interact with people, all over again. How does one make friends? How does one interact in society? How does one behave in a professional environment? Working and living in a different culture has given me the perspective to evaluate how I interact with people; rather than a fish stuck in a bowl (as I felt in America), I feel able to watch myself inside the bowl.
Here’s a quote from a book I’m reading called “The Learning Gap”, a study comparing education in Asian and American elementary schools:
Meaning often emerges through contrast. We do not know what it means to work hard until we see how others work. We do not understand what children can accomplish until we see what other children the same age do. So it is with cultures. Cross-cultural comparisons can help us discover characteristics of our own culture that we fail to notice because we are so familiar with them. Through such comparisons, our perceptions become clearer and sharper. (The Learning Gap, 16).
And I would add that not only can cross-cultural comparisons help us understand our own culture, but ourselves, the individual, as well.
21.2.11
A Snowstorm in Masan?
It just occurred to me that I haven't posted any pictures from my time in Korea, or even from my adventure in Bangkok. I light of last week's out-of-the-blue snowstorm I've decided photos will do more justice than words. Although this storm was nothing like the nor-easters we get back home, these coastal city inhabitants were, for the most part, unprepared. I saw Koreans walking around in sandals (with socks of course), I slipped and fell multiple times on unsalted sidewalks...on a positive note it was easy to cross the road this time as cars were driving along at a snail's pace.
The kids were surprisingly unexcited for the four or five inches dumped onto us from the heavens. I started each class by pointing outside and asking the students "Is it raining?" I got a long, intoned, numbly "no, teacher" from the students, clearly unenthused. Surprised, I turned back to the schoolwork. The students have told me many times that it seldom snows in Masan, and I thought today's mini-blizzard would have them jumping off the walls with glee. But no, all I got were complaints about the cold.
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