Every day in the classroom has its interesting moments. The joy of Teaching exists in the summation of tiny moments throughout the day - little victories, or little tragedies. It's exhausting work because you must commit to each moment, then follow through with the next moment, and keeping paying this detailed attention to your work until its time to call it a day. Like acting, it drains you, mentally, physically, and emotionally.
Christina has not been an interesting student to teach. She started with the academy several months ago and she hasn't made a peep since. Christina likes to sit in the back of the class and play with her phone (she's 14 years old). She'll put her phone away when I tell her to, but almost everything else she has ignored. She's never answered any questions, and always seems lost whenever we do a game or writing activity. She never says hi to me, and gives me a dead zombie look whenever I ask her how she is, or what her favorite hobbies or school subjects are.
This past month my middle school classes have been suspended and turned into prep classes for the big middle school tests at the end of April. Usually I'm handed a couple kids, given a passage from a textbook, and instructed to help the kids 'memorize' the passage. At first I thought this had to be a miscommunication. Do the teachers really want me to help the students memorize the passage word for word, as if it were a monologue for an audition. Yes, was my answer after interrogating the teachers. Apparently, the passages on the big middle school come from the middle school textbook, so to get a good grade all you have to do is memorize the passage and the direct English translation.
So this has been my job for the past month. No matter how critical I am of the system, this is the way things are done here in Korea, and if memorizing a load of meaningless info is what helps the kids do well, I need to help (and motivate them) do that.
Last night Christina walked into my room, and my initial thought was, uggh this will be a boring 50 minutes. We sat down together and I went through the usual motions: Hi, how are you, how is school....no response. Didn't even look at me. Mighty intimidating! So I decided to move onto the textbook. I've come with a rotating list of games to play around with the text, to make the time pass quicker and keep teacher and students from falling asleep. But after three games Christina still showed no life inside her - her robotic movement and voice only doing what was necessary.
I changed the topic.
"Christina, what are your favorite school subjects?"
No answer.
"Christina, do you like math?"
No answer.
"How about music?"
No answer.
"Do you like school?"
A slow shaking of the head - NO.
What do you like?
No answer.
I began to draw a pathetic sketch of Homer Simpson.
"You know the Simpsons? Do you like it?
No response. Damn, and I thought I had this one because I noticed her Simpson's themed pencil case.
I thought of this as a challenge -- how can I get Christina to speak? Then I had an idea. I fetched my Korean language textbook and began to flip through the pages.
For a moment, I thought she had no interest, but she suddenly took hold of the book and began leafing through the pages on her own. Then she started pointing out random Korean words in the book for me to pronounce. And then she started laughing.
I had never heard her laugh before! And before you know it, she was speaking to me, asking me what I know and don't know about the Korean language. We were laughing together.
Christina pointed to my textbook. "This is easy?"
"NO!" I replied. "It's very very difficult!"
She pointed to her English book. "This is hard", she said.
"I understand."
We did this for about 15 minutes before I knew it was time to return to the English text. She approached the material with a slightly higher energy, and didn't seem afraid of me anymore.
I want my students to know that I actually am interested in knowing what they have to say, how they are doing, what they like and don't like, what funny stories they have, etc. I discourage robotic responses to questions and I've actually posted a sign on the wall with a giant scribble over the phrase "I'm fine thanks, and you?" I hate that phrase. It's boring, meaningless, and no one in America actually uses the phrase "And you?". As an alternative I've posted a list of interesting answers, such as awesome, excited, tired, not good, terrible, ok, etc. with a drawing of a face matching the expression. I open ever class asking the kids how they are and I give out high five's matching their response:
I'm awesome=high jump high five
I'm tired=a lazy high five
I'm angry=a punchy high five
I'm so-so=a so-so high five
and so on.
I walked away that night really feeling like I had done my job. I've struggled over the past eight months to understand what exactly my role is at this school, and I've learned that I'm really here to combat students' fear. In some cases (especially with the super quiet teenagers) if they're speaking English, I've won, because that's an accomplishment in itself. Although I have many confident, outgoing students, those ones are a breeze to work with, and I see spend more energy and time trying to find ways to help the ones having trouble, or the ones with a bad attitude. It's not easy, and I've failed many times. But I will keep going, keep trying, and keep learning.
22.4.11
17.3.11
Creative Writing in the ESL Classroom
With bring new creative writing and speaking activities into my classroom comes a mystery. How will the students respond to the activity? Will they shut down and refuse to do it? Or will they go to the opposite extreme and take the activity with no seriousness at all and make a joke of the class? I've challenged my middle school students with activities they have likely never done before and I'm very interested in the results.
I approach my classroom as a laboratory. Since there is no curriculum, no syllabus, no homework, no grades that actually matter, and no tests, I see no difference between following the dull old textbook versus my own creative lesson plans. The students are bored to death with the textbook; they sometimes spend entire classes in utter silence staring at the floor, playing with their thumbs (that's only because the director has taken away their cell phones). I can't force someone to speak, can I? Isn't that a right a student keeps for themself? He or she can be forced to do homework, forced to do reading, but you can't force someone to speak, much less communicate with a foreigner.
I've learned that my job is not really to teach. True, I define vocabulary, correct pronunciation and grammar mistakes, point out skills in sentence construction and communication. But I'm not really teaching them English. They are here to practice English, meaning they should take what they know, what they've learned, and apply it in my classroom.
Upon this realization, I've started to a push for a more creative approach in my classroom. It's not about what you don't know, but what you do. I've learned that my students know more English than they let on. They are just afraid to use it, don't know how to use it, or they want to force a direct translation of what they want to say from Korean into English. When students try this, they run into vocabulary problems: they may not know the vocabulary or sentence structure to say what they want to say. Rather than try and use alternative words, synonyms, pictures gestures, the students freeze up and simply say nothing.
Perhaps this is a product of their "listen and repeat" memorization heavy environment. The students are accustomed to memorizing phrases that answer a specific question they have memorized. If you ask them a question that varies only a little bit from what they've memorized, they are completely in the dark.
This is the case with my middle school students, not with my elementary kids. Something very strange and bad happens to Korean children between the ages of 12 and 14, something that sucks the soul out of them.
Why can my eight year olds make better use of their incredibly limited vocabulary and still get their message across, while my older students, who have been studying for years upon years, can barely formed a sentence and struggle to remember words like "school", "fishing", and "tiger"?
As an experiment, I showed a flashcard picture of a gorilla cooking a banana over a gas range to two different groups of students.
First, the teenagers.
I showed the picture to a 14 year old teenage boy and asked "What happening?" No response. Pause. "What's the gorilla doing?" No response. Pause. I point to the gorilla. "What this?" .... .... ....finally, a response: "gorilla...banana...cook."
Same exact activity, but with 12 year olds.
Q: "What's happening?"
A: "The gorilla is cooking a banana on oven."
WHAT'S GOING ON?!?
Here are some sample stories taken from my middle school classes. This is one of a couple different activities I've tried -- story chain. I give the students a theme and some vocabulary (in this case, a fairy tale theme), and they have 1 minute to write a sentence, then pass the paper off to the next student. I've left the grammar and punctuation unedited.
1)One upon a time, There was a onions princess in vegetable world. A onion princess die. But next, the tomato prince kissed to a onion princess and she rise from the dead. But she didn't love anymore the tomato prince. So tomato prince killed a onion princess. But suddenly, tomato prince was married Pinocchio. But Pinocchio loved Cinderella. So Pinocchio divorce. Finally, the tomato prince was killed Pinocchio. And, Pinocchio was killed by God.
2)Once upon a time, there were 100 people in the world. They are very stupid and dirty. But next, they started study. But they didn't study hard, so they loved singers. They loved Big Bang (a popular Korean boy band)very much, x10000000. But suddenly, Big Bang visited them. Big Bang lived with 100 people. And Beast (another boy band) is come here, too. There was lived with Ashley, Britany. Finally, they were happy :). ^^Happy ending ^^.
3)Once upon a time, a princess lives in castle who is very tall. But a princess's face is like zombie. But next, she kills people. She found a tiger. And the tiger is her mom. But suddenly tiger died. The tiger go to the heaven. And a princess is crazy. Finally, she died. And, she go to sky.
4)Once upon a time. Pikchu shout fork, break head. But next, squirtle is heal the Pikchu. Pikchu becom a live. Pikachu is transformation. Pikachu is from North Korea. Pikhu ufc champion. But pikhu kill the person. Finally, pichu is suicide. And, he is a legend.
I think these stories, as listed here, get progressively worse. The final story in the list above is actually written by a middle school class of four boys, who are at a remarkably low speaking and writing level. It's strange because most middle school students hide how much English they actually know, usually because they are afraid of making a mistake. But not this class. They really don't know that much. Really.
Notice the common theme in all these stories: death, murder, and suicide. Korean students have a very morbid sense of humor. When a kid is late or missing from a class, I ask
"Where's ____?"
The kids answer, "Oh, he/she died."
"How did he/she die?"
"Car went bruuuuurak, then whhhaaakk, then CRAAAAACCKKKMMMMYAAAA, a ping ping ping, , and died.
I approach my classroom as a laboratory. Since there is no curriculum, no syllabus, no homework, no grades that actually matter, and no tests, I see no difference between following the dull old textbook versus my own creative lesson plans. The students are bored to death with the textbook; they sometimes spend entire classes in utter silence staring at the floor, playing with their thumbs (that's only because the director has taken away their cell phones). I can't force someone to speak, can I? Isn't that a right a student keeps for themself? He or she can be forced to do homework, forced to do reading, but you can't force someone to speak, much less communicate with a foreigner.
I've learned that my job is not really to teach. True, I define vocabulary, correct pronunciation and grammar mistakes, point out skills in sentence construction and communication. But I'm not really teaching them English. They are here to practice English, meaning they should take what they know, what they've learned, and apply it in my classroom.
Upon this realization, I've started to a push for a more creative approach in my classroom. It's not about what you don't know, but what you do. I've learned that my students know more English than they let on. They are just afraid to use it, don't know how to use it, or they want to force a direct translation of what they want to say from Korean into English. When students try this, they run into vocabulary problems: they may not know the vocabulary or sentence structure to say what they want to say. Rather than try and use alternative words, synonyms, pictures gestures, the students freeze up and simply say nothing.
Perhaps this is a product of their "listen and repeat" memorization heavy environment. The students are accustomed to memorizing phrases that answer a specific question they have memorized. If you ask them a question that varies only a little bit from what they've memorized, they are completely in the dark.
This is the case with my middle school students, not with my elementary kids. Something very strange and bad happens to Korean children between the ages of 12 and 14, something that sucks the soul out of them.
Why can my eight year olds make better use of their incredibly limited vocabulary and still get their message across, while my older students, who have been studying for years upon years, can barely formed a sentence and struggle to remember words like "school", "fishing", and "tiger"?
As an experiment, I showed a flashcard picture of a gorilla cooking a banana over a gas range to two different groups of students.
First, the teenagers.
I showed the picture to a 14 year old teenage boy and asked "What happening?" No response. Pause. "What's the gorilla doing?" No response. Pause. I point to the gorilla. "What this?" .... .... ....finally, a response: "gorilla...banana...cook."
Same exact activity, but with 12 year olds.
Q: "What's happening?"
A: "The gorilla is cooking a banana on oven."
WHAT'S GOING ON?!?
Here are some sample stories taken from my middle school classes. This is one of a couple different activities I've tried -- story chain. I give the students a theme and some vocabulary (in this case, a fairy tale theme), and they have 1 minute to write a sentence, then pass the paper off to the next student. I've left the grammar and punctuation unedited.
1)One upon a time, There was a onions princess in vegetable world. A onion princess die. But next, the tomato prince kissed to a onion princess and she rise from the dead. But she didn't love anymore the tomato prince. So tomato prince killed a onion princess. But suddenly, tomato prince was married Pinocchio. But Pinocchio loved Cinderella. So Pinocchio divorce. Finally, the tomato prince was killed Pinocchio. And, Pinocchio was killed by God.
2)Once upon a time, there were 100 people in the world. They are very stupid and dirty. But next, they started study. But they didn't study hard, so they loved singers. They loved Big Bang (a popular Korean boy band)very much, x10000000. But suddenly, Big Bang visited them. Big Bang lived with 100 people. And Beast (another boy band) is come here, too. There was lived with Ashley, Britany. Finally, they were happy :). ^^Happy ending ^^.
3)Once upon a time, a princess lives in castle who is very tall. But a princess's face is like zombie. But next, she kills people. She found a tiger. And the tiger is her mom. But suddenly tiger died. The tiger go to the heaven. And a princess is crazy. Finally, she died. And, she go to sky.
4)Once upon a time. Pikchu shout fork, break head. But next, squirtle is heal the Pikchu. Pikchu becom a live. Pikachu is transformation. Pikachu is from North Korea. Pikhu ufc champion. But pikhu kill the person. Finally, pichu is suicide. And, he is a legend.
I think these stories, as listed here, get progressively worse. The final story in the list above is actually written by a middle school class of four boys, who are at a remarkably low speaking and writing level. It's strange because most middle school students hide how much English they actually know, usually because they are afraid of making a mistake. But not this class. They really don't know that much. Really.
Notice the common theme in all these stories: death, murder, and suicide. Korean students have a very morbid sense of humor. When a kid is late or missing from a class, I ask
"Where's ____?"
The kids answer, "Oh, he/she died."
"How did he/she die?"
"Car went bruuuuurak, then whhhaaakk, then CRAAAAACCKKKMMMMYAAAA, a ping ping ping, , and died.
24.2.11
Sleeping habits
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.
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.
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.
14.2.11
A quick note on Thailand...
I’m in the middle of writing an epic blog entry on my trip to Bangkok, but I wanted to give a quick summary of my feelings about the trip before I launch into the ever growing details.
This trip was enormously necessary. I’m reading an excellent book on modern Korean history and culture by a British reporter who lived in Seoul for many years. In describe Korean attitude identity, he writes
The Koreans use the image of the frog in the well to explain their own parochialism. All the frog knows of the outside world is the distant patch of sky at the top of the well. The only reality is what happens in the well where it lives. (Breen, 18).
I, too, have felt like a frog stuck in the bottom of a well, and my ideas of Asia have been shaped by the strange culture of Korea. It was a good thing I climbed out of the well, even if it was only for a couple days. My experience in Thailand has given me the perspective needed to make better sense of Korean culture.
Bangkok and Attuhaya were very interesting places, but I would not call them strange. I saw widespread hedonism and liberated sexuality in the bars and alleys of Bangkok, I saw a poverty and dirtiness in Attuhaya that everyone seemed comfortable with, I saw androgynous Thai dancers dressed in full golden regalia. But what shocked me the most? I didn’t find anything strange. There were moments that shocked me, but in a playful, good-natured way. I remember stopping across a bridge in Bangkok to watch a band of men dressed as nuns in blonde wigs dance and sing on the sidewalk below. It was shocking, but I didn’t turn my face in disgust. I laughed and smiled.
In Korea I feel like the perpetual guest. Most people are very kind to me, always willing to offer help. But I would not say Koreans have been friendly to me; there always seems to be an invisible wall that separates us, a distance they keep. During my travels in Thailand I thought about how easy it would be to make Thai friends. In fact, many Thais did stop to talk to me. Sometimes they wanted money, of course, but they didn’t seem to have any trouble approaching people they wanted to talk to. Koreans are far more shy.
Thailand culture felt very extroverted. Everyone and everything was on display for me to see, from the golden spires of the palaces to the enormous feathered costumes of the dancers at the Chinese New Year celebration. It almost felt like there were two lives in Thailand: the performance of traditional culture and the performance of life in a modern world. But Koreans have woven their culture so well into modern life that it is difficult to separate the two. Korean culture IS the way of life in 2011. Perhaps this is why I feel that Korean culture is more internalized than Thai culture. Or maybe I’m not quite right, and Korean culture IS naturally more introverted than Thai culture. Korea was, after all, nicknamed “The Hermit Kingdom” during the 18th century, while Bangkok developed into an international crossroad for trade and culture.
I’m just throwing whatever ideas comes of my mind, but there is something about modern Korean life that is more psychological than the upfront, extroverted, larger than life performances I saw from people in Thailand. Are Koreans repressed? Certainly none of the sexual liberation I saw in Thailand exists in Korea, and if it does, it exists not in the open streets and alleyways, but behind closed doors. The need to conform is so great in this country, writer Breen said “There is probably no more homogeneous a country on Earth” (Breen, x). It’s rare to see something truly shocking in Korea. Even Korea youth, while they seem to stray away from older conservative attitudes, they still conform, only to their own codes of manners, dress, and behavior. I can’t say how many Koreans I have seen with the same exact pair of tight, faded blue jeans and black pea coat, topped with one of three or four choices of hair style.
My feelings are, probably, a bit skewed from visiting two popular tourist locations in Thailand, and I wonder if my feelings about Thailand would change if I had been able to travel deeper within the country. Thailand is a very chill place; Korea, very serious. But look how much the Koreans have accomplished since the 1970s, transforming their rubble covered backwards country into the world’s 11th largest economic power in just 30 years!
This trip was enormously necessary. I’m reading an excellent book on modern Korean history and culture by a British reporter who lived in Seoul for many years. In describe Korean attitude identity, he writes
The Koreans use the image of the frog in the well to explain their own parochialism. All the frog knows of the outside world is the distant patch of sky at the top of the well. The only reality is what happens in the well where it lives. (Breen, 18).
I, too, have felt like a frog stuck in the bottom of a well, and my ideas of Asia have been shaped by the strange culture of Korea. It was a good thing I climbed out of the well, even if it was only for a couple days. My experience in Thailand has given me the perspective needed to make better sense of Korean culture.
Bangkok and Attuhaya were very interesting places, but I would not call them strange. I saw widespread hedonism and liberated sexuality in the bars and alleys of Bangkok, I saw a poverty and dirtiness in Attuhaya that everyone seemed comfortable with, I saw androgynous Thai dancers dressed in full golden regalia. But what shocked me the most? I didn’t find anything strange. There were moments that shocked me, but in a playful, good-natured way. I remember stopping across a bridge in Bangkok to watch a band of men dressed as nuns in blonde wigs dance and sing on the sidewalk below. It was shocking, but I didn’t turn my face in disgust. I laughed and smiled.
In Korea I feel like the perpetual guest. Most people are very kind to me, always willing to offer help. But I would not say Koreans have been friendly to me; there always seems to be an invisible wall that separates us, a distance they keep. During my travels in Thailand I thought about how easy it would be to make Thai friends. In fact, many Thais did stop to talk to me. Sometimes they wanted money, of course, but they didn’t seem to have any trouble approaching people they wanted to talk to. Koreans are far more shy.
Thailand culture felt very extroverted. Everyone and everything was on display for me to see, from the golden spires of the palaces to the enormous feathered costumes of the dancers at the Chinese New Year celebration. It almost felt like there were two lives in Thailand: the performance of traditional culture and the performance of life in a modern world. But Koreans have woven their culture so well into modern life that it is difficult to separate the two. Korean culture IS the way of life in 2011. Perhaps this is why I feel that Korean culture is more internalized than Thai culture. Or maybe I’m not quite right, and Korean culture IS naturally more introverted than Thai culture. Korea was, after all, nicknamed “The Hermit Kingdom” during the 18th century, while Bangkok developed into an international crossroad for trade and culture.
I’m just throwing whatever ideas comes of my mind, but there is something about modern Korean life that is more psychological than the upfront, extroverted, larger than life performances I saw from people in Thailand. Are Koreans repressed? Certainly none of the sexual liberation I saw in Thailand exists in Korea, and if it does, it exists not in the open streets and alleyways, but behind closed doors. The need to conform is so great in this country, writer Breen said “There is probably no more homogeneous a country on Earth” (Breen, x). It’s rare to see something truly shocking in Korea. Even Korea youth, while they seem to stray away from older conservative attitudes, they still conform, only to their own codes of manners, dress, and behavior. I can’t say how many Koreans I have seen with the same exact pair of tight, faded blue jeans and black pea coat, topped with one of three or four choices of hair style.
My feelings are, probably, a bit skewed from visiting two popular tourist locations in Thailand, and I wonder if my feelings about Thailand would change if I had been able to travel deeper within the country. Thailand is a very chill place; Korea, very serious. But look how much the Koreans have accomplished since the 1970s, transforming their rubble covered backwards country into the world’s 11th largest economic power in just 30 years!
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