On Pomp and Circumstance

Graduation was this afternoon.  Watching the seniors walk across the stage one by one in their black robes, square hats, and wavering smiles always causes me to reflect over my choice to become a teacher.
I commented to a fellow teacher after the ceremony that hanging out with these seniors makes me want to be friends with them.  Real friends -- not teacher-friends.  "Does that reflect on my level of immaturity? Why am I looking for friendships in kids ten years my junior instead of people my age?" I asked.
"I think it shows just how right you are for teaching older kids -- I mean, you actually want to hang out with them.  For the same reason I do better with the little kids.  I never know what to say around high schoolers."

Needless to say, hearing her say that brought me no small sense of relief since I'll be moving up to high school next year.  What's special about next year is that I'll be teaching the same students I had my very first year here.  As exciting as it is to teach my first batch of 8th graders again, I have to admit feeling apprehensive about moving up to 11th grade.  You see, being around 8th graders for three years has caused me to develop an air of silliness.  I do wonder if I've become too immature to interact with high school kids as an adult.
This silliness has shown me how much I truly enjoy middle school kids.  I never thought I would like the middle grades (granted I have 8th graders).  In fact, I specifically said -- years before I entered the education program -- that I would be willing to teach elementary or high school, but I will not teach middle school.  Talk about the devil's playground.  Oh yes....the Lord has a wonderful sense of humor sending me to Thailand to teach middle school.  His plans certainly prospered me and gave me a hope and a future like He promised in Jeremiah 29:11.  I have been truly blessed by these last three years in the middle school, and I wouldn't trade them for the world.
All this to say...I'm going to miss the middle school.  I'm going to miss the petty behavior issues, the repetitive questions, the gullibility, the unabashed childishness, and most of all their eagerness for all life has to offer without fear of consequences.

I'll try not to be sentimental, but I am treasuring every final moment I have with my middle schoolers before 8th grade graduation in a week and a half.  High school graduation got the ball rolling and my mind reflecting; middle school graduation will just solidify the reality of next school year.

These graduating seniors are special to me in so many ways.  It has been an absolute pleasure getting to know many of them, and an even better thrill becoming friends with them on a personal level.  In a way, I am glad I never taught them, and thus had to tackle a teacher-student relationship before developing a friendship.  For a few of us, we were able to cut straight to being unassuming friends. 
These seniors are ten years younger than me.  While I'm obviously not old enough to be their mom (in fact, they seem more like my younger siblings), watching them walk across the stage felt like watching my own children graduate.  And in a sense they are mine -- they may be the only ones I'll ever have.  And like any good parent, I want so desperately for them to succeed in life.  I want that for all the students -- from my impressionable 8th graders, to the graduating seniors.  Watching them grow and mature reminds me everyday why I chose to be a teacher and why I love my students so much.

Strange Encounters of the Ethnic Kind

All my life I've heard multiple variations of the same question concerning my ethnicity, the most common version being simply, "What are you?"
The older I get, the more I ask that very question. I used to know as a child. It was explicit knowledge. Now at 26 years old, the question is getting harder and harder to answer.

My latest encounter is just one more example:

Pinoy: "I keep forgetting you're half Filipino."
Me: "Haha, really?"
Pinoy: "I wish we knew you are Filipino." Pause, "I wish they knew you are Filipino." She motioned to the group of Filipinos standing a few feet away.
Me: "Well, I am." I didn't know what kind of response to give anymore. "What do I look like I am? Hispanic?"
Pinoy: After a pause, "Yes! You look more Hispanic; not so much Filipino."
Me: At this point, I'm forcing my smile, "Does it matter, though?"
Pinoy: "Well, no. But which side do you favor more? You favor the Filipino side, right? You're more Filipino, aren't you?"
Me: What? Why does she need justification for this strange mindset? "Umm, I guess I'm more American. I grew up in the States, and I don't speak Tagalog." I laugh it off. "That's probably why they don't think I'm Filipino."
Pinoy: She gives an apologetic smile, "Yes, I guess you're right."

While she probably didn't mean to be offensive or insensitive, she was asking me to chose sides in my heritage. What people don't understand is that I wouldn't be me without both sides. Yes, I have the feisty attitude of Filipino women, but I also have the stubborn temper from my German side. Not exactly a win-win situation, but I work with what I've got.
Back to the topic at hand, I've often done exactly the same thing the Pinoy did -- assert one ethnicity over another. There's been times that I've been embarrassed over the thriftiness of my Filipino side (less and less now that I'm living in Thailand) and roll my eyes when it comes to leftovers from restaurants. I've always admired the independence and confidence from my American side. On the flip side, it's been awesome having a natural tan all year long, and being short. But I hate having the American slow metabolism. I love being able to sing with the rest of my Filipino side, as temperamental as it may be.
Whenever I want to side with Asians for one reason or another, I'd pull the Filipino card (and conveniently leave out that I'm only half...); and if I want to disassociate myself from Filipinos, I simply claim I'm American. People don't bat an eye at that one -- I dress American and sound American. Oddly enough, I've been questioned several times as to whether or not I truly am half-Filipino -- even so much as to encounter stark disbelief and denial by Filipinos. As insulting as that may be, it also makes me question who I am. I'm having a harder time straddling two ethnicities fully.

In a world where people are so concerned with where you come from, the story of who I am gets longer and longer. Even when I try to take the shortcut of saying I'm simply "American" there's always the followup question, "Well, why are you so dark then?" -- as if all Americans are white. If I say I'm Filipino, then my accent is called into question. And somehow, saying I'm a Fil-Am causes more questions about my past to arise.

So now I'm stuck saying, "Yeah, I know I look Hispanic, but I'm really half-Filipino." It doesn't help that the only other foreign language I'm comfortable with is Spanish. Like my friends say, I need to embrace my Spanish side and stop fighting it.

It's been harder while in Thailand since my ethnicity has been even more of a question mark. To date I've been confused for: Thai, Singaporean, Cambodian, Malaysian, Hawaiian, Polynesian, Native American, Indian, Pakistani, and my favorite: half black.

Who am I? Who knows? I'm still trying to figure it out. But as one person pointed out, "You're a woman of the nations".

These two books relieved me to know end since it reassures me I'm not alone in my confusion.
Filipino-American Psychology
http://books.google.co.th/books/about/Filipino_American_Psychology.html?id=PrO-YkFy4MkC&redir_esc=y

Struggling to Be Heard: The Unmet Needs of Asian Pacific American Children

http://books.google.co.th/books/about/Struggling_to_be_heard.html?id=wZyIYK1M1ikC&redir_esc=y

I survived today.

Today was a matter of survival. Not in a Hunger Games kind of way, but by all other accounts, I finally reached the end of my rope.

These last several weeks have been one crazy activity after another with very little respite in sight. Yesterday was the Makabucha holiday so we didn't have school. Although I was able to sleep in, there were still things planned for the day that 'needed' to be done. Not 'needed' in the essential way, but needed in the way that I planned to do it. When I plan something I do it. Call it stubborn if you want, but I call it reliable. Well at the end of the day, I worked out for the first time in weeks. Not only did I work out, but I doubled my normal workout routine. Getting done at 9:20pm probably didn't help matters; as tired as I was, it was well after midnight before I was able to fall asleep. I literally had to drag my body out of bed this morning.
That kind of morning called for a rarely-taken coffee. Since I've laid off coffee for quite some time, the effect was a steady attack of the jitters. I was wide awake, but not fully-functional; I couldn't focus on tasks, had little patience with students, and I couldn't stop my hands from shaking. And it just got better. Temper rose to the foreground during the after-school basketball game -- I was upset at the whistle-happy ref, I was upset at the game, but I was mostly upset with myself. By the end of the game, my frustration brimmed over in a few tears. Not to worry, though, I was sweating so badly that the tears blended in.

I can only blame the culmination of tears on the overwhelming schedule I've unfortunately kept up for too long. Ironically, back in college I loved being kept busy -- balancing school work, RA duties, sports, and my social butterfly tendencies. Nowadays, I feel cranky, frustrated, and inadequate if I fail to complete my appointed rounds. Finally today I trudged along through classes, play rehearsal, basketball game, and finally dinner-making.

A true break still won't come for another 3 weeks. I only hope that these next 3 weeks will not simply be a game of survival or filled with coping mechanisms. It's funny how 'required' extra-curricular activities, school work, errand-running, and socializing blend in to a ridiculously full schedule -- one that stresses me out on occasions like this.

Every morning I wake up to a red sun as I get ready for work; watching it rise slowly during the 3 minute walk to school. And every evening I walk home to a red sun beneath the thin clouds before hiding behind the 7/11 at the entryway to my apartment complex.

This isn't my view of the sun, but we do have a bridge just like this in Bangkok.

There's an old rhyme I learned in science class during my middle school home-school days that goes something like this: "Red skies in morning, sailors take warning; red skies at night, sailors delight." This makes me wonder, does the sky look ominous in the morning, and thus make people paranoid about what the day's events may hold? And seeing the red sky at night lead people to believe they will have sweet dreams? Regardless, what does it mean when I see a red sun in the morning and at night?? I'll have bad days but good nights? All things considered, if I had a choice I'd like to have good days and unremembered nights. But I guess we can't have it all.

Through the smog of Bangkok, I see the fury of the red sun. I feel it every day. The moment I step outside my door I am hit with a wall of heat and the sweat that accompanies it.

2012 New Years Goals (Resolutions)

It's back by popular demand -- my demand, not yours -- and as always there's more than one. In no order whatsoever:

1. Exercise more regularly (average of 3 times a week)
2. Use my prep time more effectively/hand back assignments quicker
3. Get rid of old clothes
4. Learn one song on the violin
5. Decide on a living situation -- keep the place I'm in, change the place I'm in (remodel), or move into a more spacious place
6. Loosen up when making plans with others
7. Figure out what I want in life/set my priorities (don't know if this can be decided by the end of the year)
8. Have better self-esteem
9. Be happy.

Unfortunately several of these can just be checked off at the end of the year. They will probably be continuous every year .

But now that these are out there, I'm trusting you to hold me accountable to them!

(For the record, I have so far kept to the first resolution strong) Three weeks in and doing good! Just 49 more to go.....

A typical taxi ride

I don't have much experience taking taxis back in the States, but here in Thailand, taking a job -- ie passengers -- is entirely optional.


So it should come as no surprise to me that three taxis passed me up before one stopped beside me as I stood on the sidewalk and picked me up. I've heard a number of excuses from taxi drivers -- too much traffic, they're not going that way, the destination's too far, too many of us trying to cram into one taxi, they don't understand where I want to go; and of course the ever present pay-a-flat-rate-of-anything-from-200-500-baht-or-I'm-not-taking-you-anywhere.

But this time, without saying anything, these taxi drivers' message was loud and uniquely clear: your bag is too big and I don't want to load it in my car.

Quick background: I had beanbag chairs custom made for my classroom. The students think the chairs are for them. Silly children. They're for me. I need a power-nap chair after lunch every once in a while. The second day I had the chair, some girls sat down and ripped a hole in the seam. Thus I had the arduous task of taking out much of the beanbag bubbles, hauling it down to the curb, shoving it in a taxi, carrying it through the night market, and leaving it there for a week while they repaired it.

And so there I stood on the sidewalk, waiting for a taxi to take me the 60 baht ride back to my apartment. Two taxis pulled up then quickly sped by when they saw the enormous beanbag chair in an even bigger plastic bag next to me. The third one only glanced at me then moved on. At that point, the motorcycle taxi driver motioned that he'd get me one, so 3 seconds later there was a bright pink taxi right next to me. (How do they do it? Is it a secret hand signal they're giving each other?)

After a few shoves, the beanbag was in and I slid into the front seat next to my wonderful old driver (the passenger seat is on the left side, by the way). He made dreadful small-talk that consisted of him repeating the same Thai phrase over and over again until I simply agreed with him i the hopes it would shut him up. I kept telling him I didn't know what he was saying, so he finally used his very broken English to ask me how long I've lived in Bangkok and to tell me I was beautiful.

I always get stressed when the taxi drivers try making conversation in Thai since my comprehension skills are embarrassing at best. I've memorized a few set answers, but when their questions go off book, I begin floundering. And this was one of those many moments. The ten minute taxi ride was quickly becoming more than the 60 baht I was going to pay him -- he actually expected me to make conversation the whole time!

Thankfully, he dropped me off at the front of the school so I could cart it up to my classroom. I gave him a 10 baht tip for helping me get it out of the backseat, directed him out of the parking lot, and practically ran up the front steps with a gigantic green plastic bag hoisted over my shoulder like Santa's bag of gifts.

Unusual experience? Not really. With the exception of the beanbag, taxi rides run the gauntlet of strangeness. I'm just glad they haven't kidnapped me and carted me off to Cambodia yet.

What to do?

Not exactly a grand entrance back into blogger's world, but after such a long hiatus, better to come back with the familiar: my famous lists.


Things I'm thinking about doing tonight as I walk down my hallway to my apartment:

1. Make something light for dinner
2. Go on a hunt for a Christmas tree/extra decorations
3. Contact a few friends via FB before I forget what I wanted to tell them
4. Write Christmas letters home
5. Clean my kitchen
6. Check if fridge food is still fresh
7. Start organizing Christmas gifts for multiple exchanges
8. Change my sheets
9. Grade papers
   
10. Weed out what stuff to get rid of for an eventual 'yard' sale
11. Should I sweep the floor?
12. Post this list on my blog
    

13. Or forget it all and just go to bed with a good book.


So many choices......