I hate running

I almost said I hate exercising, but that's not entirely true.  Some activities don't even feel like exercise, but I know I'm getting a good workout in.  For instance: salsa dancing, dance aerobics, hiking, yoga, mowing the lawn, and sometimes playing sports.  And by 'sometimes' I mean spontaneous pick-up games.
And then if we continue going down this scale of exercise we'll reach such activities as swimming, badminton, soccer, basketball (you get the picture), workout videos, core floor work -- all activities that are exercise by definition that they require workout clothes and tend to cause quite a sweat.  These are activities that need a lot of energy and usually a mental pep talk from me before even beginning.  But once I get started, I usually enjoy the workout.

But then we come to running at the very bottom of the totem pole.  Running I loathe.  Running doesn't just take effort and a pep talk.  It takes every breath out of me.  Gravity constantly reminds me that I'm not quick, that putting one foot in front of the other is more effort than its worth.  It reminds me that I am not a runner.  I feel like I'm carrying an extra ten pound sack in my hands.  I thought that running in the States, away from high humidity and unbearable heat, would be a breeze; instead it is undoubtedly worse.  I was able to run twice as long without stopping in Thailand, yet here in Oregon, with the 75* weather and continuous wind, I feel weighed down.  Instead of wiping sweat off my brow, I'm wiping tears from my eyes (because of the wind -- not because I'm sad).
I try varying up my exercising routine with workout videos and core floor work, but running always cycles back around and I have to face the mind-numbing exercise with resigned resentment.

And so tomorrow, running and I have an appointment.  And I'll be approaching it with unchecked fury.  Too bad that fury can't fuel the running fire.

Here's to the new year. Let's hope it's better than the last.

We're now a week into 2014, and it's been five months since my last post.  I'll admit it: I have been an awful blogger these last couple years. On the sidebar of the main page, I noticed that I only posted four times in both 2012 and 2013 -- embarrassing since I call myself a writer. This year I'm hoping to change that.  Actually I'm hoping to make a lot of changes, or rather improvements, in 2014.  Thinking about it has me teetering on the edge of excitement and anxiety.

You see, at the start of the school year back in August 2013, I shifted from being a middle school English teacher to an 11th grade American Literature/Creative Writing/Speech teacher.  I expected the change to be challenging, as all job adjustments are, but it's safe to say that I struggled just to keep my head above water.  Tripling my workload, in addition to the coaching duties I retained, as well as adding advising duties for the 3 service clubs I agreed to oversee had made the first semester of school overwhelmingly stressful.  I noticed it most in the interactions I had with people.  I couldn't enjoy social interactions because all I could think of was the school work I still had waiting for me when I got home.  I chose to hide at home or go out alone when I wasn't obligated to be with people -- even if I didn't grade papers or lesson plan, at least I could keep my stress, short temper, and self-pity to myself without bothering anyone.  I was too exhausted to engage in lively conversation with anyone.  After all, I chose to move up to high school.  I chose to take on new challenges to keep my teaching skills sharp and my brain actively engaged.  I chose to advise separate service clubs when students asked because I believe they want to make a difference in the community.
None of these were forced on me, but by agreeing to do them, I made a commitment to do them well.

 But I didn't do them well.

I hate it when people do things halfheartedly, and I loathe myself for doing anything halfheartedly because I strive for excellence.  That doesn't mean I'm the best, it just means that I'm doing the best I can.  However, my constant failure to do so this last semester left me feeling dejected and self-deprecated; no matter where I looked I couldn't find success.  There was no even hand-off -- doing poorly in one area only to succeed in another.  My students were disinterested in class, complained about the lack of 'fun projects', and were unwilling to engage in critical discussions of text.  I was getting 'gentle reminders' from administration that my students needed to be pushed more, yet also told my tests were too hard.  I had somehow made multiple girls cry because of grades (one girl ended up dropping my class).  Drama constantly ensued in service clubs when I chose to defer much of the responsibility to the student leader, and the members could not cooperate with the student leader.  And my varsity soccer team hit a new low by consistently having inconsistent attendance.  A team of 15 dwindled to 12 with 4 consistent players coming to practice regularly.  Then there were the personal goals that were set (and attainable) that were not reached.  And I felt ashamed.

This was my failure.  Failure to motivate and inspire my students in the classroom.  Failure to live up to administration's standards.  Failure to unite the service club members to be a driving force under one goal.  Failure to motivate my players on the field so that they would want to come to practice everyday and give 100%.  Failure to follow through with my goals.

I don't do well with failure.  It doesn't motivate me to try harder.  It makes me hang my head like a pound dog that wasn't chosen for adoption.  It makes me withdraw from everyone so at least they wouldn't see my faults and shortcomings.

But 2014 will be different.  I'm not usually one who 'needs' breaks, but Christmas break was desperately needed; not just to rest a weary soul and remind me that life isn't as gloomy as I sometimes think, but because I was able to get a new perspective on teaching.  No, I haven't come up with exciting new projects for my students.  I haven't devised easier tests because I expect students to rise to the challenge.  And soccer season will be over in two weeks, so there's not much I can do there.

However, there are always improvements to be made, and I will strive to do the following throughout the new year.  This is not a list of New Years resolutions.  It is a list of goals I hope to accomplish both professionally and personally.

1. Remind students (and myself) why I expect so much out of them and encourage them to rise to the occasion for their own sake -- not mine
2. Set clear guidelines before projects/papers and give examples of exemplary work so they know what to work towards
3. Set up monthly meetings with all service clubs to organize things a bit better and demonstrate leadership for the student leaders
4. Remind students of consequences (late work, tardies, behavior, etc) and enforce them
5. Find a nearby fresh market to get produce and cook more (save money!)
6. Clean out clothes not worn in a year and give away
7. Blog regularly -- at least once a week
8. Take Thai language lessons twice a week
9. Do something active 5 times a week
10. Pay off student loans!
11. Revise book for publication
12. This summer travel to:  NYC/NJ, Pennsylvania, North Dakota, Seattle, Portland area, and home :)
13. Most importantly:  Learn to let things go and not see life as a failure, but a change in direction.  I cannot constantly compare my life to the next person's -- it is in there that my shortcomings are most noticeable, and it doesn't matter because everyone falls short of perfection.

As you can see, there's a lot to accomplish in a year.  Now that they are written down, it might be easier to cross of as I complete them.  It also means that I am held accountable.  I think taking Thai lessons again will be the most humbling of experiences since language acquisition is not my forte and I tend to get discouraged easily with language obstacles.  With that in mind, I will try to preserver despite knowingly butchering a language. :)

Eating weeds

I watched with curiosity as three women wandered through the low brush, gathering what appeared to be weeds  near the ditch.  A couple disappeared behind the stack of split logs, squatting to pull the greenery from the root, then standing again to look for more.  The round, green leaves were lush, and I could see some yellow flowers sticking out between the clutches of shrubs.  I wondered if they were simply pulling weeds, but they were too selective over which was picked and which stayed planted, gathering handfuls into their shirt fronts.

After they had picked all they could find in the area, they carried their findings inside.  When I finally wandered inside, I discovered what all the greenery was for:  dinner.  And this isn't the first time this has happened.  I have watched the children do the exact same thing – scatter around the yard, going as far as the fence, looking for edible greens.  What looks little more than overgrown weeds is turned into nourishment to supplement nearly every meal.  I didn't realize that much of the greens we ate at nearly every meal came from simply going out into the yard and picking them as they grew wild.  Much of the greens also come from the market in town, but whenever we needed more, a quick jaunt outside proved successful and delicious.

  They've even gone into the nearby field to pick Morning Glories – just the flower heads to turn into tea when boiled in water and strained.  A week ago, one of the girls had come running up to me, "P'Lissa! P'Lissa! Take to kitchen please," she said as she shoved a clear plastic bag into my hands.
"Why?  What is this for?" I asked confused.
"The kitchen. The kitchen.  To eat."
"You are going to eat this?"
"No. Drink.  Make into tea.  Very good."  She told me as she caught her breath.
It had taken me some time to figure out her pronunciation of "kitchen" but once I realized what she wanted, I took the full bag to the kitchen with me. They were beautiful flowers, and part of me wanted to put them in a vase if it weren't for the fact that the heads were plucked clean off without the slightest stem.  An hour later I wandered back into the kitchen and out onto the patio where the flowers had been shredded into individual pedals, cleaned, and left to dry in two large, shallow, rattan trays.  I never tried the tea, but the pedals were gone by dinner.  And never seen again…

Thai School experience

It's a wake up call.  I'm currently in the middle of my second day in a small country Thai school and I definitely don't fit in.  Yesterday was probably the longest day in school and I was only there from 10am-4pm.  Let's back up to yesterday for some explanations...(June 11 -- I started writing this, then forgot. Oops.)

While staying at Ban San Faan children's home just east of Chiang Mai (I'll talk more about BSF later), one of my duties is assisting another volunteer at the school right up the road.  We teach two classes of kindergarten in the morning at the children's home, then head over to the school just down the road to teach 1st-3rd grade.  Since English is the foreign language, these children know startlingly little.  Third grade was full of children ages 5-16 -- THIRD GRADE.  I couldn't believe the age differences!  I wanted to pull the students aside and ask them why they are in 3rd grade.  I wanted to pull the Thai office staff aside and ask if they were put in the wrong class by mistake.  Surely in a school this small (77 students, 1st-6th grade), they can rearrange the students according to age so boys with mustaches aren't sitting next to 7-year-old girls in pig-tails.  Most of all, I wanted to ask someone "What are you thinking?" and get a response that makes sense to me.  But then I had to remind myself that this is Thailand, and things rarely make sense to my Westernized brain.

Because of the huge differences in age and English knowledge, the students were majorly distracted and weren't paying attention to anything we were trying to teach.  It didn't matter how many times we read the same instructions ("Color four leaves green"), only about five of the 16 students would be paying attention, and then only one would actually pick up a green colored pencil.

Well this morning, I was asked to come in early to be formally introduced to the student body during flag raising/prayer/announcement time.  Everything was said and done in Thai.  I couldn't understand a word of it.  Okay, maybe a word or two....but I digress.  When asked if I wanted to say anything after I was introduced, I fumbled around lamely and only said my name and that I was looking forward to working with 1st-3rd grade.  I understood the rest of my introduction:  volunteering at BSF...teacher from Bangkok...here to help Teacher Randi.  What more needed to be voiced?

But during announcement time the students were given a tongue-lashing such as I've never heard before.  And to make it most effective, it was all done in Thai.  You see, after Monday's kerfuffle with the 3rd graders, we went back to the home and explained (okay yes, complained) that the students were misbehaving so badly and didn't listen to a word we said; stating that it was extremely difficult to teach them anything when they weren't paying attention.  So announcement time was spent berating the students on behaving badly and not respecting teachers like they know they are supposed to -- especially the foreign teachers who are volunteering to teach them English.  I wanted to disappear.  I wanted to run away.  I wanted to apologize to the students for ratting on them.  I felt sorry for the kids.  But I mostly felt sorry for me; standing there in the middle of the open hallway with the students lined up on either side listening to a Thai scolding of a lifetime.  They knew who tattled -- it was my direct supervisor (the manager of the home) who was telling them not to be naughty little students.  I tried not to think about what she was actually saying to the students, but I caught a word here and there as they fired out of her mouth.  Students...bad...teacher...try to help...know how to be good to Thai teacher...learn English.  And then after ten excruciating minutes of feeling unbelievably exposed, the 'announcement' time was over, students were wai-ing, and I was excused to go back to the home to teach the Kindergarten classes.  During the short walk back to the home, I vowed never to tattle on my students again.  I would handle discipline in my own way within the confines of the classroom.

The life of a teacher is never dull

From a few months ago...

In the past I've posted about the hilarious things my students have said in class.  Often though, the things they say are rude and ill-thought out.  Today, for instance, after telling my students I wasn't feeling well and they would have a substitute for the second half of the day, there was a chorus of "Yesss!" with a smattering of "Why, Miss Lissa?" or "Why are you going home? What are you going to do?"  To that I replied, "I'm going home to throw up."  A subdued, "Oh," is answered and I left the students to their substitute (my principal), and gave them strict orders to be on their best behavior as I left the confines of the classroom.

These types of responses are typical here, and I've grown accustom to answering with sarcasm or wit.  I no longer care that my replies are less than professional, and having my principal in the classroom didn't deter me from telling my entire class that I was going to throw up.  I did hold back from saying that they were making me sick, though.  You can only kid so far with them..

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