” ‘If I then, your Lord and Teacher, have washed your feet, you also ought to wash one another’s feet.’ (John 13:14); the highest motive is the only motive for the lowliest service. Where do we stand in God’s sight under that scrutiny?
A false religion makes me hyperconscientious: ‘I must not do this or that’; the one lodestar in the religion of Jesus is personal, passionate devotion to Him and oneness with His interests in others, and life takes on a romantic risk.
Christianity is not service for Jesus Christ, not winning souls, it is nothing less than the life of Jesus being manifested more and more in my mortal flesh.”

-Oswald Chambers (285)

hole

i think no noble thoughts about writing — it is therapy to me.
(maybe that is really what it is.)

but other times it is more. this is not one of those times.

i remember a sense of injustice when i was a kid. there was some discussion about whose work was more difficult, and because my sister was in a better programme and a higher level, hers was deemed the harder and hence the more important, the more deserving of sympathy. maybe it was from years of being the youngest and always the last, that i started to reason at that age of maybe about 9 or 10 that there is no work more difficult or more important than any other work. a p5’s work to a p5 would be just as hard as a p3’s work to a p3. a kid doing supplementary math homework has just as hard a time as a kid doing remedial math homework.

the same principle applies when we grow up, i think. work is work. it is all hard. it has rewards of its own. different people do different things, and there is no one job harder or more important than any other. a lawyer’s work to a lawyer is as stressful as a journalist’s work to a journalist. a nurse’s work to a nurse is as stressful as a garbage-collector’s work to a garbage-collector. a domestic help’s work is just as stressful as a trader’s work to a trader.

true enough, there are big and small issues of life. perhaps that is only where the difference lies.

but i resent the kind of stress that comes from having an overflowing dustbin in the room, from having the sink clogged by accumulation of minuscule dirt, from having to rush out but not having anything ironed to wear, from having that musty smell in the clothes, from getting black spots from dampness, from having laundry piled up higher than the basket would hold, from having to catch the sun but having to catch the bus at the same time, from coming back dead tired to a heap of clothes that need folding, from strewn papers, undisposed wrappers, unkempt tables, unkept messes, no space and no face to open the doors.

i think no noble thoughts. period.

too many things i say are a result of estrangement, of not having first been cleansed by the Word again, such that the old man comes back and threatens to eat me in. that’s when there is need for silence. and yet also for therapy. that’s when i wish i had no audience.

on a separate note, there has been something about being in my new school that has made me start writing random things at strange times. so on the first day i was inspired by my tutor to say:

“She looked like she would relish a perfectly-formed sentence with a touch of precisely-timed irony.”

and that day i thought i’d put that line into my book someday. the next day at a night lecture i wrote this, of which was later revised to 2 versions — the present tense version and the past tense version.

present tense:
“She looks out to sea,
To see what she can be.
To be what she can,
She has to be a man.”

past tense:
“She looked out to sea,
To see what she could be.
To be what she could,
She had to be a dude.”

haha. no difference in meaning.

unlike walt whitman, it actually disturbs me when i contradict myself, or when there are too many conflicting impulses. i cannot understand it, nor do i think myself large enough and deserving enough of such confusion.

tomorrow, i’ll be happier. tomorrow i shall not think only of myself.

Your love

I love —
but only for a little while,
and only in the shadow of Your love.

I love –
only reflecting that which You’ve poured
full and free into me;
that which I can’t grasp nor
fathom.

I love —
yearning and aching as You do,
but not righteously as You have —
sometimes wrongly,
sometimes unwisely,
always lonely.

I say I love,
not knowing what I say
yet meaning what I don’t know

And I think of that day
when You will come
and I will be with You
and think only:
Ah!
You’re Love.

bad day, good day

there are good days and there are bad days. today was a bad day. it’s amazing how even the quietest boy in class, the one you try to protect from his classmates, can suddenly act up and run around, yell at friends, go out of class without permission, just cos everyone else is doing so and they’re not scared of you.

and i still can’t bring myself to yell at any class, or to be completely angry with them. my glare is not enough, nor my presence.

if education is the only way out of the poverty cycle, how do you teach content to people who don’t want to learn, who can’t see the importance of academic work, or who cannot bring themselves to sit down, pay attention and remember stuff? and these are not any worse kids just for these…some really try, and they can’t. but i need to believe that they can.

and do i still believe that literature is for everybody? that reading is something every person can and must do? (actually yes i do, except that one has to have learnt this long long ago…)

how far can empathy go? and how does one teach compassion? how can a child learn to be responsible for his gifts, and how many ways is love acted out in?

there are these days when you come out of a class completely shell-shocked, and you sit there in the staff pantry not able to talk or move for ten minutes, and after a few more classes you think of nobody loves me everybody hates me i’m gonna eat some worms. and then you remember the time you walked into a class you’ve never met, and as you stand there trying to remember the little math you know so that you can help them with their tys, this boy sitting there waiting for you to think picks up a pair of scissors and says, “actually teacher’s hand hair quite long ah. let me help you cut it. i trim your hair for you. or do you want scotchtape?”

this morning during the first two periods, a group of boys were obviously eating in class and not doing their work. i decided to ask them how they were enjoying their breakfast, and instead of lashing out as they sometimes do, the naughtiest among them said, “ok la cher, hungry la. no breakfast.” he was chewing gum for breakfast in class, and i begin to think maybe it’s really because he has nothing else to eat.

how do you teach a child math or physics or grammar or reading, when he hasn’t yet understand why his mother cries at home every day, why his father keeps yelling at him, why there is always not enough, why his friends keep calling him names, why there is this anger inside him that makes him want to throw chairs and break tables? from the number of chairs, door knobs, classroom keys and table tops broken, one might think they ask loudly enough. but there’s a loophole. sometimes things cannot be done so easily.

it’s really not easy to grow up. teenagehood can be harder than we sometimes realise, especially when they’re pushed into it prematurely. i really take my hat off to the older boys i saw yesterday. they can so easily tell the younger ones, “you better not use language like that here, i’m telling you.” or “just talk properly ok, don’t use those rainbow words.”

i still want to be a teacher.

WOW

we’ve talked quite a bit and laughed quite a lot about the food in my school now, but today i tasted some of the best food i’ve ever eaten in my life, right there in the school kitchen.

i was quite intrigued by this programme that my school has, and i finally went to visit them today. here are some of the school’s supposedly naughtiest kids, those who are problematic in the classroom, and those whom teachers are most worried about. and from these boys i had some of the greatest and most memorable times in this school.

watching them make their honeydew sago with a pride that they try to mask behind a facade of nonchalance, i couldn’t but notice just how well they were doing things. the sec twos were coaching the sec ones with a maturity, skill and rapport that many teachers would do well to have. these boys were at home in the kitchen, and they are not called chefs for nothing.

one of them asked me, teacher do you mix with the white or the black? (this sounds a lot more rational in chinese…) and after getting over my initial surprise at how naturally they talk about these things, i realised that these are boys who really know what they’re talking about, even at 13 or 14. these are experienced boys who have seen a side of the world that many will never see, and have people in their lives that few of us would know how to befriend or deal with. one of the boys had scars on his face that look like his threats and curses in hokkien have seen more than just school grounds.

but he is also one of the sweetest boys. after accidentally stepping on my foot he gave me a short lesson on how i should stand, and how people usually sit, and how to keep myself safe from being stepped on by people. then he told me about his uncle, his da-ge, the girl in front of us, the other boys…all these while his hands were busy creaming that one-and-a-half cups of butter, three cups flour and one cup sugar. “teacher you measure this for me. one cup, you must look here. then you do this, and so you can see. if anything wrong i blame you ah, all your fault. you do one, it’s your fault.” but he’s one responsible little man. later when the melting moments were cookified cos benny told them the wrong timing, this young man said “it’s not your fault la, it’s mine. it’s all our fault. but this is still nice.”

for a bit i was speaking teochew while he replied in fluent hokkien peppered with phrases i’ve only heard my ah gong use when he was very angry. and as we compared the size of our  fists and he badmouthed another boy i boxed his mouth, falling in my heart because i never meant to really hit him. but he only blinked and went, “teacher i’m talking about him, not you.” but he’s tougher than any apology, so we continued and i helped him shape his melting moments. ” here teacher you put this cup below then you won’t have to stretch across like that, so troublesome. you see you must make it like that, cannot be too fat.”

along the way i was helping another group wash up, when benny asked the boys, “how can you all leave your teacher to do that? where are the boys responsible for that sink?” and this sec two boy came along with his charge, ordering me “teacher you don’t wash, let him wash!” yes boss.

when i was in the kitchen not too long, rachel had already given me one of her madeleines to try. it was yummy. later, the top chef brought me his chilled honeydew sago and got me a spoon, “teacher you eat.” i said shouldn’t you eat what you spent time and effort making? and he said “never mind, you eat la!” so i did. i tried his and i tried a spoonful of my other boy’s sago, and i thought both were so nice. but when the chef took some of his own (later, finally, when he was sure i’ve tried it), he told benny it seemed a little too sweet. apparently there was a mistake in the recipe — too much sugar!  and when the melting moments came out, we all gathered round to see how they were. benny gave my sec one boy the first piece, which he passed to the boy next to him. but when he got the second piece, he exclaimed, “how come teacher didn’t get the first piece! she must have it first.” so he carefully powdered the little thing with icing sugar and passed it to me gently. melting moments indeed.

when i later mentioned to the sec two boy that i’m going off to study for one year, he said to me, “teacher all the best. you must study hard ok!” and i said, same to you! isn’t that what your teachers tell you? but his favourite subject is PE. and i see him going very very far, and doing well. it’s in him! it’s in all of them — weng ho, shu qiang, rachel, desmond, kai kiat, weirong, adam, mark, and all those boys who found refuge in the flight of stairs outside the kitchen, leading to a bridge that goes to the staff room. that’s no man’s land — no rules apply in that area, because we’re all friends.

they are so good. i really really like them a lot. today seems packed, with bits of what makes school all worth it. talked to the sec 5 boys in the morn, visited bryan’s class, chatted with my kids at lunch in the canteen (and daniel’s “teacher why this morning you come my class you look so sleepy? why did you look at what i was drawing?”), talking to afiatus and the rest at their racial harmony pageant, WOWchefs, meeting sandra at the busstop and hearing her views on our text and her aspirations.

i remember those boys in the kitchen, because never have i been so well cared for by a bunch of people i’ve only just met…hardly ever have i felt so safe and comfortable with any group of people. they call me teacher, but they beat me hollow. i really would love to go visit them again!

‘cher

one day when i was in my lit class, one of the boys decided to reply to everything we asked him with “that’s not my name”. in fact, after a while he just kept yelling out that phrase, even when we were not talking to him, or when they were supposed to be quiet. only just did i realise it’s actually a song:

the song is really not bad, but to hear that phrase yelled out in class again and again can get quite annoying. my friends and i were talking about books like “how to annoy your teacher and not get into trouble”, and how things like that should be banned since kids come up with new things all the time anyway. but it’s true. it’s an art, annoying your teacher so badly but never really breaking any rule.

but a lot of these 3+ weeks have been really funny, and sometimes heartwarming, often thought-provoking (not just provoking hur).

today i went to relief a class again, and i don’t really mind — relief brings me to classes i wouldn’t otherwise have gotten to meet. and i really do like this class quite a bit. of course the boys had to be talking like they are across the football field from one another, and of course there is the student whose head is perpetually on the table, and of course there are the girls who go to the toilet together and stay there a long time, and of course they are all sneaking sweets and biscuits into their mouths while smsing under their desks or in their bags.

but the thing that was out of the ordinary was the question asked with a genuine interest to know: why can’t we eat in the classroom? and so i explained, skipping in my heart because they are even bothered to know and they want to ask, so nicely. one of the boys behind then started questioning about rules, rationales, discipline, loopholes, double standards, and finally, his aspirations.

there are students like these who make the double period pass quickly, and who make even the relief teacher feel like teaching is the best job ever. and there is something about how they look at me from across the classroom that makes me wish i remembered more of my math to help them with their tys.

these are brilliant students. within a matter of 5 minutes, before i even went round the class once, they’ve already made a ball out of scrap paper and masking tape — a ball so perfectly round, just the nice size, and sturdy and firm enough to play soccer with for more than 2 periods. i wanted to confiscate it just to keep this work of art, but it was dirty and dusty by the end of their game, the rule of which was two-pronged: don’t destroy the furniture and don’t hurt your classmates.

it’s always very exciting to see aspiration in a young person. to see his eyes aglow with the light of thinking, and to see from conversation that his heart is at the right place. it makes me want to try harder, and to do what i can to be a good teacher.

see, there are good days and there are bad days. the good days make it all worthwhile, and the bad days are not worth remembering.

spirit wings

sweeter than the honeycomb

gavin has once ruined this song (haha), but i’ve actually always liked this line:

“sometimes it’s hard for me to understand
why we pull away from each other so easily
even though we’re walking the same road…”

why do people tend to draw back after a sliver of being quite personal?

there’s something about words that gestures very closely towards the presence of a person, i think. i’ve always loved receiving notes, cards, letters, emails, smses, or even a scribbled line or two from people, because in those words they give me, they lend a little of themselves. and the things said between the lines and in the pauses and punctuation are the sort of things that are said with body language — that subtle but most truthful message. oftentimes this message is a really simple one: i like you; i don’t like you; i like you, but; i don’t like you, but; i don’t care.

only problem is, we sometimes understand these words wrongly, just as we can sometimes read gestures and actions wrongly.

but words are still words; words at all is a passageway, a means, an opportunity, the possibility of a relationship.

week 3

it’s funny really. i’ve sorta stopped thinking that my blog has readers, though it’s still different writing on public and private space. and i’ve started being more active in leaning on the body of Christ, and looking to His people for comfort and advice and company more, so that i may not have too hard a heart. it is then in line with God’s constant lovingkindness (i like this effusive word…”effusive” in its archaic sense) that these weeks should teach me to see His presence through His people.

so to those who read my blog, and have shown special encouragement, thank you. (but i think all you who read my blog are constant lifters and people who have a special place in my heart anyway.)

last week in school was great. this week is a short week, and before i know it this phase will be over too. many things to be thankful about, really. and each day brings to mind something/things else that cannot be explained except by grace and such sensitive care that i only smile at that expression people call having their hearts smile.

plenty about teaching, more about people, and definitely a whole lot about life. i got myself a copy of frank mccourt’s _teacher man_ which i’ve only just begun reading, and already it has made me laugh out loud:

“You think you’ll walk into the classroom, stand a moment, wait for silence, watch while they open notebooks and click pens, tell them your name, write it on the board, proceed to teach.
On your desk you have the English course of study provided by the school. You’ll teach spelling, vocabulary, grammar, reading comprehension, composition, literature.
You can’t wait to get to the literature. You’ll have lively discussions about poems, plays, essays, novels, short stories. The hands of one hundred and seventy students will quiver in the air and they’ll call out, Mr McCourt, me, me, I wanna say something.
You hope they’ll want to say something. You don’t want them to sit gawking while you struggle to keep a lesson alive.
You’ll feast on the bodies of English and American literature. What a time you’ll have with Carlyle and Arnold, Emerson and Thoreau. You can’t wait to get to Shelley, Keats and Byron and good old Walt Whitman. Your classes will love all that romanticism and rebellion, all that defiance. You’ll love it yourself, because, deep down and in your dreams, you’re a wild romantic.”

i’d spell that last word with a capital “R”, but wow, it’s good to know i’m not alone. really, that’s all that teaching is…Not. people have warned me about getting a culture shock when i go to a neighbourhood school, and i thought i’d seen enough from my previous attachment not to be petrified. well, i guess that part is true, but what i didn’t know would shock me this time came from many other things. the intense needs of the students; the struggle not with literature but with literacy; the demands on a teacher; the heart that is so malleable, so changeable, so deceitful. it was the first lesson j let me try to teach during my first week that broke the camel’s barge of tears, and it was one of the next few lessons that also led her to tell me to seriously consider if teaching is what i want to do. she said she’s seen enough to believe that i can, and the question is really then whether i want to. and i’m sure both of us know that ability comes only from the God who enables.

i do quite enjoy going to school. every class is different, and every student is different. so many of them look at me with eyes that tell a story to explain their behaviour, even though the two are not in tandem on the surface. i look at them and think, my, they are so cool they’d never have been my friend if i were in school with them. but being a teacher is being in a very strange position. you are neither friend nor policeman, yet both, and many things else. as frank mccourt puts it:

“In the high school classroom you are a drill sergeant, a rabbi, a shoulder to cry on, a disciplinarian, a singer, a low-level scholar, a clerk, a referee, a clown, a counselor, a dress-code enforcer, a conductor, an apologist, a philosopher, a collaborator, a tap dancer, a politician, a therapist, a fool, a traffic cop, a priest, a mother-father-brother-sister-uncle-aunt, a bookkeeper, a critic, a psychologist, the last straw.”

indeed. perhaps in being all these i’d also get a better sense of who i am and what i do, and there’d be more of me to put into being all that. ain’t i glad that mine is a God who is an everlasting fountain of life, of ideas, of order, of goodness, of love, in abundance!

more funny stories next time! meanwhile i attend my commencement ceremony tomorrow. it’s a milestone, and so much along the way to think about that i sometimes think my head would burst.