Back to school

I took up a short teaching stint once when I returned to Singapore in April, this time at my alma mater. The travel to and fro everyday was pretty intense since I live in the extreme east of Singapore, but there was just something about this school I couldn’t resist.

Even when I was 17, when I already had a place to study at a college closer to my home, I immediately changed my mind when I stepped into this school. I was awestruck by the rows of gorgeous raintrees and the lush greenery. It felt right.

I really felt at home at this place, loved the job, loved my bosses, loved the people I worked with, loved my students. Although it had been 7 years since I last stepped into a classroom and I was initially worried that I would be rusty, I took to the job right away.

I am blessed to have been given this opportunity to teach again. It left me with happy memories.

I hate the school bus

The minibus driver honked a few times. “Hurry up!” he yelled. The cries of the screaming girl echoed around the block. “I don’t want to go!” Her screams descended with the lift.

Her mother dragged her to the bus and she clung on for life. “I don’t want to go!” Finally, with a push she was up on the bus with the other kids. The door slammed shut, silencing her cries. The driver quickly drove off to deliver the children on time.

A look of relief appeared on the Mum’s face as she walked toward the lift lobby. Is she affected? Because I imagine it must be traumatic for the child. I remember myself sobbing in class when I started kindergarten.

Though this feeling is temporary, I’m wondering if there is a better way of easing a child into school life?

360 degrees

I keep bumping into students whereever I go these days. Some recognised me and came to say hi, while some clearly were too engrossed in whatever they were doing to notice me.

Yesterday I was at Bugis to meet an ex-student, Winnie, for lunch when I heard someone call my name. It was a tall girl with long copper hair. “You don’t remember me?!” she asked. I looked at her again. She was in mini shorts, a low cut blouse, high heels and she was holding on to a stick of Virginia Slims.

“I’m Jojo from Informatics!” she said. Jojo? The quiet Vietnamese girl in my class? The slim petite girl who wore glasses and no make-up? The sweet, plain girl who was ever attentive in class and delivered good work?

Of course I couldn’t recognise her now. She’s put on a bit of weight, she’s swapped her glasses for dark blue contact lenses, she has long metallic coloured nails, she’s drawn her eyebrows too thin. She was puffing away at a cigarette as her Western boyfriend waited in the corner for us to finish catching up.

“It’s been two years since you left us. We still talk about you though. Almost everyone in the class is still there,” she said in a slight American accent. I noticed she had a piercing above her lip.

As we reminisce old times, I wished she hadn’t called out to me. That way, I would be able to always remember her the way she was.

Standing on the peak

 

 

 

 

 

And so I kept my promise. A selected few from the class who collected enough stickers went out with me to Swensens today for their much deserved ice-cream. They were all very appreciative and we had a good time.

Honestly, my wish is not that they would love me or thank me. Instead, I hope this will inspire them to want to keep up their good work and have more confidence in the teachers who come their way.

My biggest regret: A boy who had shown the most improvement did not turn up though he said he would. My question: What happened? And how would the class progress under the care of my successor? 

鸭子捉兔

On Monday, we learnt about Song dynasty writer, Su Dong Po (1037 – 1101). I particularly liked this story he wrote, which displayed his wit and humour. The original Chinese text is very animated but perhaps this is somewhat lost in my English translation. Themes I like in this story: self awareness and ignorance.

原文

昔有人将猎而不识鹘，买一凫而去。原上兔起，掷之使击。凫不能飞，投于地，又再掷，又投于地。至三四，凫忽蹒跚而人语曰：“我鸭也，杀而食之，乃其分，奈何加我以抵掷之苦乎？”其人曰：“我谓尔为鹘，可以猎兔耳，乃鸭耶？”凫举掌而示，笑以言曰：“看我这脚手，可以搦得他兔否？”

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解释

从前有个人准备去打猎但不认识鹘，买了一只野鸭子就去原野打猎。原野上兔子出来，他就把野鸭子投放出去，让他袭击兔子。

野鸭子不会飞，掉落在地上，他又一次把野鸭子投放出去，还是掉落到地上。这样反复了三四次，野鸭子忽然蹒跚着走到猎人面前像人那样对猎人说：“我是一只鸭子，杀死我并吃掉，这是我的本分，怎么把乱抛乱扔的痛苦加于我呢？”

那个猎人说：“我以为你是鹘，可以捕捉到兔子，你竟然是鸭子啊？”

野鸭子举起脚掌给那个人看，笑着对他说：“你看看我这脚手，可以捕捉到那兔子吗？”

（选自苏东坡 《艾子杂说》）

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Hunting Duck

A hunter didn’t know what an eagle looked like, so he bought a duck to go hunting in the woods. When he saw a rabbit, he released the duck into the air for it to capture the prey.

Instead of soaring into the skies like he thought an eagle would, the duck dropped onto the ground. He repeated this a few times.

Fed up of being thrown all around, the duck waddled up to the hunter and said, “I am a duck. You can kill me and cook me, that’s my purpose. But don’t torture me by smashing me about!”

“I’m sorry,” the hunter replied. “I thought you were an eagle which I could use to catch some rabbits.”

The duck raised its webbed feet at the hunter and said, “Look at my feet. Do you think I could catch anything with these?”

Thinking observer

Friday morning, we visited a secondary school to observe their lessons. The teacher went through a passage entitled, “Life is like Dance”, and invited students to discuss their thoughts. He asked the 13-year-olds a question which I believe even adults could not answer – “What is the essence of life?”

But I was both surprised and impressed to hear them speak. To see how vocal and opinionated they were. The teacher could pick on any student and h/she would be able to answer eloquently without hesitation. 

Later, I heard them read. They read with all the right pauses and varying tones for maximum dramatic effect and I felt my goosebumps. It was like sitting in a storytelling competition.

They sat straight – nobody had their heads on the table. I could see they were reading and thinking about the passage. The teacher spoke softly because it was so quiet in the class. I don’t think that’s because they feared the teacher. I think that’s because they respected the teacher.

He was a knowledgeable teacher. Young, but well-read and able to ask though-provoking questions. Every of his questions inspired students to think, to question, to come to their own conclusions. It did not matter that they had differing views. What mattered was that they HAD differing views and were not afraid to VOICE them out.

The Chinese education system focuses a lot on character development – to nurture children who are optimistic, polite, patriotic, courageous and altruistic. I think the recent quake reinforced the point that they were a nation which refused to bow to adversity.

Somehow when it comes to teaching national education, respect and positivity, the Chinese seem to have gotten the right formula.

Thoughts after the lesson: Is it easier to nurture patriotism in a racially homogenous country where most people are not religious? Race or religion? What makes us more diverse? Less patriotic?

It was a good lesson. It made me think.

Teaching the LaoWai

Today, the 60-odd MOE Chinese teachers began our two weeks’ learning in the University’s International Cultural School. This morning, we sat in the lessons with the foreign students who have come to Shanghai to learn Chinese as a second language.

The University embraces all things traditional. It still uses chalk and the blackboard, and the teaching is very much teacher-centred. That means, the teacher will stand at the podium and just talk for hours, seldom pausing to interact with the students.

Very little also is done at the beginning of the lesson to “create a need for learning”, but I suppose that’s not really necessary if you have a whole class full of focused and motivated learners.

One teacher chided the class made up of students from Korea, Italy, the US, Switzerland, Belgium and other Western countries when they failed to tell her what’s “toothpaste” in Mandarin.

“Sylvia, did you bring your toothpaste from Italy?” the teacher asked. “No, I bought it in Shanghai.” the student answered in her best Mandarin. “So, you should see the word ‘toothpaste’ everyday when you brush your teeth. Why makes it so hard for you to answer this question? You should be using your dictionary to look up on words you don’t know. Words which you come across daily! It’s not difficult. It’s just whether you want to do it or not.”

In another class, a student wanted to ask the teacher the meaning of a word, but was told “the answer would be given another time”.

This is the traditional way of teaching and learning. The way I was brought up on. To fear and respect the teacher. To do my work and give my best. To look for the teacher when I needed help – he certainly wouldn’t come and ask me if everything’s well. Students had to learn to find his own answers and study independently rather than wait for the teacher to spoon-feed them.

It feels rather strange yet familiar to come across this style of teaching after my stint at the College, where I had developed my own style of the other extreme.

I feel for the students who were fervently jotting down every word the teachers scribbled on the board. To hear them getting the tones for the Chinese words mixed up. To hear them struggling to string a sentence together. To see them being scolded when they give a wrong answer.

“I quit my job as an engineer to come to learn how to speak Chinese,” said a Belgian guy. “Unfortunately, we focus a lot on writing and reading and don’t get to speak much.”

“About 1/3 of our foreign students do not do well enough for us to grant them their degrees. I am not ashamed to admit this, but quite proud on the contrary. This shows we have a high standard and do not pass people for the sake of passing people. We must uphold our quality and reputation.” shared the director of the School.

Somehow I prefer this traditional way of doing things.

Thoughts on the line

I made unexpected discoveries when I played the Line Game with my classes. I found out about their very wild past and saw how they have since toned down so much. 

The students who came forward when I asked, “How many of you tried drugs before?” and “Step on the line if you were ever arrested.” or “How many of you has ever hit a teacher?” were always those I least expected to.

They all looked so mild. So soft-spoken. So low-profile. One boy stepped on the line when I asked if anyone tried to physically hurt a teacher. He was this boy who sleeps in my class and whom I always tried to rouse. I looked at him. He looks decent. “Ah ha, teacher, now you won’t dare to disturb him when he sleeps in class! He might beat you!” somebody said.

Perhaps what I didn’t realised was that by coming to school, a lot of them are trying to be better, to change, to give themselves another chance. And I did not know that, until the last week of school.

I have new found respect for these kids. Seeing them step on the line to admit their less than glorious past. Contemplating their rebellious past with a sense of regret. Wanting to try to turn over a new leaf. Hoping someone could give them another chance.

I wish I had taken every opportunity to tell them I was proud of them. It’s too late now.

Last eight hours

No, there were no tears. My eyes were slightly moist at some point during the day but no, I did not cry. But that does not mean I was not sad or affected.

I felt so melancholic leaving my classroom this morning. It was a room I laughed, fumed and cried in. And at 1040, it would be the last time I pushed in the chairs, turned off the lights and locked the door.

Mr Chew invited me out for lunch over the holidays. The bosses left me nice cards and gifts. It was very nice of them to do so. I’m thankful they were so supportive of my decision, and that made me even more guilty for leaving the department despite all the opportunities they’d given me and all that they had done for me. Later, I hugged a few people goodbye and cleaned up my desk.

In the afternoon, I had a last meeting with the Journaling Club students. Leaving them was hard because I started with nothing. No students at all. And nobody to tell me what to do. And we now have over 20 members and a Chairman, a wonderful and charismatic girl who recently suggested to me we should start a committee, so “we can be a real Club”.

It’s so hard for me to let go because I watched the Club and these kids blossom over time. We were just starting to bond together and propel forward. I worry what the next teacher would be like. Would h/she be committed to the kids? Would s/he inspire and motivate them? Would s/he continue to develop and grow the Club or would s/he let it all fall into pieces?

For a few seconds, I thought of being as noble as LouAnne Johnson in Dangerous Minds or Erin Gruwell in Freedom Writers to put aside personal reasons and stay in school, just for these kids. But no, I was far from being so passionate.

I thought it would be easy but no, this was the first job I had difficulty leaving. The people, students and staff alike – I’d really truly miss.

Swivel chair monologue

I tolerated it. She sat on me for two years. Intially she sat on my neighbour, but somehow she changed her mind and chose me instead.

She bought me a colourful pillow friend some months into the job. Fed up with the boring blue cubicle, she went to IKEA to get some pretty cloths, some plants and the pillow to do up her space. You know, give it a bit of identity.

I have seen her weep, heard her laugh, listened as she screamed at students over the phone, eavesdropped on her private conversations with her closer colleagues and watched her typing away at her laptop and rummaging her drawer for food.

She has a little fat round butt and she loves to plonk it down on me. Her favourite is to kick off her shoes and sit cross-legged on me while hugging the pillow. Sometimes, when she is tired, she tilts back her head and shuts her eyes for a while.

Today is the last day she will sit on me. I saw her cleaning out her cubicle since last Friday. She took away my pillow friend and the jacket covering me yesterday. I feel so bare and alone now.

But in two days time, this new guy Wee will come and rest his rear on me and make this place his own. I wonder what he would be like. Would he find me a friend? Dump things on me? Push me gently into my resting space under the desk when he leaves at the end of every day?

I hate meeting new butts and getting used to their smelly farts. I wish we only had one owner during our lifespan. “Can we?”

p.s. if you don’t understand, ask me my new colleague’s name.