tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-292844732024-03-23T11:24:27.593-07:00Trisha ReloadedDedicated to Trisha, as always. Dedicated also to L, my source of inspiration, and the reason why I choose to see the bright side of teaching.trishahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10998960012623385998noreply@blogger.comBlogger35125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29284473.post-22506254887878788602006-12-25T20:06:00.000-08:002008-12-12T21:25:39.329-08:00Withdrawal"I've got Japan withdrawal." I sms-ed my sis-in-law, while on my way to Takashimaya, 4 days after I returned from my holiday in Japan. I needed to breathe in some Japanese air, I had told her. Pseudo or not, it didn't matter. Pathetic, I know, but I can't help but be mesmerized by the Japan I had a glimpse of.<br /><br />Maybe it's the legendary Japanese service I had read of, and then encountered on my short trip there. How the 8 front desk staff of the small hotel we were staying at had come out in near 0 degree temprature to stand along the sides of the pathway to wave goodbye to us while our tour bus drove off. How the old lady who sold apples in a market had refused the Y200 we wanted to pay her for the small apples she gave my daughter. And how in a crowded shopping street in Osaka, like this one :<br /><br /><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_jjaOrpaRX5w/RZCir-fTVBI/AAAAAAAAAAM/A8RBL7klV2Q/s1600-h/10122006296.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5012685261655725074" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_jjaOrpaRX5w/RZCir-fTVBI/AAAAAAAAAAM/A8RBL7klV2Q/s320/10122006296.jpg" border="0" /></a><br />cyclists pedalled silently behind you, too polite to ring their bells to tell you to make way for them, and instead waited for you to realise their presence and move aside for them to pass.<br /><br />Then there were the breath-takingly beautiful foliage on the temple grounds, such as these:<br /><br /><br /><br /><p></p><br /><p><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_jjaOrpaRX5w/RZCkOOfTVCI/AAAAAAAAAAU/f4p7uFJI3R4/s1600-h/CIMG2381.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5012686949577872418" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_jjaOrpaRX5w/RZCkOOfTVCI/AAAAAAAAAAU/f4p7uFJI3R4/s320/CIMG2381.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_jjaOrpaRX5w/RZCk5OfTVDI/AAAAAAAAAAc/qIdeyQ9-fsQ/s1600-h/CIMG2405.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5012687688312247346" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_jjaOrpaRX5w/RZCk5OfTVDI/AAAAAAAAAAc/qIdeyQ9-fsQ/s320/CIMG2405.JPG" border="0" /></a><br />as well as quaint houses and shops:</p><br /><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_jjaOrpaRX5w/RZClmufTVEI/AAAAAAAAAAk/IJaQ-MtfgoA/s1600-h/12122006319.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5012688469996295234" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_jjaOrpaRX5w/RZClmufTVEI/AAAAAAAAAAk/IJaQ-MtfgoA/s320/12122006319.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_jjaOrpaRX5w/RZCu9ufTVJI/AAAAAAAAABM/qvv0dLOUjco/s1600-h/13122006328.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5012698760737936530" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_jjaOrpaRX5w/RZCu9ufTVJI/AAAAAAAAABM/qvv0dLOUjco/s320/13122006328.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><p>There was also the memory of the sparkle in my girl's eyes as she saw snow for the first time, and how she adamantly refused any help to build her first snow man:</p><br /><br /><p><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_jjaOrpaRX5w/RZCnEefTVGI/AAAAAAAAAA0/IoYOEFvohng/s1600-h/CIMG2507.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5012690080609031266" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_jjaOrpaRX5w/RZCnEefTVGI/AAAAAAAAAA0/IoYOEFvohng/s320/CIMG2507.JPG" border="0" /></a><br />Then when Mt Fuji loomed majestically behind the rooftops, we squealed with delight. "You are very lucky," our guide told us, "Mt Fuji is only visible 56 days in a year. Most of the time, it's hidden by the clouds." But there it was, right outside our window. We tumbled out of the bus to marvel at the spectacle, a primeval behemoth that made you gasp in wonder. "In the beginning, God created the heavens and the earth!" I wanted to shout, for in the face of unspeakable beauty, there are no other words adequate enough to express my sense of awe.<br /><br /><br /><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_jjaOrpaRX5w/RZCogefTVHI/AAAAAAAAAA8/lnosmJlDO-Y/s1600-h/CIMG2520.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5012691661156996210" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_jjaOrpaRX5w/RZCogefTVHI/AAAAAAAAAA8/lnosmJlDO-Y/s320/CIMG2520.JPG" border="0" /></a><br />All too soon, it was time to leave the Land of the Rising Sun. But Japan had cast its spell on me. I was hooked, seduced, captured. And I know I would be back.</p><p></p><br /><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_jjaOrpaRX5w/RZCqJefTVII/AAAAAAAAABE/0yYRbc4R14k/s1600-h/12122006307.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5012693465043260546" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_jjaOrpaRX5w/RZCqJefTVII/AAAAAAAAABE/0yYRbc4R14k/s320/12122006307.jpg" border="0" /></a>trishahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10998960012623385998noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29284473.post-14231526795988872402008-09-10T07:41:00.000-07:002008-09-10T07:56:33.918-07:00Quick sneakI'm playing around with the new Google Chrome and I thought, "Heck, if I had the time to fiddle around with a new browser, I should be able to update my blog."<br /><br />So, this is not an update about any latest happenings, although a lot of things had happened since I last wrote.<br /><br />This has been an eventful year so far, where teaching is concerned. I have new responsibilities, which I take on with equal parts of enthusiasm and trepidation. I don't know if I have gotten myself into a minefield. But I choose to stay positive and think of the big picture - which is as long as I feel I'm still making meaningful contributions to my students and my own self-development, then I can't be that wrong.<br /><br />My daughter had just had her e-learning day where she stayed at home, logged in to the computer at 7.45am, did her assignments that were posted online, and even dutifully took her temperature and reported to her teacher with a few clicks on the mouse. And she's only in primary 4! We have certainly come a long way in education!<br /><br />OK, this is just a quick sneak to my blog before I hit the sack and get enough rest for a week of frenzied exam marking. Looks like no matter what position you hold in the school, the marking will never ease. I'll still be carrying red pens in <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">all </span>my handbags, and seeking new quiet cafes to settle down with my scripts.<br /><br />Note to myself: The happiest teachers I have been seeing around school are the relief and adjunct teachers. They say it's because all they do is teach, without the stifling admin work and meetings that the rest of us teachers get. I shall remember this when I plan my next career change.trishahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10998960012623385998noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29284473.post-84890880167566474192008-05-03T10:31:00.001-07:002008-05-03T10:39:15.315-07:00My Beloved ClassThey don't know it but I actually like them a lot. In fact, I think of them very often, even on weekends. I've never had a class where I look forward so much to seeing my students. My colleagues will say it's because they're the best express class for that level and I'm just lucky to get such a form class. Wait till you get a Normal Technical class, then we'll see how much love you still have for them.<br /><br />Maybe. <br /><br />But even with the best express class, you still hear teachers complaining about the students. So and so doesn't pay attention in class, this one talks too much, that boy gelled his hair, etc. So, if some teachers are just fond of picking faults with even the best express class, then there really is very little they are happy with and I wonder how they get through each day of teaching.<br /><br />As for me, lucky or not, I shall savour every moment with this class, warts and all.<br /><br />So, why do I love them? Let me count the ways -<br /><br />I love them for their enthusiasm when they greet me every day. Whether it's the beginning of a school day, or the end of a grueling and humid day, there's always a buzz when I walk into the classroom. They give me smiles, and silly jokes, and our lessons are usually interspersed with the easy banter of old friends, though we've only known one another for 4 months. They don't know how much their cheerfulness is like water to parched land. I'm sometimes exhausted after lessons in another class but going to this class and being welcomed by their exuberance instantly perks me up.<br /><br />I love them for being honest with me. When they're listless and unresponsive in class, they'll tell me why. So that I'll know it's not me. It's the time of day, the weather, or the stress of a test later on. I'm sometimes amazed by their sensitivity to my feelings and I'm touched by their thoughtfulness. <br /><br />I love them for being who they are – the studious, the sporty, the clownish, the gentlemanly, the demure, even the ones with the gelled hair, untidy fringe and the girls with the skirts that are too short. I'm beginning to discover more and more of the varied characters I have in this class and each new discovery is a delight to me. I can't wait to unearth more gems in this class as the months unfold before me. <br /><br />Certainly this class is not perfect. But I'm not looking for perfection. It is good enough that I have a class that I feel such a closeness to. As I take their attendance every morning, I derive a sense of joy from just looking at them. I scan their faces, and as I tick against their names in the attendance book, I wonder what the day will hold for me as I step into class later. I walk with a spring in my step towards their classroom, and even before I step in, my heart warms to hear their voices. I'm filled with anticipation, and for some incredible reason, because the class possesses an energy that has the power to galvanize me into wanting to give my best, I always feel good after the lesson.<br /><br />This will be a marvelous year. I have a class I can <em>sayang</em> unreservedly till November, and I don't want to be anywhere else.trishahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10998960012623385998noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29284473.post-47977690562173407602008-04-01T17:30:00.000-07:002008-04-01T17:46:53.675-07:00Annual song and danceI've done this many times over the years, but each time the day is about to descend on me, I become a bundle of nerves.<br /><br />Tomorrow's the day. The day when my two big bosses will be observing my lesson, and giving me an appraisal on my teaching ability. I haven't prepared my materials yet. I should be doing it now. But I'm blogging instead because I need to get the nerves out of my system.<br /><br />It's not like I will lose my job if my lesson didn't go well. But if it didn't go well, my fragile self-esteem will take a beating.<br /><br />I wonder if doctors and lawyers get observed by their superiors on a yearly basis. And even if they did, I wonder if it's fair to compare their observation with a lesson observation.<br /><br />The students know the routine by now. Some will cooperate with you. Some will take the opportunity to display their expressive skills before their long-awaited captive audience. At all events, a lesson observation is a most contrived, unnatural affair. You don't get to see a teacher's real teaching ability. What you see is a show, put up for the purpose of being observed and appraised, and the students put on masks, and either behave exceedingly well, or nightmarishly bad. It's an atypical lesson. Both teacher and students heave a sigh of relief when it's over. The actors bow out of stage, glad to be able to get back to a normal life as it should be.trishahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10998960012623385998noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29284473.post-34227630122239887832008-01-24T22:42:00.000-08:002008-01-24T23:04:03.237-08:00Faint signalSeveral people have asked me if I'm still alive in cyberland, or if I have migrated my blog to some secret hideout.<br /><br />"Blog fatigue," I told them. <br /><br />I'm simply exhausted. But not to the extent where I'll shut down my blog - yet.<br /><br />I'm just sending out a faint signal for now, to say that I'm still here, still teaching, still trying to be super-mum. Still trying to stay sane in the midst of the O level results frenzy, setting targets for this year's graduating students, counseling students, and trying my darndest to stay motivated and uplifting in this crazy world.<br /><br />* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *<br /><br />On another note, to those who lambasted the famous Principal who gave her now immortal words to her Sec 5 students, perhaps this quote may make you think a bit about another possibility which is not necessarily better:<br /><br /><em>"We schoolmasters must temper discretion with deceit."</em> Evelyn Waugh<br /><br />I shall not say more. It is a tough job trying to motivate kids who don't want to study. Let those who have tried teaching a neighbourhood school cast the first stone.trishahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10998960012623385998noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29284473.post-47326605089207843702007-06-20T19:48:00.000-07:002007-06-20T19:58:09.230-07:00Hard truthI didn’t think it would come to this, but it did. My daughter L presented me with her mid-year report card, and suddenly my almost perfect world of gungho teacher, modern mother and superwoman-wanna-be fell apart.<br /><br />Is it possible for a teacher-mother to have a child who almost flunked her exams? Many people think teachers' kids have it the best – free, 24/7 on-demand home tutoring. Except that in my case, it isn’t like that. Exhausted at the end of the day, I often do not have the time nor patience to coach my own kid. I have also stupidly thought I could be the hands-off, non-conformist mother who will challenge the system and not succumb to the Singaporean obsession with grades and tuition and one-upmanship.<br /><br />The result of my naivety? My girl only passed 1 out of 4 subjects in her recent exams. It is heartwrenching to see her tasting failure at such a young age. How does she feel? Does it bother her? What happens to her self-esteem?<br /><br />How does a teacher who spend hours teaching hundreds of other people’s kids feel when her own child is now sinking and she realizes, with a horrible shock, that maybe she is responsible for this? That while she may have devoted time to helping the weaker students in her school, she has left out the person who should matter most to her?<br /><br />I don’t know how to deal with this guilt. The irony of it all sickens me.<br /><br />I think of the last year which I have spent pursuing my part-time Masters course and now even that seems so self-indulgent and shallow. Maybe they are right after all, that you can’t have your cake and eat it too. Right now, I need to cut off the excesses, and forget about my own quest for personal achievement. My child is drowning and saving her is all that matters. Because when she fails, I feel that I have failed too. And no amount of impressive degrees and thank-you cards from my students can assuage the pain.trishahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10998960012623385998noreply@blogger.com20tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29284473.post-63547643689012820902007-04-30T17:40:00.000-07:002007-04-30T18:33:57.137-07:00National Ed vs Moral EdA friend I had dinner with last night asked about the 2 months inactivity in my blog.<br /><br />Frankly, I was surprised, and dismayed too, to realise I had let things slip for so long. The usual workload is the chief culprit, but the other reason, I suspect, is a sense of tiredness and a creeping despondency over the state of things around me. I don't know what to blog, and if blogging about anything makes a difference at all.<br /><br />My teaching is fine, I'm still happy doing it. But the environment in which I have to work in, is beginning to feed my cynicism over whether there's anything motivating, inspirational or optimistic I can still impart to my students.<br /><br />I'm not talking about my school environment. I'm talking about the larger society, where the ministerial salary hikes, the political strutting of people puffed up with a sense of their own self-importance, the denigration of other countries and their leaders as 'ordinary' and hence not as unique as our own, have invaded my thoughts in the last month. All these self-justification and materialistic reductionism, run counter to the many values I espouse and want to impart to my students.<br /><br />"I don't know how to infuse National Education (NE) in my lessons anymore," I told a friend recently. "I can't explain, with much conviction, many things our leaders are doing. I don't know what to say when students ask me why our government is the highest paid in the world, or why we need to have 2 casinos."<br /><br />"Forget about NE!" he replied. "Don't you think it's more urgent that we infuse Moral Education now?"<br /><br />It really got me thinking. I think my friend is right. We're living in a nation that's moving alarmingly towards the worship of mammon and elitism. I think if our young ones grow up thinking it is alright to sacrifice basic virtues for economic reasons, then we've lost our soul.<br /><br />Perhaps it is out of necessity now that we <em><strong>infuse</strong></em> Moral Education in our lessons, rather than relegate it to a 30 minute lesson every week, and often sacrificed to do revision for other subjects near exam time. Instead of requiring that teachers hammer hard all the NE messages into our students' heads, it is more crucial that they hear more about <strong><em>values</em></strong> from us, values that are getting harder to see practised in real life by the adults around them. After all, if the fundamental values of integrity, honesty, compassion and humility are passed on successfully to our kids, there won't be a need to do NE anymore. They'll know why we need to love and serve the country.trishahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10998960012623385998noreply@blogger.com16tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29284473.post-49948536744583858842007-02-24T17:48:00.000-08:002007-02-24T17:55:43.577-08:00On 'stupid' studentsAt a Chinese New Year gathering yesterday, someone asked me a rather interesting question.<br /><br />“So what do you do with students who are stupid?”<br /><br />I was completely caught off-guard. I mean, I try very hard not to label anyone, especially my students, as “stupid”, and God forbid that I actually utter such harsh pronouncements on anyone under my care. So to be asked a direct question on my handling of “stupid” students left me speechless for a while as I grapple for an honest answer.<br /><br />“W..e..ll,” I said, seeking the right words to convey the complex feelings I have about students who are less bright, “I encourage them in little ways. I praise them for even the little progress they have made. I want them to understand that they are not stupid, they just need more time for things to click.”<br /><br />“But that means they are stupid!” my cousin insisted. “What if you have explained things many times and they still don’t get it? Hence they’re stupid, right? Why don’t you just tell them they’re dumb? Why tell them they’re ok when they’re not?”<br /><br />You should have seen my jaw drop to the floor. I couldn’t believe the words I was hearing, from a parent with very intelligent kids. Thankfully, his wife butted in.<br /><br />“How can a teacher say such things to a kid’s face? What good would it do? A teacher is supposed to encourage a student, not tear him down!” She spoke my thoughts actually.<br /><br />To be fair to my cousin, I think he was merely trying to provoke me into thinking about and revealing some of the real but uncomfortable scenarios teachers and parents face when confronted with children who are not even mediocre, but are slow, not bright and who made you realize in a perverse way why streaming is a necessary evil in education.<br /><br />I detest streaming. I have seen what the labeling does to a child’s self-esteem. I do not like to see such stratification in the schools, where often, the express students are treated differently from the normal streams (especially the normal technical stream) and yet, I know it is very very difficult for a normal technical student to cope if he is placed in the same class as express students. To those rare few (and my emphasis is on the word rare) who have crossed the great chasm, I salute them for their diligence and tenacity. But for the majority, such a meteoric rise can only be a dream.<br /><br />But I am digressing. I was going to talk about how I countered my annoying cousin’s question.<br /><br />My 'sagely' reply : “No one is stupid in everything, unless you have some mental disorder. Hence I see no reason why being frank to the student about his “stupidity” as you would like to call it, is beneficial to anyone. If you can’t do Math, ok, that’s not your strength. But you’re not stupid. I’m sure you are good in something else. I don’t believe a teacher should go around pronouncing anyone as stupid.”<br /><br />Actually, I also wanted to niggle him about his Chinese, because I know that was the one thing he struggled with in school, despite graduating with top honours in other subjects. I could even be malicious, and ask him frankly, “So why are you so ‘stupid’ in Chinese?”, just to see how he would respond. But we were going to <em>lo hei</em> soon, and that would have spoilt the entire joyous mood.trishahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10998960012623385998noreply@blogger.com23tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29284473.post-65283241877776138352007-02-02T07:42:00.000-08:002007-02-02T08:16:18.029-08:00A student does CIP“If you don’t go in now, she’ll think you’re looking down on her!” I hissed at A, a student among a group of 8, who were doing their CIP (Community Involvement Project) and whose turn it was to visit the <a href="http://trisha-reloaded.blogspot.com/2006/10/2-hours-that-change-me.html">1-room flats the school had adopted</a>. They came armed with monthly supplies of food items, plus an ang-pow for the lunar New Year, ready to present to our adopted families and the owner had opened the door cheerfully to welcome us in. We had all gone in, except for A.<br /><br />Student A was wearing my patience out with his exaggerated air of snobbery. I could understand it if he was visibly shocked at seeing the inside of a 1-room flat for the first time in his life. Even if he had wrinkled up his nose at the unfamiliar, musty smell that some of these flats exuded (which he did in a very dramatic way), I would hold my tongue. But no, he had to be larger than life, he had to pretend to throw up along the corridors after the second house we visited. As he bent over just outside someone’s flat, trying to bring up his breakfast, his friend went over to console him, crying out to us, “A can’t take it la, ‘cher!” But I was not fooled. It wasn’t that A couldn’t take it. A was simply making a loud statement that he hated this visit, and he would rather be anywhere than near poor people.<br /><br />After the first house, A had pronounced pompously to everyone, “You know what I would do? I would give this house a makeover, man!” I kept my cool, and explained to him that if we all had the means, we would love to have interior decorators for our homes. But not everyone is so fortunate. The message didn’t get to him though. Throughout the entire visit, he feigned a vomiting episode, leaned far over the ledge at one point to show us how much he needed a breath of fresh air, and had to be persuaded to sit down on a chair offered by the owner of a house.<br /><br />At the end of the visit, he filled in the Reflection Form with all the politically correct answers any student doing CIP would know by now. He had just completed 3 hours of CIP for the year, which was 50% of the quota. As far as he was concerned, his mission was accomplished. He went back home to his executive mansionette just 5 minutes away, to a home where, he claimed, 2 maids were waiting to serve him.<br /><br />* * * * * * * * *<br />Since <a href="http://trisha-reloaded.blogspot.com/2006/10/2-hours-that-change-me.html">my last entry </a>about my visit to the 1-room flats, a few things had happened. Some people had written to me, offering various forms of help. I was touched by the kind gestures and had followed up with regular visits in the month of December since I knew it was the school holidays and the CIP visits from the students had stopped temporarily.<br /><br />I asked Mr Y twice about fumigating his home to get rid of the bed bugs, assuring him that he didn’t have to pay a cent for it. He had rejected my offers, saying the bugs did not bother him. Last week when I visited him, he was as scrawny as ever, but friendly and we chatted for a while. He told me of his leg problem and how he was just diagnosed with diabetes. Walking can be quite painful for him now but he is determined not to give up walking for fear that the feet would atrophy even more.<br /><br />At the end of 2006, 92-year-old Mdm C, who had earlier signalled to us that she wanted to die, finally got her wish granted. She had had a fall in late Nov and stayed in hospital for a while. While hospitalized, her neighbour, Mr C (who is also one of our adoptees), had taken the initiative to clean up and paint Mdm C’s dreary flat. What is remarkable about his gracious act is that Mr C himself wears a prosthetic leg. He took 3 days to paint Mdm C’s flat, a feat which gave him severe back ache that necessitated a visit to the doctor subsequently. Mdm C was able to come home later to a sparkling clean, freshly-painted flat, although by then she was bed-ridden and had to depend on her neighbour, Mr C, to check in on her everyday. Then, just before we crossed over to 2007, Mdm C was gone.<br /><br />When I saw Mr C last week, he was sitting on the floor in his flat. For the first time, I saw him without his artificial leg. When the students had shuffled out of his house, he turned to me and said, “She’s gone! I had just painted her flat and she’s gone!” I nodded wordlessly. I wanted to tell him that he has truly been a good neighbour, in every sense of the word, and that Mdm C couldn’t have asked for a better friend. But my words remained caught in my throat. I looked at this one-legged man and thought of his magnanimous deed, and I saw my own weedy body and pathetic piety.<br /><br />I’m reminded, that sometimes it is the simplest deed, done with the sincerest of heart, that has the greatest impact, not the glitzy, flamboyant and sophisticated mega-dollar makeover that some of us seem to favour. Mr Y doesn't want the town council, or the professional pestbusters to take over his house and turn over his things. Instead, he appreciates the bread that kind neighbours pass to him, and the $2 that a lady who had just won in the chap-jee-kee slipped into his hands. In fact, if we can be like the kind of neighbour that Mr C is, we would indeed make a difference in a huge way.trishahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10998960012623385998noreply@blogger.com16tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29284473.post-33456070700435303312007-01-09T05:46:00.000-08:002007-01-09T06:14:01.399-08:00Love/Hate relationshipI have a love/hate relationship with school. I mean, on 2 Jan, I was ready to slash my wrist at the thought of going back to the grindstone. The break was over, I couldn't imagine facing those students, the endless marking, meetings and those noisy juvenile Sec 1 kids.<br /><br />3 Jan came. The bewildered-looking Sec 1 students amused me considerably. And my seniors, those whom I was in charge of, and who had been undergoing training since Nov 2006 to run the Orientation Program, I don't know how to express my gratitude to them. They were an awkward, diffident and lackadaisical lot when I first met them in Nov. But in the first 3 days of school, they miraculously rose to the occasion, took charge of things and had the Sec 1's eating out of their hands. It was a marvelous sight to behold and I want so much to give each one of them a big hug and say how proud I am of them!<br /><br />Then I realised the transformation occurred in me too. I had met all my classes, and now I'm all ready to go. Yes, the madness will be there and I'll soon be bitching about the stupid admin work, the mountains of essays that gather under my desk and the students who terrorised me, but somehow, when I step into the class, I'm a different being. I have discovered that with each new year of teaching, I'm more confident, more certain of why I'm doing this and how I can do this better. The students are my fuel and my sustenance and it's a glorious feeling to be in the midst of so much youthful energy.<br /><br />If I am not a teacher, then 3 Jan would come and go, hardly making a ripple in my working life. But now, I am in one of those few professions in which a new year literally means a new beginning, new class, new timetable, new challenges. So, in a weird, inexplicable and even perverse kind of way, I'll say "Hooray for the start of another new school year!"trishahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10998960012623385998noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29284473.post-81335690965126348192006-12-31T19:37:00.000-08:002006-12-31T21:04:01.849-08:00Do we really need tuition?In 2007, I would have to make a major deicision concerning my daughter and it's got to do with tuition. Specifically, it has to do with whether I should get her a Maths tutor because she scored just over 60 marks for her Pri 2 SA2 last year.<br /><br />I think for most parents, this is a non-issue. A Maths score like my daughter's would send alram bells ringing and the parents scrambling to get the best tutor money can buy. But to me, deciding whether to subject my girl to extra tuition lessons is a big, agonising issue. Because (and apologies to the many private tutors out there making a living) I believe tuition is a major evil in our society. Perhaps a necessary evil, but an evil nonetheless that we should spare our kids from. For it robs your kids of precious time they could spend doing more enjoyable activities, it chips away at your kids' self-esteem unconsciously, and it sends the message to your kids that they are not good/fast/smart enough and hence need the extra help.<br /><br />I believe that if schools are doing things right, most kids would not need tuition at all. The fact that many kids, even those from good schools, are having tuition, is a sign that something is very wrong, either with our education system, society's or parents' expectations or a combination of these. <br /><br />I try to be objective, logical and analytical about my daughter's performance. So I tell myself, her Maths scores are below average possibly because :<br /><br />1) the Maths syllabus is beyond that of an average 7 year-old<br />This means that the kids who do well in her school are either Maths geniuses (out of the norm), or have Maths tuition to help them cope with the demanding curriculum (that means the syllabus IS flawed); this also means she may be able to cope with the syllabus if given more time for her mental development to catch up (but streaming will start in Pri 4 - can she catch up by then?);<br /><br />2) she is a right-brain child, i.e. not strong in Maths<br />This is fine with me except that the Singapore curriculum favours heavily the left-brain faculties (e.g. students must pass Maths at O levels to get into JC/polytechnic, PSLE aggregate is weighted heavily towards Maths). So while it is acceptable to me if she hates Maths and likes art, for example, she is not going to make it very well in a system that demands every kid to be an all-rounder (must be bilingual, passes Maths <strong>and</strong> loves Humanities subjects!);<br /><br />3) she had an incompetent Maths teacher who didn't teach her well<br />Well, if that is the case, then it is not something I can solve. Being a teacher myself, I hesitate to label any teacher incompetent because I know it is not easy to cater to the needs of so many kids. Also, the reality is that not every teacher is a super teacher so we as parents need to recognise that in the course of our children's schooling, there will always be teachers who are mediocre, uninspiring or less committed. In spite of this, if our education system is sound, our children should not have to suffer such crippling penalty by being under the tutelage of a below-average teacher because such teachers should be the minority - unless of course, our system is not as sound as we thought.<br /><br />Having gone through points 1 to 3 above, I am still in a conumdrum. I feel paralyzed against a system that seems stacked against my girl's natural inclinations (a fondness for art, imagination, handicraft) and one that is bent on producing cookie cutter models that excel in 2 languages and love numbers. An 8 year old shouldn't have to feel that she's not smart enough for school!<br /><br />So I'm resisting the urge to look for a Maths tutor for I'm very worried that once we start on this road to tuition, it will become an uncontrollable slide into educational handicap. For while I see there's nothing deficient with my girl's academic abilities, tuition will somehow make her feel that there's something inferior about her. Tuition will become a crutch, and we can forget about developing independent learners. Yet, if she doesn't catch up soon in Maths, she will get more and more left behind in this madcap academic race.<br /><br />Perhaps I'm exaggerating the negative effects of tuition too much. I see many kids who have tuition and they seem pretty self-assured to me. However, the cynical instinct in me tells me these are kids who have been indoctrinated with the belief that tuition is necessary for them to survive, and because they are no longer in the minority, it is perfectly normal to spend your weekends going for extra classes. That, to me, is a sad situation to be in. Tuition should not be the norm. It is abnormal. It is unnecessary. It should only be a last resort, like a secret underground operative that people turn to when they run out of all options, not a thriving multi-million dollar business the way it is here.<br /><br />Parents who have gone through similar struggles please share your insights with me. When I told my daughter that she may need tuition this year, she gave me such a look of despair that I couldn't find it in my heart to inflict more damage to her self-esteem!trishahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10998960012623385998noreply@blogger.com41tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29284473.post-47747221589391829992006-12-26T00:51:00.000-08:002006-12-26T00:55:24.851-08:00Panic ButtonWhat do you do when your boss had told you, way back in November, to do a certain job, and you had procrastinated, and hemmed and hawed your way, till now, less than 24 hours from the year-end staff meeting, you had not done a damn thing and can't think of a good excuse?<br /><br />I'm a bad bad bad teacher. How do I tell my students to hand in their work on time next year?trishahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10998960012623385998noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29284473.post-91295504431058703972006-12-04T18:34:00.000-08:002006-12-04T19:20:07.970-08:00This auntie can runThis post is 2 days late but it's taken me that long to get my butt off the sofa since I've completed the Standard Chartered 10km run on 3 Dec.<br /><br />10km may be a walk in the park for seasoned runners. But for me, it is the grandmama of marathon. I have never ever completed any course more than 3.2km (and this was at my school's Cross Country event this year). During my annual Physical Fitness Tests in school many years ago, I remembered struggling excruciatingly through my 2.4km run, coming in looking ashen and in a collapsible mess, and had to be escorted to the sick bay later to recover from the trauma. Needless to say, I had never passed the 2.4km event. I was just relieved I didn't have to be sent off in an ambulance after the torture.<br /><br />So when my brother asked me if I would like to join him for the 10km run this year, it took a while before a lily-livered me mumbled a reluctant yes. The only reason I insanely thought I could survive this ordeal was my sis-in-law (bless her heart!). She told me she did it last year, <span style="color:#cc0000;"><strong>while 2 months pregnant</strong></span>. Instantly, the Ah-Beng instinct in me was roused. You know, when an Ah Beng gets challenged like that, he cannot take it lying down right? Never mind that my sis-in-law is years younger and hence less rickety than me, I mean, if a pregnant woman can run 10km, surely an unemcumbered tennis-playing auntie like me can do it too?<br /><br />So my day of reckoning came on 3 Dec. I was awed by the electrically-charged atmosphere and the festivity of the occasion. The fact that I wasn't the only cellulite-laden, wobbly thighed middle-ager there was a huge comfort to me. The weather was superb, the mood exuberant and when the start-off signal sounded, it was me, my Zen V, and thousands of sneakers that pounded the streets of the CBD and beyond.<br /><br />And then, more than 1.5 hrs later, as if I was hallucinating, I heard the cheers of the supporters. The end was near. My legs were moving as if they had a mind of their own. The agony in the muscles was numbingly present, yet I was oblivious to it, because the delirium of finally accomplishing what I thought was impossible was finally threatening to wash over me.<br /><br />I looked up at the time board at the Finishing Point. 1 hr 40 min. I forgot to smile for the cameras. But it didn't matter. I had done it, ran the race of my life and survived.trishahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10998960012623385998noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29284473.post-1163823627852061222006-11-17T19:12:00.000-08:002006-11-17T20:20:27.960-08:00Being a Parent-CoachBeing a parent of an 8-year old girl, I'm often asked by other parents if my girl is taking this or that lesson. Like, is she taking piano, swimming, or ballet lessons? Does she go for abacus lessons, or Kumon (since she's struggling with Maths in school) or Speech and Drama (since she's quite shy)?<br /><br />The answer is, No. Other than a ballet class which lasted barely 1 year, my daughter has not attended any extra-curricular or enrichment classes taught by professional teachers and coaches. Going by modern, middle-class parenting standards, this is quite an anomaly, especially since I have only one child and many would assume it is my duty to pour as much resources as I can afford on her. Some parents have reacted with a bit of shock at my lax attitude towards what they deem to be essential developmental classes for children which would give them a headstart in life. Why would an educated parent like me not invest in my child's development by having her learn a skill from a professional?<br /><br />To be honest, I struggle with this question quite a bit. Not least because I see practically every kid I know of learning piano, earning silver or gold awards for swimming etc. There are 2 main reasons why my girl is not one of them.<br /><br />1) She has no interest in attending classes taught by strangers. She is, by nature, wary and shy towards strangers. This could be both a strength and a weakness, but for now, rather than force her to attend a class, I prefer to not force her if she feels uncomfortable about it.<br /><br />The seond reason is more important to me, and it is this:<br />2) I believe, as far as possible, that the parent should be the coach, rather than an external, unfamiliar person who doesn't know your child's personality, needs and insecurities. I think many parents either claim they don't have the time, or the skill to teach their child, say swimming, and so outsource it to a swimming coach but I would like to challenge parents to make the time to teach your child something that you do know, or if you don't know how to swim, attend a swimming class together with your child! After all, if you feel swimming is important for your child to learn, then what excuse do you have for not knowing how to swim?<br /><br />My daughter has told me unequivocally that she wants ME to be her coach and I have not regretted the moments we have shared while I teach her whatever skills I have. I have taught her how to play badminton (she's in the school's Badminton Club now), tennis, table-tennis, pickle-ball, and even the recorder. Just last week, she learnt how to cycle on a 2-wheel bike, thanks to Mama Coach. We are still working on swimming, which would take a longer time since it necessitates a more troublesome visit to a public pool.<br /><br />What are the benefits of being a parent-coach? Well, I can't quantify the value of parent-child bonding. Unlike a coach who may use a more demanding and impersonal teaching style on my child, my girl and I have mostly lots of fun in the teaching and learning process, and the sense of achievement and thrill when your child has mastered something - like hitting a smash in badminton - is shared by both the learner and the teacher in a way which is more meaningful and memorable than getting a tangible acknowledgement like a certificate.<br /><br />At the end of the day, I want my daughter to have fond memories of the times we had when "mummy taught me how to cycle". If you outsource most of these to external parties, then it is a real pity I feel. Of course, I am no pro and I may not be teaching my child the correct methods. But since I am not too concerned about raising an Olympic champion, I think I can live with such imperfection. She can always go on to learn from a proper coach later on once the interest is ignited by me.<br /><br />Lest you think I'm disdaining such external classes, I must emphasize that I do see the role of these classes to teach various skills at a more professional level. By all means, enrol your child in such classes if you feel your child needs the discipline and rigours of proper training. But do not neglect the importance of being a parent-coach. Some skills can be learnt in a more relaxed way, and I'd bet if you ask your child, he may just tell you he won't mind having you as a coach.<br /><br />There are 6 weeks in the year-end holidays. Ample time for your child to learn a new skill. Why not teach your child something? Then when your child utters, "My Daddy taught me this!", you'll know it's all worth it!<br /><br /><em>"Parents are the pride of their children." Proverbs 17:6b.</em>trishahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10998960012623385998noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29284473.post-1162049684059511872006-10-28T08:08:00.000-07:002006-10-28T08:34:44.083-07:002 hours that change meI didn’t know what to expect. It was my first time visiting a one-room HDB flat. I had agreed to help bring a few students to visit a few of these homes that the school had adopted as part of the CIP (Community Involvement Programme). This should be good, I thought.<br /><br />I wasn’t prepared for this. The walls were dotted with black splotches of what we were told were the droppings of bed bugs. We were warned not to remove our shoes, lean on the walls or sit on the floor. Mr Y sat on a stool and seemed nonchalant about the infestation in his home. The mattress he slept on bore testimony to the nightly battles he had to endure. The bed sheet was clouded with blood stains. Mr Y used to be a coolie who carried sacks of rice. The bachelor now lives alone in his decrepit rental flat, his emaciated body racked with sickness, the money he earned in his younger days long gone to feed his parents’ opium addiction many years ago. He gets $260 from the welfare agency every month, of which about $100 goes into paying his rent and utilities. The remainder he has to magically stretch to cover his food and medical costs.<br /><br />The bugs had spread from next door to a few flats on the 5th floor where Mr Y lived. You could see them flitting about on the wall, on the floor, among his clothes, even along the corridors. Nobody there could afford a professional pestbuster, and the town council wouldn’t do such favours anyway. So living with these parasites has become a fact of life. Residents living on the other floors talked about the 5th floor as if it was Purgatory and it didn’t seem an inappropriate description.<br /><br />Then there was 92-year-old Mdm C – so small and wiry she couldn’t have weighed more than 35kg. She had a hole in her neck where her voice box had been removed, so she couldn’t talk. When she saw us, she simply gestured with her hands that she wanted to die. Looking at her forlorn looking home, who could blame her for feeling that way? The food in her kitchen had all gone bad so we gathered she hadn’t eaten for days, or perhaps she had been eating all the rotten stuffs. When you are sick and have to depend on the kindness of neighbours to help you buy even the simplest food, what other choice do you have? She has 2 daughters, one who visits her occasionally. Another, we heard, comes by and steals the NTUC vouchers that volunteers give to her. Is it any wonder Mdm C would rather die?<br /><br />In all, we visited 7 homes, each one with its own sad story to tell. My heart is exceedingly disturbed by the scenes I saw today. On the one hand, we live in a country that’s boasting of having island-wide free internet access soon and building world-class integrated resorts and yet, in pockets of this land which worships success and one-upmanship shamelessly, there are the forgotten lot who live in homes with rotten food and bug-infested beds.<br /><br />I thought that by visiting the poor, I would be helping to cheer them up somewhat. How naïve I was. How arrogant I was to think that a simple 20 minute visit can alleviate the misery of people who have to face squalor every single moment of their lives and where sleep offers no respite either from the reality of their wretchedness. I thought I was doing community service. But no, <strong>something was done to me</strong>. Today, I felt as if the earth beneath my feet had shifted. In the days that follow, I would still go on to live my life of considerable comfort, plan my holidays, do Christmas shopping and enjoy the trappings of prosperity that I have been blessed with. But I could no longer plead ignorance of the shadowy existence of Mr Y, Mdm C and all these unfortunate people who live just a stone’s throw away from me. I find myself asking Him, “Lord, what will You have me do now?”<br /><br />Tonight, as I crawl between my nice clean sheets, I think of Mr Y and how long the night will be for him. I saw real, in-your-face poverty and human misery today and I’m at a loss as to how to respond. Nothing I can do or say will ever be enough. And yet, if we don’t do anything, what kind of human beings are we?<br /><br />* * * * * * * * *<br /><br />Juxtaposed among my anguished thoughts about Mr Y and Mdm C is the noisy ranting of an 18-year-old college kid with her “elite uncaring face”. And this is what I want to say.<br /><br />There is no glory in being an elite. No honour in trumpeting one’s own success. For if not by a fortunate roll of the dice of life, any of us could end up like Mr Y or Mdm C. Any of us could be born into a family visited by sorrow upon sorrow, where circumstances work against you and fate tosses you around like sand, so that you can’t get out of the shit even if you want to. So for those of us in which life has been unbelievably kind to us, a good measure of gratitude and humility is called for. Survival of the fittest is the rule for the animal kingdom. Surely we are above the beasts? Surely we are meant to rise up higher? Instead of dashing to be the first, perhaps it is far nobler to slow down, and give a hand to the downtrodden, the unfortunate, the unskilled, the retrenched, the slower, the old, the sickly and the poor. When we can restore even a modicum of dignity to our fellow beings who have no hope, surely that makes us more human.trishahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10998960012623385998noreply@blogger.com52tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29284473.post-1161761918101590532006-10-25T00:17:00.000-07:002006-10-25T00:38:38.116-07:00They're almost gone...The corridors are quiet as the school gets ready to wind down on the second last day of the school term.<br /><br />The staff room is quiet, except for a few teachers shuffling about. Outside, it is unusually silent. Perhaps because of the O level practical exam tomorrow, no one seems to be around, not even the Sec 4's, who were still hanging around school in the afternoon last week.<br /><br />Last week, I watched some of the Sec 4's as they took a break from their studying and played captain's ball, haze notwithstanding. They were squealing and screaming, their young shirll voices reverberating through the damp air. <br /><br />"I'm going to miss them," I thought to myself, and steeled myself to walk away from what to me was a scene of inexplicable melancholy. Just put on your ear phones and walk on by and don't feel so much. <br /><br />A colleague shared with me today the sense of rejection she felt when a student who had been confiding in her for the last 4 years suddenly became very curt towards her.<br /><br />"Is that what it's like when your child grows up and finds you irritating?" she asked me.<br /><br />I suppose so. My students haven't told me to mind my own business. But now, knowing they have got newfound wings, and are going to leave me soon, and that I'll soon be a distant memory to them, you can't help wondering -- perhaps a teacher really shouldn't feel too much for her students. Just <em>sayang</em> them when they're in your care, and when it's time, send them on their way, with your prayers. Parting is inevitable.trishahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10998960012623385998noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29284473.post-1159889820225715932006-10-03T08:25:00.000-07:002006-10-03T08:37:00.246-07:00In weaknessI was filled with an overwhelming sense of joy and thanksgiving on Sunday. The cause of it? Two ex-students who visited me on Saturday night. We talked till 1 am and when they finally left my house, it was as if I had glimpsed the miracle of a mystical transformation.<br /><br />Y and J were by no means angels when they were in school. Regular visitors to the Discipline Room, J was especially notorious and was threatened with expulsion a few times. Y and J had also been punished countless times for smoking and vandalism in school. When I became their form teacher in Sec 3, I was a fresh NIE grad, wet behind the ears, very unsure of myself, and pretty scared of some of the boys in my class who towered over me, kept their shirts unbuttoned, and came adorned with the occasional nose studs to dare me to book them.<br /><br />Still, when they finally graduated after Sec 5, I really missed them. Which explains why we still keep in touch. I guess a teacher never forgets her first form class.<br /><br />So here’s a post that’s dedicated to Y and J, diamonds in the raw, which my inexperience had failed to see earlier on, but which now I humbly and joyously acknowledge, are sources of inspiration to me, because I realize now, despite my weakness as a new teacher, you have taught me many precious lessons.<br /><br />* * * * * *<br />In my weakness, I took a hesitant gamble and made J my class monitor. The class voted you in, and I didn’t know what else to do, except to respect the class’ choice. And despite words of caution from my colleagues who knew of your reputation, I thought I should at least let you try. You didn’t disappoint and I could hold my head high! Who would have thought?<br /><br />In my weakness, I didn’t dare approach you and ask you about your police probation. I had chided myself then for not showing enough concern for you. But on Saturday, you revealed that that was precisely what you didn’t want teachers to do. And that those who probed and pried were the ones you hated, because you felt robbed of any last vestiges of pride you had left. So my reticence became a strength, although I didn’t know it then. Who would have thought?<br /><br />In my weakness, I didn’t persuade Y to continue with his O levels even though he could. My lack of counseling skills then is now an embarrassment to me. But you had followed your heart and had graduated in the top 5% in ITE. You are now filled with a sense of purpose and had made plans for your future. I am now your greatest cheerleader and go around my classes to tell other students your story, that ITE is not the end. Again, who would have thought?<br /><br />In my weakness, I didn’t know how to handle students who had a long list of disciplinary records. I only knew I had to think positive, pray hard, and smile more. I learnt on Saturday that you remembered, <strong>even now</strong>, the unkind words and looks you got from teachers who only remembered your bad deeds. That even when you had determined to change for the better, few believed you could. I now heave a sigh of relief that you could not recall any callous word I said to you. Otherwise we wouldn’t be chatting till 1am on Saturday. I didn’t realize then the destructive power of one unkind word, a look of contempt or a whiff of mockery and how they can stay in a person’s mind for many years. It is a lesson that I will remember for as long as I am a teacher and a parent.<br /><br />* * * *<br />It’s always very challenging for a teacher to face a new class. The students size you up and sometimes, for reasons you do not know, they choose to give you a hard time. Y and J were pretty gentlemanly to me. And for this, I am exceedingly grateful. I was a weak, fumbling, inexperienced teacher then. And you gave me a chance. That had made all the difference. I hope I had made a difference in your lives too.<br /><br /><br /><em>“For when I am weak, then I am strong.” <br /></em>Apostle Paul (2 Cor 12:10)trishahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10998960012623385998noreply@blogger.com17tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29284473.post-1158330815902169532006-09-15T07:04:00.000-07:002006-09-15T07:33:35.973-07:00Book memeGot this from <a href="http://www.toomanythoughts.org/blog/2006/08/because-i-love-books.html#comments">Tym's blog </a>and I was very excited to do this meme. Like Tym, I'm not waiting for anyone to tag me. So here goes:<br /><br /><br /><strong><span style="color:#000099;">1. One book you have read more than once<br /></span></strong><br /><strong><em><span style="color:#cc0000;">Cry, The Beloved Country</span></em></strong>, by <strong><em><span style="color:#cc0000;">Alan Paton</span></em></strong>. I don’t usually read books more than once and so the only reason why this book had the dubious honour was because it was my Literature text. Still, I didn’t complain then cos it was an excellent book, opening my eyes to the realities of apartheid, a phenomenon that was still alien to a wide-eyed fifteen year old as I was then.<br /><br /><strong><span style="color:#000099;">2. One book you would want on a desert island<br /></span></strong><br /><strong><em><span style="color:#cc0000;">The Bible</span></em></strong>. My life manual. When you’re on a desert island, there’s no better time to contemplate about your life, undistracted by the concerns of the world.<br /><br /><strong><span style="color:#000099;">3. One book that made you laugh<br /></span></strong><br /><strong><em><span style="color:#cc0000;">Inconceivable</span></em></strong> by <strong><em><span style="color:#cc0000;">Ben Elton</span></em></strong>. It was my first introduction to Ben Elton’s books and his brand of humour and I must say, I’ve been a fan of his books ever since and have proceeded to devour virtually all of his works. Any couple trying for a baby should read this book, to take the pressure and stress off trying to make the miracle of procreation happen. Any couple who don’t want a baby yet should read it too, to remind you that the creation of life is a mysterious thing, and not something that you can will to happen when you want it.<br /><br /><strong><span style="color:#000099;">4. One book that made you cry<br /></span></strong><br /><strong><em><span style="color:#cc0000;">Borrowed Time</span></em></strong> by <strong><em><span style="color:#cc0000;">Paul Monette</span></em></strong>. My virgin foray into alternative literature. The author’s description of the death of his partner is immensely heart-wrenching and I pratically had to stop reading at one point because I felt my heart could not take the pain of waiting for the inevitable to happen. I don't think I've ever read a book that dealt with the loss of a loved one so eloquently and poignantly.<br /><br /><strong><span style="color:#000099;">5. One book you wish you had written</span></strong><br /><br />This is a tough one. But the closest would be <strong><em><span style="color:#cc0000;">Mere Christianity</span></em></strong> by <strong><em><span style="color:#cc0000;">C.S. Lewis</span></em></strong>. I wish I could articulate, as brilliantly as Lewis did, a perfectly logical explanation of a belief in God. I’m a great admirer of Lewis’ sharp and yet down-to-earth view of spirituality. Reading Mere Christianity is like having a good friend dissect the truth for you, step by step, elucidating the layers of truth that you never saw before, never intimidating or intruding, and in the end, you find yourself agreeing with the author, even though you may have started out being cynical.<br /><br /><strong><span style="color:#000099;">6. One book you wish had never been written</span></strong><br /><br />This will probably get me some flak from <strong><em><span style="color:#cc0000;">Rick Warren’s</span></em></strong> fans but I do feel his <strong><em><span style="color:#cc0000;">The Purpose-Driven Life</span></em></strong> is all hype and little substance. Not that I disagree with what he wrote. It’s just that, to me, TPDL is to spiritual fodder, what French fries is to nutrition. Hence I find it amazing that something that is so banal, and not very thought provoking, can be a best-seller, spawning a string of sequels like The Purpose-Driven Church, and journals, tapes and bible study materials to accompany TPDL. Many churches advocate the use of TPDL for group study, like it’s the newfound miracle antidote to spiritual awakening. I would think there’s more spiritual substance from the <em><span style="color:#cc0000;">Narnia Chronicles</span></em> than TPDL!<br /><br /><strong><span style="color:#000099;">7. One book you are currently reading</span></strong><br /><br /><strong><em><span style="color:#cc0000;">When We Were Orphans</span></em></strong> by <strong><em><span style="color:#cc0000;">Kazuo Ishiguro</span></em></strong>. First time I’m reading Ishiguro and it’s so far so good.<br /><br /><strong><span style="color:#000099;">8. One book you have been meaning to read</span></strong><br /><br /><strong><em><span style="color:#cc0000;">The Prince and the Pauper</span></em></strong> by <span style="color:#cc0000;"><strong><em>Mark Twain</em></strong></span>. I have been attracted to Twain’s humour after reading <em><span style="color:#cc0000;">The Diary of Adam and Eve</span></em>. I’m not sure if some of his lengthier works contain the same type of humour. I picked up The Prince and the Pauper from the condemned books collection in my school library (in librarian parlance, a ‘condemned book’ is one that is too old or torn to be kept and hence is marked for destruction). That anyone can condemn Mark Twain’s work is utterly sacrilegious so I rescued it from the bin and it’s been sitting nicely on my bookshelf, waiting for me to resurrect the soul within its pages.<br /><br /><strong><span style="color:#000099;">9. One book that changed your life<br /></span></strong><br /><strong><em><span style="color:#cc0000;">Disappointment with God</span></em></strong> by <strong><em><span style="color:#cc0000;">Philip Yancey</span></em></strong>. I read this after I lost my baby Trisha. The title described my sentiments then exactly. The book addresses the age-old question of why there is suffering in this world and offers more than the usual pat answers that well-meaning Christians offered me at one of the most trying periods of my life. Thanks to Yancey’s book, I emerged from the ordeal a much stronger person. I still don’t have all the answers but I know my faith has not weakened despite the disappointment in my life.<br /><br />* * *<br />There's really no need to tag anyone for this. If you're a book lover, you would want to do this meme. So go on!trishahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10998960012623385998noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29284473.post-1157783396141819532006-09-08T23:20:00.000-07:002006-09-08T23:29:56.143-07:00Duracell teacherAll this spotlight on new pay schemes for teachers, promotional prospects..etc makes me wonder if I can be a Duracell Teacher, you know, the type that can last and last...<br /><br />A colleague asked me yesterday, "So, how long more can you teach?" after she told me about friends of hers who were thinking of quitting the profession after they had finished their 3-year bond. This was also after an NIE lecturer told us that 1 in 5 teachers quit within the first 5 years of teaching. Now that's something we don't read about in the press releases!<br /><br />My reply to her is this, "I don't know. I'm happy where I am. I can see a purpose behind the madness. I can still be used by God to do His work in the school. But who knows when the battery will be flat and I'm running on empty?"<br /><br />Who knows indeed? But for now, I'm as Duracell as I can be.trishahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10998960012623385998noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29284473.post-1157515945701620282006-09-05T20:51:00.000-07:002006-09-05T21:12:25.790-07:00Occupational hazardOne of the occupational hazards of being a teacher is that you continue behaving like a teacher, even when you are not in school, even when it's the school holidays.<br /><br />Like 2 days ago, when I was buying lunch home, dressed like your typical HDB auntie - oversized t-shirt and shorts, flip-flops and my hands full with packets of wanton noodles and my daughter in tow, I passed by the neighbourhood MacDonalds and saw a bunch of primary school kids in school uniform, gleefully pouring a cup of soft drink with ice, onto Ronald MacDonald's lap.<br /><br />I could have walked on by, my noodles were getting soggy anyway. But I, <em>kaypoh</em> teacher, had to choose that moment, not just to glare at the offending kids, but to actually stop, and with finger pointing, called the culprit over, and gave an open air lecture on irresponsibility and the consequences of ruining public property. The kids were properly shocked at being caught and reprimanded in public. And there must be something in my voice that told them not to feign innocence, for I managed to have the culprit clean up Ronald's lap, after threatening the kids with a visit to their school's discipline master. I could have even dropped some names (for I knew some of the key people from their school) to send the fear of God into their hearts, but I reigned myself in. The petrified kids muttered apologies to me and I walked off, head held high, soggy noddles notwithstanding.<br /><br />What has happened to me? What has teaching done to me? I am now correcting other people's kids in public? I, who used to think parents should discipline their own kids before they criticise others'? If you see me doing this to your kid, would you tell me to mind my own business?trishahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10998960012623385998noreply@blogger.com20tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29284473.post-1156946176200572432006-08-30T06:45:00.000-07:002006-08-30T06:56:16.293-07:00I teach becauseIt didn’t seem like so long ago that I wrote <a href="http://trisha-trisha.blogspot.com/2006/01/come-out-and-play.html">this</a>, and today, 8 months later, I see my students in the same classroom, heads bowed low in full concentration as they wrote their English essays for the preliminary exams.<br /><br />I walked down the rows of tables, and I looked at each one of them, youngsters whom I had spent much time with the last 2 years, and I knew, with a sudden pang, that they would leave this school soon. How do I explain the wave of melancholy that swept over me, as well as the slight anxiety as I peered over their shoulders to glimpse at what they had written?<br /><br />I wished I had telepathic powers, as I frantically sent thought signals to each one of my different charges. Please watch your tenses! Punctuate your dialogues properly! Don’t put a comma there!<br /><br />How is it that, even as I face many daily frustrations in my job, my heart surges with anticipation and hope the minute I step into the classroom and as I look at the 41 pairs of eyes, I know, with absolute clarity, why I am still teaching?<br /><br />The other day, a student SMSed me, <a href="http://trisha-reloaded.blogspot.com/2006/06/much-ado-about-hair.html">the student whose hairdo I had botched up</a>, and he said, “(sniff) Thank you for the 2 years of guidance. I will remember you forever.” My eyes welled up, and I was too embarrassed to explain to my husband why an SMS from a student can turn me to such mush.<br /><br />Tomorrow the school celebrates Teachers’ Day. For some reasons, I don’t wish to be there. I am quite uncomfortable about the outpouring of gratitude and appreciation from my students, an avalanche of thanksgiving all in one day that seems rather unnatural. I feel very <em>pai seh</em> to receive gifts from students. In any case, I have a whole year of memories of wonderful moments with my students to savour. And a simple, heartfelt SMS from a student when I least expect it, is enough reward to last me for this lifetime.trishahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10998960012623385998noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29284473.post-1155351383122672992006-08-11T19:04:00.000-07:002006-08-11T19:58:17.800-07:00A Tall OrderThe headlines screamed "Judge raps teacher for infantile behaviour" (ST, 12 Aug). I have now developed the instinct to cringe in nervous anticipation whenever I spot the word "teacher" in a newspaper headline. And this time my reflex action has proven my fear to be valid.<br /><br />Now, why can't the headline read "Judge raps 43-year-old adult for infantile behaviour"? Surely that should be the thrust of the report. That an adult is behaving in a juvenile way, and not that a Teacher is guilty of the misdemeanour. What is it about Teachers that presupposes we are moral icons of society? OK, so we are tasked to "mould the future of our nation" and that carries with it some heavy responsibilities but surely how can any reasonable person expect us to be saints?<br /><br />I am not saying the Teacher in this particular report is any less wrong for her behaviour. We are talking about the obnoxious Everitt Road resident whom we wouldn't want to feature in the One Million Smiles campaign. But the point is, does being a Teacher precludes one from being less than perfect?<br /><br />How on earth can I live up to the ridiculously tall order that the general public has of me?<br /><br />* * * * * * * * * * * *<br /><br />Forum writer Lin Kaiping also wants MOE to do this :<br /><br />"...consider importing not just native-speaking English teachers, but also <em><span style="color:#cc0000;"><strong>native-speaking Mathematics, Science, and Humanities teachers</strong></span></em>. Alternatively, ensure that all would-be teachers have a <span style="color:#cc0000;"><strong><em>minimum English standard</em></strong></span> before they are accepted into the MOE service." (Emphasis mine. ST, 12 Aug)<br /><br />OK, lets get this straight. I think I can just about swallow, albeit with some difficulty, the need to hire native-speaking English teachers. There is a serious lack of qualified English teachers in Singapore. While doing my teacher training at NIE not too long ago, I was quite shocked to count among my peers, Physics and Maths graduates who were assigned to teach English. They struggled with the definitions of nouns, verbs and adjectives. Some wrote essays that were quite badly organized. Compulsory modules on English Grammar and Phonetics were foisted on these poor fellows. But we know it was a desperate move. I'm sure these teachers would rather be teaching something else rather than English. Hence, hiring native-speaking EL teachers may solve the problem of this temporary shortfall.<br /><br />But native-speaking teachers of other subjects? Are you out of your mind, Mr Lin? Have you kissed the asses of too many Caucasians that you are ready to dismiss local teachers so derisively? Granted, local teachers may not speak perfect English all the time, but what makes you think native-speakers speak flawless English, and are far superior in teaching Maths or Science? Is the prime responsibility of a Maths teacher to teach Maths well or to model good English?<br /><br />Many local teachers do speak intelligible standard English. Even if Singlish creeps into their teaching, it is essential to build rapport with the students. If Britons or Australians or Americans appear to speak better English than us, it is because they are ensconced in a largely monolingual society. As long as we insist on bilinguallism in Singapore, then Singlish is here to stay. Eradicating it from our daily lives is as easy as asking Singaporeans to be less <em>kiasu</em>, if you ask me.<br /><br />Local teachers are very aware of the need to speak good English in class. So give us some space and time to use it more and more in the classroom. Let's not rush to embrace foreign 'talent' at the expense of developing our own resources.trishahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10998960012623385998noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29284473.post-1154239356894568972006-07-29T22:47:00.000-07:002006-07-29T23:48:05.716-07:00Of race and your "mother" tongueFor some strange reasons, my comments on <a href="http://www.yawningbread.org/arch_2006/yax-630.htm">Yawning Bread's post </a>did not (could not) appear so I'll add my own two-cents to <a href="http://www.jollypuddle.com/">Piper'</a>s request for clarification on our mother-tongue (MT) policy in Singapore.<br /><br />Here is the unique and, in my opinion, very bizarre situation in Singapore.<br /><br />Your mother tongue is mandated by the state. And MOE will tell you what MT language you should study in school. Which is very straightforward and easy if you are born of parents of the same race.<br /><br />But once you are the child of a mixed marriage, then your MT is determined by your father's race. So strictly speaking, we should call it our father tongue, since the mother's race is not even factored into the consideration.<br /><br />A child whose father is a Chinese and his mother Malay, for example, would have to take Chinese as his MT, regardless of what language he is raised in at home. Should he wish to study Malay as his MT, he would need to get an Exemption from MOE. Now the word 'exemption', to me, is an ugly word, implying one is seeking for some special, uncommon treatment, with even a hint at one's intention to bend the rules for one's own selfish purpose. Anyway, so this child from a mixed marriage needs an exemption from studying Chinese, and then needs further approval from the MOE to study a different MT.<br /><br />When he sits for his O level MT exam, he needs to show that he has the Exemption letter from MOE, to sit not for the Chinese paper, but the Malay one. Which is one huge hassle to the teacher who has to make sure the student, who has applied for the Exemption before he entered Pri 1, still has the letter 10 years later. If he has lost the Exemption letter, then he needs to produce other documentary evidence to show that he has been cleared by MOE to study Malay (such as being allowed to take his Malay PSLE paper).<br /><br />Why do we make such a big issue over one's MT? And why is MT tied to the race of the father? Why can't we have more freedom over which second language we wish to study? If we really wish to achieve racial harmony in Singapore, surely we should avoid pigeonholing people into racial categories, dictating what people's MT is based on dubious criterion like one's father's race and making it so troublesome for people to study a second language that is not tied to his race?<br /><br />We are a nation obsessed with the issue of race. And ironically, we want to ensure that in spite of this unhealthy fixation with race, we can practise racial harmony. No wonder my students are cynical about celebrating Racial Harmony Day.trishahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10998960012623385998noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29284473.post-1153710627079414172006-07-23T19:43:00.000-07:002006-07-23T20:10:27.123-07:00Because I am stressed outbig time that is, what with the inhumane workload in Term 3, my studying (will whine about that another time) and my body screaming for a break, I shall do this <a href="http://www.toomanythoughts.org/blog/2006/07/most-inane-meme-ever.html">meme</a> which Tym has aptly described as inane :<br /><br />1. I'd rather be Fiona Xie than Paris Hilton (celebrity airheads).<br />2. I'd rather be horribly thin than grotesquely fat (extreme body shape).<br />3. I'd rather be a Creative than an Apple (mp3 players).<br />4. I'd rather be a man (not woman) than any other creature (next-life wish).<br />5. I'd rather be a mother than a wife* (greatest life experience).<br /><br />* Sorry darling. But really, honestly speaking, motherhood is definitely more life-changing, life-enhancing and inspirational than any other experiences in my life. I would give my life for L, but I won't give my life for anyone else.<br /><br />For fun, I'm tagging :<br /><br />1. <a href="http://www.jollypuddle.com">Piper</a><br />2. <a href="http://projectbetterman.blogspot.com">PC</a><br />3. <a href="http://polar_bears.blogspot.com">Woof!</a><br />4. <a href="http://trompeloeil.blogspot.com">Ball of Yarn</a><br /><br />Now back to work. Blllrrgh.trishahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10998960012623385998noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29284473.post-1153146684280761272006-07-17T06:47:00.000-07:002006-07-17T07:31:24.296-07:00FirstsThe last week or so had been really hectic. Which explains the lack of regular blogging. So I shall do a quick update. The title of this post sums up what had kept me quite busy - I encountered a few 'firsts' in my teaching career last week. Here goes:<br /><br />1. First time I was behind two meet-the-principal sessions between the head honcho and my students.<br />This was, of course, a result of the <a href="http://trisha-reloaded.blogspot.com/2006/07/you-cannot-stop-believing.html">54 proposals </a>which made their way to his desk. The man was, I believe, quite positive (was going to write 'pleased' but think that's being too presumptuous on my part) about getting first-hand, uncensored proposals from the students. So he did his part, read the proposals, took down notes, and paid a visit to the students during my English lesson, and had a Meet the People Session kinda thing. It went rather well and now, the only thing that lingered on our minds is whether he's going to bring up some of the students' suggestions to the Exec Com for consideration. Only time will tell if this has all been a grand <em>wayang</em> of which senior management in many places are adept at performing, or if he is really sincere. One can only wait and see for now.<br /><br />2. First time I was reminded by my principal not to launch into a discussion regarding comparative religion in my class.<br />It came up as one of the students' proposals. Shall not elaborate on the details but clearly it was an issue that bothered my students. And I'm all for a mature and sensible discussion. But some people get jittery, because we're supposed to promote religious harmony in schools. But does that mean we sweep some issues under the carpet? Particularly those that are festering in my students' minds? How will avoidance of an uncomfortable issue regarding religion lead to greater understanding and tolerance?<br /><br />3. First time I saw a student breaking down in the face of pressure.<br />I mean she snapped, emotionally, mentally and physically. And while I try frantically to counsel her, using whatever limited knowledge I have of human psychology, a sense of helplessness engulfs me. What is a form teacher to do when you see your own student fall apart? Sure we have full-time professional counselors in schools now, and thank God for that, but what can I do in the meantime? Like a captain who is tasked to keep his ship afloat, I feel like one now feebly throwing out a lifesaver to a drowning passenger and hoping luck, the winds, the waves, and sheer willpower of the victim will collaborate and somehow save this person. It is extremely frustrating and disheartening at times to realise you don't, and can't have full control of your ship. Honestly I am quite scared that this student will fall through the cracks during my watch. And then I'll wonder if I should have intervened sooner, or noticed her predicament earlier.<br /><br />Term 3 has always been the Term of Horror, in my opinion. Too many school events, pre-O-level frenzy, and the time when students and teachers start crumbling, falling sick and getting into each other's hair. We all need a mid-term break. Gosh, and we've only just begun?trishahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10998960012623385998noreply@blogger.com6