Expose vs. Educate

I am not a parent, and some professionals might not yet consider me a teacher, although my B.S. in Education might want to boast otherwise (you'll note the 'B.S.'). Anyway, anyway...




For doctors, the worst patients are doctors- the same can be said for teachers: for teachers, the worst parents are teachers. Since I am not either, and have not had the joy of hosting a parent/teacher meeting I have had it in my head that parents (employed as teachers, doctors, or rock stars) are a teacher's worst nightmare. This was never expressly said- generally, I assumed it common knowledge because, well, that was where most of the horror stories about school came from. The funny stories were about students.

But I have learned a new empathy this recent incident because, you see, I don't know how to deny the most curious of eyes who often mirror my own eyes.




My whole life, I have worked to build a filter between my mind and mouth- I think everyone should, and we'll collectively label it DISCERNMENT because knowledge is power, yes, yes, and more yes- of course it is, but 'power'? What kind of 'power' do we talk about when we say 'knowledge is power'?

The best teachers don't just divulge information--teachers aren't the main source of knowledge, hardly--but the best teachers direct where and how to find information- at least in my experience that's what the best teachers do (they also make me laugh, but that's not an academic requirement, not yet). If I want to be the best teacher for my students, and I have the earnest, sincere desire to direct my students; to guide them; to help them; etc., then I also have the responsibility, to a certain extent, 'to keep them safe'.

Now, experience is a good teacher, truly- some lessons can only be learned through experience, but that does not dictate all the other lessons that are better learnt secondhand whether by reading/research, lecture; interviews, but here I've found a thin line: to expose vs. to educate. When you look beyond the line into either side, the two are intertwined, but they are still two different things, otherwise they wouldn't be intertwined, but one blended mush.

I am all about teaching every child about sympathy/empathy, charity/friendship, tolerance, beauty, science/experimentation, culture, materials; etc., but never at the cost of what little innocence every child has. (Perhaps 'innocence' isn't the right word, but 'ignorance' implies too much willfulness.) It may not be the best time to teach kindergartners and first graders about the Holocaust in a casual, after school setting when I have limited time and no prior planning...unfortunately, I needed to experience that lesson.

It may not be the best to put let little Susie prepare dinner all by her little self when she has yet learned how to turn the knobs on the stove.

Each in his or her own time, and frankly, I will not always have the opportunity to decide when the student's 'time' has come to finally know about -inserttopicofinteresthere-. I can speak with utmost clarity and there is still a chance someone misheard me- that is not good enough reason to stop teaching/exposing/educating, but it is good enough reason to examine the individual needs of every student. If so-and-so misunderstood, what can I do to help so-and-so understand? 

Knowledge is totally power. All over that, but wisdom is unparalleled- I need more caregivers than dictators.




So, what new empathy did I breach? This student is someone's child. In my situation, I only have that child for a two to three hours. I don't have to reap the immediate effects of what I've taught, but his or her parents do. Sometimes, I have to unlearn things- that's harder than having to learn something in the first place. When a student is going to hear about the tragedies of this world I hope he or she never learns of its beauties.

• If I had a kid and were somehow able to a fly on the wall in my own classroom, would I be pleased with my own conduct as a teacher? 
• Would I want that particular sort of information expressed in that way? 
• Did I need to be sarcastic there? 
• Should I have worded the question differently? 

These questions don't really have an answer because every situation is different, but never will discernment go out of style.

You'll always need to put broken bones in a cast (unless you have Madame Pomfrey on speed dial), but students aren't bones, and if they break I despise he who says there's only one solution.

Spicy Lives

Generally, when I hear people talk 'variety' they're not very far from adding, "is the spice of life!" Indeed, it is, but just how many spices are there?

To my discredit, I just began dabbling in the arts of the kitchen, not always very well, but I have made a few tasty things, I think, although, note to self: never make family pumpkin-flavored things because they do not like pumpkin.

It's just that lately life keeps surprising me with its variety.

The other day I asked one of my students if she remembered my name, and she answered, "Of course not!" as if I needed a more definite way of saying 'no'. Then this weather- could the clouds dump any more on my icebox-where-my-heart-used-to-be-oh-OH! And this is the variety in my life, not even the variety of the lives I am privileged to interact with and I have been trying to be a part of a few more lives than I'm used to.

This isn't going to be about a post about how to get more empathy, or how to stop being boring, or five easy steps to do something in a more awesome way. No, right now, all I'm talking about is the very beginning: notice, watch, observe because that's all it takes to see variety. Even in 'cookie cutter' homes, like townhouses, maybe right down your street, have you ever really looked in those homes? Now, don't, like, you know, creep on the families, but think of it this way: it's hard to tell apart one bear from another, but it's pretty easy to tell apart one person from another, even with twins, Doppelgangers, and wannabes, everyone is different. And all those differences live in, generally, the same communities, or at least on the same planet.

Life is infinitely stranger than anything which the mind of man could invent. We would not dare to conceive the things which are really merely commonplaces of existence. If we could fly out of that window hand in hand, hover over this great city, gently remove the roofs and peep in at the queer things which are going on, the strange coincidences, the planning, the cross-purposes, the wonderful chain of events, working through generations and leading to the most outer results, it would make fiction with its conventionalities and foreseen conclusions most stale and unprofitable. -Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's Sherlock Holmes: A Case of Identity

How many spices are there? I don't know, but let me tell you, apparently salt is not one of them and if salt is not one of them, goodGod, I haven't even grazed the surface of the variety of Life- these lives I am privileged to interact with.

I can't wait to dig deeper.

See, snow days can be good for something.

vicariously

re-posted from my Facebook notes (15 October 2012). i have a lot of poems that are sitting unread and un-criticized- would you like to have a turn at them?

----

simple math.

simple truth.

there is no reason why 1+1 can't equal 2.

but as i stand here,

driven mad up the wall,

i think of all the possibilities waiting for me outside the front door.

i only need to step out and it could be raining or sunny--

all that in the midst of my shallow humdrum!

in the midst of my shallow humdrum

i remember that all

around

the 

world

people are living,

earning their deaths.

they are making, creating

paintings,

books,

music,

sculptures,

chocolate,

homes,

and jewelry--

and in all the humdrum of my life

i cannot forget that this hour is not an eternity

and one day i will be living...

well, i am living!

there is a beat in my chest!

but am i earning my death?

will the dash between my DOB and DOD be full of stories?

especially full of privileged stories that none but my closest friends ought to hear?

(else they were already there with me!)

will the dash between my DOB and DOD be more like

a square-ten inch block?

part ii-

will i live for those who cannot?

who, not forgetting to earn death,

were given death too early,

and missed the chance to lengthen the dash between their most important days?

will i live for those who cannot?

who, stuck behind the bolted door,

ignored the key in their pockets,

and missed the chance to remember that one hour is not an eternity?

that by their lives others could have lived,

because others wish desperately for their lives,

wishing after your mediocrity,

thinking it the life of a celebrity!-

but were too busy scratching at their clothes, patched and dirty,

to notice others' nakedness, depressed and unhealthy.

will i live for those who cannot?

and will i meet them in streets?

and when they ask me what 1+1 equals

will i say '2',

or give them 2?

OR!- will i take that 1 and add it to 2,

making three,

and give them three meals they daren't foresee?!

will i- 

rich in heart,

rich in mind,

rich in body-

give all i have to others?-

poor in heart,

poor in mind, 

poor in body.

will i show them that math, while true,

can do them no good,

until i can first remind them

that they can live?

for if life is what you make it,

i suppose you could make it rock,

but

if life is what you make it

then i will make it,

and give it to others

who do not know they possess their own tools in their own hands.

i will live for those who cannot.

even behind this dusty cash register.

"i can help whoever is next!"

Good On Paper

Dear Officer,

A few weeks ago you pulled me over because I ignored a red light, although I swear it was yellow. Said so, too, when you asked if I knew why you pulled me over. You asked for my license and registration- gave them to you, no big deal- I was ready to accept a ticket.You only gave me a few minutes to consider how I would pay for this ticket when you returned and, after returning to me my things, said, "Ma'am, thank you. Next time just be more cautious. Good night." 

Officer, as I drove off I wondered why you didn't give me a ticket I obviously deserved. I am hardly ungrateful for your timely mercy, but I admit surprise. Then I smirked: you didn't give me a ticket because I look good on paper.

Ha, damn right, I look good on paper. Never been caught.

sincerely, Justine

P.S.- But seriously, though, thanks for not giving me a ticket. 

But whether I should be proud to look good on paper is an entirely different question because, as I said, I only look good on paper because I've never before been caught zooming through an-almost-red-light, or speeding on the highway, or texting, none of which should be positively rewarded, yet I drove home, late that night, free of tickets or points.

I wondered who else looks good on paper; you'll forgive me for suddenly turning dramatic, but I answered my own question like this: leaders of organized crime. Ha, I know, how dare I compare zooming through an-almost-red-light to organized crime- I'm hardly, however, comparing the way the laws are broken, but how they both go unchecked.

Not only did I drive away that night without a ticket, I also drove away with my car and body fully intact, harming no one. My actions that night had no serious repercussions. I didn't need to channel my ninja skills to sneak my way out of a ticket (I also don't have ninja skills to channel), which would probably mean I wouldn't be a very good leader of organized crime.

Everyone knows not to drive through a red light... how does everyone not know not to sell or keep slaves?

Don't assume that I'm suggesting the former leads to the latter- hardly, but I want to know who else looks good on paper, and how they got to looking good on paper, and we continue to let them look good on paper. (I also apologize for using the universal 'we', but just bare with me on this one, just once.) I am aware that once a person, like the leader of organized crime, is caught it is difficult to keep that person caught because the things for which he is caught are hardly enough to keep him behind bars- maybe just a little slap on the wrists, and then give him a ticket that he'll probably ignore anyway because what's the worse that you could do to him?

Yeah, seriously, good luck with that because even Bryan Mills had to take the law into his own hand in order to see justice served and served well because, apparently, that is the only way to get justice: big government isn't going to help you because some of the people in that system are helping that corruption. Honestly, watch more television- you'll learn something.

This, of course, begs the question, what then really is justice if it can only be used as vengeance?, but I'd rather not.

Damn right, crime organizers look good on paper. They never get caught- they hire other people to get caught.

"'Woe to you, scribes and Pharisees, hypocrites! For you are like whitewashed tombs, which outwardly appear beautiful, but within are full of dead people's bones and all uncleanness. So you also outwardly appear righteous to others, but within you are full of hypocrisy and lawlessness." Matthew 23.27 (ESV)

Under Consideration

I don't know what it is about New York City but I always learn something new about myself and the world at large while I'm there.

When I found out Banksy was taking up a month's residence in the five boroughs I thought it would be a great opportunity to see his work in person since I have no hope of visiting his usual hits in London any time soon. I asked a friend to come with me to find his works, but we didn't do a very good job--we were distracted by other things, like food and used books. (For the rest of this blog post you'll have to know these two things: my friend and I are both girls; she's black, I'm Asian- a Filipino, to be exact.)

At one point during the day we caught ourselves in the MET. At the top of the grand staircase she introduced me to Stuff White People Like (SWPL). I knew it was a book, I didn't know it began as a blog. Apparently, white people like some of the following:

1. Banksy
2. TED Conferences
3. the Idea of Soccer
4. Manhattan
5. snowboarding
6. Non-Profit Organizations
7. Scarves

As we skimmed some of the listed blog posts we laughed very, very hard, never mind that we preferred the small screen of her smart phone to some of the MET's most treasured works. Anyway, we came across one that intrigued me: Asian Girls, but the page refused to load, so we resigned to view an external page: something of a reaction to SWPL's blog post about 'Asian Girls'.

I do not think I need to tell you what we discovered. The actual SWPL blog post wasn't horrible. In fact, when I read it later I found it moderately amusing. The reactions to it were, well, to say the least, surprising. Many of the reactions made me cry, which I suppose doesn't say much because it's not that difficult to make me cry, but, do you know, I can't remember the last time I felt diminished because of my ethnicity. I admit, I am plagued with self-inflicted derogatory statements, but I can easily deflect my own jabs. I am unpracticed when it comes to a stranger's jabs.

At the time of my initial reaction, I did not know if I was grateful or ungrateful that I was so ignorant of such ignorant, racist, prejudiced thoughts and beliefs. I was torn--make this #753 existential crisis of the year 2013.

Do I really look like an expensive hussy when I walk side by side one of my male white friends? What do you mean when you say that Sandra Oh is 'the Elephant Man of Asian women'? Have you ever seen an elephant man because right now I'm sure he's more attractive than you are.

Am I not supposed to age physically though many birthdays pass? Am I always to look like I'm a twenty-something with perfect skin and weight because I'm naturally genetically engineered that way- never mind I have ancestors who were also Spanish therefore making some people think I'm actually Puerto Rican, or Hawaiian, or, once, I got Somalian (I was really tan one summer).

But then I stopped crying. We were then distracted by other things, and who wants to talk about racism when you can talk about religious ignorance? (Feel free to interpret 'religious ignorance' as you wish.) Our day in the city was not to be ruined!

So, eventually we ended up in a used book store where I found a few books written by Thomas More; etc. I considered buying it, but then I put it down because (1) I already bought a new journal and (2) as much as I admire Thomas More, he's a European White male which usually would not deter me, but where are the Asian theologians? Did More have any Asian contemporaries? But ethnicity doesn't matter right?





When I was a college student (two years removed now) I was one of, like, I think, six Asians on campus- I attended a predominantly white school- and the other five Asians were international students from Myanmar, so they were much more Asian than I was. Anyway, I was reading a book in the hall way when one of my favorite professors, Godblesshim, approached me:

Professor: Justine! There you are. I'm glad I spotted you. I have a question: you're Filipino, right?

Me: Yes? Haha, why?

Professor: Well, you know that class I'm teaching [something about diversity in classroom, I don't remember what it's called], well, in our textbook we have a chapter on Filipino students so I was wondering if you'd like to come in and- I mean, I know you're not speaking for the entire Philippine nation, but just for us to hear your perspective.

Me: Sure, that sounds fun! Actually, it's funny you ask because I've been talking with another professor about ethnicity and identity- I would love to come into your classroom.

So, I bought my own copy of the text book. I get to the chapter, which is entitled "Families with Pilipino Roots". I'm excited: I'm about to have a text book definition of my culture that will act as a foundation I can build upon when I read this (both quotations are from Developing Cross-Cultural Competence):

Understanding the Pilipino American character is complex. The differences among Pilipinos in terms of history, language, familial and other forms of affiliation, religion, education, and individual experiences can be great. Although this chapter provides some general insights into families with Pilipino roots, great caution and consideration must be taken to prevent perpetuating stereotypes. Although many Pilipino Americans have a shared history and common cultural experiences, other factors not related to being Pilipino may have a more decided influence on their self-identities. 

Damnit! My culture doesn't even have a text book definition! Generally, all the other ethnicities listed in the text book have definitions, why doesn't mine? Because

' "Neither history nor geography permitted the Filipinos time to consolidate their parochial and isolated strands into a culture integrated enough to repel outside pressures and influence." Throughout centuries of colonialism, Pilipinos have nevertheless avoided becoming 'carbon copies' of their colonizers. They have pursued a dual historical path of understanding, accommodating to, placating, or opposing the overwhelming power foreigners have exercised in their lives while simultaneously preserving what is essentially Pilipino in themselves. '

Oh, dear God, who am I?

When I attended the class as a guest-speaker I spoke solely on my behalf, and can recall saying (this isn't word for word): "Students are students, no matter the ethnicity. Don't just assume that this text book will offer you everything you need to know about how to deal with students who are Native American, or European, or Latino, or Hispanic. Your future, potential students are still individuals."




So, if students are students; if students are still individuals, why do I care so much for Thomas More's Asian contemporaries?

Why does it bother me that I don't know any of Lewis' Asian contemporaries?

Don't even get me started that religion is predominantly male-oriented (although some of them still act like immature, spoiled thirteen year old girls). Where are my female role models?

St. Patrick's Day, yes- if Patrick were a Patricia, would we have St. Patricia's Day?

I hope that I am not diminishing the importance of God's work in these men's lives. I am not.

I'm not saying that Native Americans and Europeans and Latinos and Hispanics are easier to define that Filipinos.

Because we are all individuals influenced by internal and external situations.

I get that, I do.




A little later in the evening my friend and I were eating at Whole Foods (ironically, another thing that white people like), when a few seats away were these really loud black guys. Just- they were loud; and I was already tired, and subconsciously cranky from my own dealings with racism, and I made some comment to my friend about how I could never date a black guy- Godblessher, she didn't slap me right then and there.

The day after we talked about my revelation: I am racist.

Friend: Justine, you're not racist. You're prejudiced. If you were racist- racism means you hate people of that race. You don't hate black people.

Me: Ha, if I did, I wouldn't be your friend. Thank you, you're so wonderful to me. If I ever become racist, shoot me.

Friend: Hey, I got your back.

And yet I am still haunted with questions of race/ethnicity and gender.





Upworthy recently sent me an e-mail with this video:


He expresses everything I have ever thought, much more cleverly and precisely than I ever could, or would dream, and it's ironic because he's still a white male, although he himself recognizes that women of every color have expressed these very thoughts. Then I realize: the messenger is not as important as the message. 

"I always get asked, 'Where do you get your confidence?' I think people are well meaning, but it's pretty insulting. Because what it means to me is, 'You, Mindy Kaling, have all the trappings of a very marginalized person. You're not skinny, you're not white, you're a woman. Why on earth would you feel like you're worth anything?'" -September 2013 issue of Parade Magazine

"Don't mind me if I burst."

Sometimes it is exhausting, all this caring business. Sometimes I wish I didn't care for anything at all. Sometimes I wish that I could be content as a lonely, griping old miser. When I say 'sometimes', I might mean 'all the time'. In the hardest parts of my heart I want nothing to do with problems because I, frankly, just don't like them, and want them to go away.

I also wish, to a certain extent, that I could be the one that makes those problems go away. Sometimes, I think, that by acknowledging the problem and attempting to solve the problem actually makes the problem worse. Godforbid I make anyone's problems worse- that would be unbearable.

And yet, I am no prophetess. Just as we cannot estimate the strength, and therefore damage, of a typhoon, so we cannot estimate the sort and amount of help that will come to those in greatest need.

I have no immediate family that was affected by the typhoon, and I've been a first-world citizen since birth. You know, I shouldn't care...but, I do.

Sometimes it is exhausting, all this caring business. Sometimes I wish I didn't care for anything at all. Sometimes I wish that I could be content as a lonely, griping old miser. But if I am to learn anything from trite hollers of "YOLO" and "Love life" and "Just do it"- just because we trivialize the profound does not make the profound any less profound- obviously the profound is accessible to any person: first-world, second-world, third-world, 3/4-world; Mars.

So, I will care as much as I can, and then attempt to care more.

Don't mind me if I burst.

That's what supposed to happen when you care.

"To love at all is to be vulnerable. Love anything and your heart will be wrung and possibly broken. If you want to make sure of keeping it intact you must give it to no one, not even an animal. Wrap it carefully round with hobbies and little luxuries; avoid all entanglements. Lock it up safe in the casket or coffin of your selfishness. But in that casket, safe, dark, motionless, airless, it will change. It will not be broken; it will become unbreakable, impenetrable, irredeemable. To love is to be vulnerable."- from C.S. Lewis' The Four Loves (I'm pretty sure I quote this all the time.)

“So if there is any encouragement in Christ, any comfort from love, any participation in the Spirit, any affection and sympathy, complete my joy by being of the same mind, having the same love, being in full accord and of one mind. Do nothing from selfish ambition of conceit, but in humility count others more significant than yourselves. Let each of you look not only to his interests, but also to the interests of others. Have this mind among yourselves, which is yours in Christ Jesus, who, though he was in the form of God, did not count equality with God a thing to be grasped, but emptied himself, by taking the form of a servant, being born in the likeness of men. And being found in human form, he humbled himself by becoming obedient to the point of death, even death on a cross. Therefore God has highly exalted him and bestowed on him the name that is above every name, so that at the name of Jesus every knee should bow, in heaven and on earth and under the earth, and every tongue confess that Jesus Christ is Lord, to the glory of God the Father.” –Philippians 2.1-11 

Here's some of the disaster, compliments of Al Jazeera.

And, how to help? Well, this link is a great list of NGOs, compliments of the Huffington Post, or seriously, just Google it :P Maybe even start your own fundraiser, yeah?

God bless your endeavors.

What We Seek.

Social justice interests me for one main reason: every social justice cause simply seeks acceptance and care; to add to that, love. 

Active or inactive in social justice, do not all people seek acceptance, care, and love? When you have heart-to-hearts with loved ones, or even strangers, they're always so afraid of rejection, because who wants to be turned away for who they think they are, or for who they might be, or for the way they get to who they are to be? 

While I have often tried to stray away from labels, I find that I am always affected by them, as if the avoidance of labels actually brings on the labels...indeed, I find that is always the case, but does that say something about the labels? No, not the "if you can't beat them, join them" mentality, but that labels, however used or misused, are still just words? We have power over words, once it goes the other way around we're afraid to talk for fear of offending someone we'll probably never talk to, or see, again. 

None of this is to say I altogether throw out discretion or politeness, but, really: do we need to take things so personally? I thought we wanted to be in control of ourselves- in control of the labels, the compliments, the criticisms; etc. 

Then you can imagine my delight when I came upon this short article: How To Tell If You're A Feminist In Two Easy Steps. Is that all? However comedic this article's intentions, how many reasons do you need to be a good person in general whether or not you label yourself 'feminist', or whatever label to which you wholeheartedly subscribe, or adamantly avoid. 

A world without acceptance, care, and love is a world that seeks justice. Truly, I can't hate any person for seeking that. I can only hope to be of some service to them. 

ALSO! Happy Month of Mozart! Listen to WQXR on the radio or online. 

To reread, or not to reread? That's hardly a question! Reread!

So, yesterday was a pretty full day for me. Not because I was running all over the place trying to accomplish fifty different things simultaneously, I just had no time to myself. I haven't had an entire day to myself for a while now. I miss those lonesome hours. Regardless, my full day yesterday, I had a few great conversations, all which challenged me, forcing me to reconsider some of my beliefs, my standards and morals. (Now, don't mistake me. 'Reconsider' does not mean 'completely dismiss'. Thanks.)

The conversations I had yesterday reminded me of many of the books I've read, some of which I couldn't quote perfectly. I couldn't even remember the names of the characters I was trying to describe. This bothered me greatly: if I can't remember names of characters, or the exact words of the quotation I might as well just pull the words out of my butt! I might be using these examples out of context, and I hate doing that. I hate manipulating words to me what I want them to mean. I can't just throw away the author's/writer's intent--I'd be a traitor. Every author/writer entrusts his readers to take into account his intent (except, maybe, for deconstructionists). Who am I to impose my thought?

side note: I am not suggesting that I couldn't 'correct' someone's thinking--were I able to do that in the first place--but I like to think I allow the author/writer to think his own thoughts. Only when I understood the author/writer would I feel able, or ready, to offer a rebuttal, or reinforcement.

So!- because of this, I really ought to reread the book's that've, so far, influenced my thinking. I ought to read the books that influenced those books. I really need to read more. I really need to reread. I need to memorize.

Oh, geez. I have to memorize now.

Excuse me while I pull out my index cards.