For reasons related to being forty, I could not open my previous blog which has the same title (Okay, okay, I couldn't recall the password). So, I decided to just copy/paste my only three articles there. And here they are...
Saturday, January 13, 2007
Me and My Big...
Speak no evil!- I needed to see my students in Intro to Adver. I owed them the “Mixes” lecture and the prelim exam was just the following week. Having found the room they were in, I entered and looked around, trying to find the person assigned to have the readings photocopied. I could not remember his name, but I knew how he looked and behaved. Curly hair in spikes (Yes, it is possible) and the matching clownish demeanor. But there were so many of them. So I had to ask, “Sino nga ba yung may… may sayad?” (Who among you is the looney one?) They all looked at me and then looked among themselves. Many of them were snickering. Still others were in awe. I thought that the question would surely be left unanswered. Who would admit to such a thing? Thus, while the class was in a lull, I tried to remember the name. But then, lo and behold, a student raised his hand and said with pride, “that’s me, Ma’am! What do you want me to do?” I tried to control the laughter that wanted to burst out of me. And while I was doing that, I realized that in this section, even the geekiest one can be counted on to perform a task. Okay, I’m kinda proud of them.
- No mentioning of sections. One member of this sophomore section approached me one day and asked for the hard copy of the Romanticism lecture. He was not able to download it due to technical difficulties mainly caused by the Taiwan quake and I realized that most of my students were not able to download it, too. So, I asked the student (Let’s call him Boy #1.) who approached me to have the readings photocopied for the whole class and give it to the leader of the other section which was also taking art history under me. He looked sort of hesitant. Not being used to getting this type of reaction from anyone, I had to pry. “Okay,” I said. “Why the glum look?” The student answered, “We’re not really close.” I answered. “You’ll only give this to him. Why do you need to be close?” And he told me something that I cannot tell anyone because they all read my blogs. In the spirit of fairness, curiosity, and all those things we use as a veneer for gossiping, I had to confront the other party (Boy#2). What did he say? The same thing. But the culprit is boy #1. Now, who is telling the truth and who has that defense mechanism called displacement? Attn. Mr. Freud!
- I was assigned to handle the art history petition class. The students enrolled in it all failed and wanted me to handle their class. They were quite undisciplined when it came to being on time (which should be an intrinsic quality for all those who want to pass my class). But after a few meetings, I was handling them like it was an ordinary class with students conscientious of their duties. I was quite proud. Anyway, last week, I came out smiling because the class was able to finish the activity and they were ALL participative and competitive. When I went inside the faculty room, I was still smiling. Now the most curious among my colleagues was the one who failed all the students in the pet class. “Why the smile?” she asked. “I just finished a session with my pet class,” I answered. While I was walking towards the door to head for home, I heard her laughter which insinuated that I am pissed and was just smiling to control myself. My smile widened.
Wednesday, January 3, 2007
Something Funny Happened in Class Today
There was an old woman who lived in a shoe.
Fortunately, I am no old woman and we are situated far from Marikina, the country's shoe capital.
I asked my Art History2-2 class to join my Art History 2-8 so I would no longer schedule a make up class for them having missed their regular Tuesday schedule. It was a good thing that room 701 was a big classroom.
I was kinda jittery. It was the first time that I ever joined these two Ace sections together in one session and I thought that the number of questions that would pop up would surely drive me nuts, not to mention the occasional jokes that the regular clowns would need to crack to complete the day. Questions were sometimes relevant. But there were those days when their being fidgety matched their mental restlessness. Like that day, coming from the christmas season's long lull. Many of them were still in their vacation mode and were too unfocused.
I asked my Art History2-2 class to join my Art History 2-8 so I would no longer schedule a make up class for them having missed their regular Tuesday schedule. It was a good thing that room 701 was a big classroom.I was kinda jittery. It was the first time that I ever joined these two Ace sections together in one session and I thought that the number of questions that would pop up would surely drive me nuts, not to mention the occasional jokes that the regular clowns would need to crack to complete the day. Questions were sometimes relevant. But there were those days when their being fidgety matched their mental restlessness. Like that day, coming from the christmas season's long lull. Many of them were still in their vacation mode and were too unfocused.
But, having performed in front of a large audience when I was taking my M.A. in Theatre, I was able to muster enough courage the moment I set foot inside the classroom.
New year, new hair style, new Mac, I thought would buy me peace. But suspended animation lasted for a few seconds. Questions came pouring in even before I could set up the LCD projector.
“Ma’am, did you break up with your boyfriend?”
“I don’t have one.”
“How much is your laptop?”
“Very affordable,” I answered with a grin.
“Why are we so many today?”
“Why did you not attend the Paskuhan? You missed seeing our costumes. I was Darna! Blah! Blah! Blah!”
“Did you win the raffle? Sir Deon did! He won an entertainment set without the TV! Its like videoke without the video. He only won the oke!”
“Okay, everyone. Settle down so we can start.” I nearly busted my lungs on my first sally.”
They all dutifully sat down but the questions did not wane. I had to do something threatening. I could not afford to lose control nor to dismiss the class with an unfinished lesson. Preliminary Examinations would be coming in less than a week. I had no other choice but to dramatically bring out my red pen to signify my readiness to give a demerit to anyone who would interfere with the smooth flow of the discussion.
She had so many children, she didn’t know what to do.
My powerpoint presentation of the Romantic period was embellished with pig pictures to signify the coming year of the pig.
“Ma’am, do you believe in feng shui?”
“Not much. This is my way of wishing you a happy new year.”
I told them that the term Romantic does not just mean love and passion. It means anticlassicist, individualistic, exotic, and emotionally wrought. I also told them that during this time, a number of artists revived King Arthur, Charlemagne, and Alexander the Great.”
“Ma’am, is he really gay?”
“Okay class. I can only give you my personal opinion. First, he and his men were always together, away from home, and in the battle field. Second, they also had needs.”
I was able to breeze through the historical background and social milieu without so much fuzz. Until that Gericault part of the lesson. I showed them the painting The Raft of Medusa and why it was considered a good representative artwork.
“Ma’am, did they find the sunken Medusa?”
“Not much. This is my way of wishing you a happy new year.”
I told them that the term Romantic does not just mean love and passion. It means anticlassicist, individualistic, exotic, and emotionally wrought. I also told them that during this time, a number of artists revived King Arthur, Charlemagne, and Alexander the Great.”
“Ma’am, is he really gay?”
“Okay class. I can only give you my personal opinion. First, he and his men were always together, away from home, and in the battle field. Second, they also had needs.”
I was able to breeze through the historical background and social milieu without so much fuzz. Until that Gericault part of the lesson. I showed them the painting The Raft of Medusa and why it was considered a good representative artwork.
“Ma’am, did they find the sunken Medusa?”
She gave them some broth, without any bread.
“Any of you familiar with The Legend of the Sleepy Hollow?”A good number raised their hands.
“Good, your assignment goes like this…”
I told them to pretend that it would be staged and that their group was commissioned to design the costume, the stage, and the poster of the play.
“Ma’am, will the stage be physical or symbolic?”
“What do you mean physical or symbolic? Why are you asking me that? Shouldn’t you be the one to decide on that?”
She whipped them all soundly and put them to bed.
I told them to discuss the division of work among the group members. But one of them could not take it any longer. She was just like that one Edgar Allan Poe character, she felt that she must scream or die.
“Ma’am, can we take a break? Look, I am having a nosebleed, physical and symbolic!”
Of course, she was joking.
Friday, December 29, 2006
Why Teaching? The Question I Also Asked Myself
An article published in the Young Blood column of Inquirer entitled Why Teaching? written by Mary Grace A. Gomez caught my attention. I also asked myself that question a good number of times before I finally decided to become a teacher. I used to work as an artist, you see, and had been receiving good pay (not to mention the 14th and 15th month bonuses and commissions left and right) before I was lured to teach.
When I took the teacher’s examination given by our division to determine a teacher’s rank, I fortunately got the top spot. But this did not help me get a slot to teach in a public high school. I was just lucky to have as a friend, the mayor of our municipality who power played the principal just to get me in. I got my salary from the national government only several months after when I gave one of the DECS people “lubricant”. That time, my check was a meter long but the list of the people who lent me money was about a mile longer. I wanted to swear the moment I felt the smooth texture of the pink cheques. Oh… they felt good in my hands. I immediately went to the bank indicated in the cheque. When I saw the thick wad of bills, I totally forgot about swearing. Instead, I felt a slight rumbling in my stomach. I had gotten very hungry so I immediately went to Mcdo and ordered a quarter pounder meal.
When I took the Licensure Examination for Teachers or LET (like Ms. Gomez, I also had to take education units just to take that IQ test), I heard a fellow examinee crying when I took a leak. She told me that it was her third and that it was harder than LET’s previous version. The sad fact was less than 35% passed the exam that year primarily because many did not follow the instruction while the rest simply did not know the answers or did not know anything at all. Why did that happen? This anecdote of mine may be considered one good reason.
A neighbor of ours one day chanced upon my mom and me standing by our gate. He looked so disappointed. He just came from school to get his daughter’s report card and was on his way home. I was not sure if he was aware of the fact that both my mom and I were teachers. So, we were so disgusted when he opened his mouth and said, “Pagteateacherin ko na lang yung bunso ko. Mahina ang ulo, (I’ll just tell my daughter to teach. She’s slow, anyway.)” and waved his daughter’s card to us showing grades written in red ink. It was such a rare occurrence when both my mother and I were at a loss for words (Especially my mother!). But we chose to keep quiet rather than combine our powers and rant at the poor confused soul. Then, he went to a nearby store to buy Instant Pancit Canton. I wanted to tell him then that the MSG in it made his bunso (youngest child) slow. This, sadly, could also be the reason why many parents held teachers in low regard. Some of them consider teachers as the lowest kind of professionals based on the salary rate and level of intellect.
When I left the public school years ago, the basic pay was Php9, 466.00. For sure, I would remember the figures forever. I was born on the fourth of September, 1966.
Sometimes, a former co-teacher, after paying her dues, would only take home a little over 2,000 to her four children and her husband who drove somebody else’s tricycle and did not earn more than her. Imagine, 6 hungry mouths to feed, three to send to school, one to buy a big S-26 can and a big package of Pamper’s God knows how often, electric bill, phone bill, water bill, and other essential grocery items such as cooking oil, bath and laundry soap, etc. So, she needed to sell longganisa, tocino (processed meat products), and other easy-to-carry-to-school items such as make up and insurance kits.
There was also a time when I was ostracized in a faculty room infested by teachers coming from another school (This was when I taught in a private school.) simply because I came from UP. Being a new instructor, I thought then that they were just a bunch of xenophobes. But when one of them said, “Kayong mga taga-UP…!(You grad students of UP…!)”, that was the only time when I found out that the hostility was reserved for us, tortured and hanged in Diliman to earn 3 or 6 units to remain in the program. Whenever my co-faculty (who also came from UP) and I would study after checking our students’ papers, one of them would come near us and say, “Ang bobo nyo naman, e six units lang kayo! (You idiots! You’re only enrolled in six units!)” when she, while leisurely cross-stitching, would update everybody on the latest chiz.
It was not easy at first, to make my friends understand this decision which most of them called revolting especially during those times when I needed to borrow money from them – something that I never did before and which could be so humiliating, I tell you. I was tempted by a friend’s offer to work abroad several years ago but I chose to remain here. I told my friend that if I were to make a student brilliant, he should first be a Filipino. But even that firm conviction nearly waned due to the humongous hardships that I went through not to mention the pakikisama (friendliness?) that I had to extend to my co-teachers and my students’ parents to make them torture me less often.
But of the things that kept me burning was in knowing that the force was constantly blessed with new breeds of young and idealistic teachers like Gomez who still chose to stay in the profession in spite of the problems that beset the Philippine Education System. It made me feel that the load the old timers are carrying had gotten lighter.
Receiving a low salary was not exactly the only difficulty that basic education teachers face everyday. Just being concerned with the students was one problem big enough. There were those students who needed to sit on desk tops whenever the whole school got inundated. There are those who still needed to ride a banca (small boat) to cross a river or walk for miles to climb a mountain just to get to school. There were students whose only source of light while studying came from the flickering flame of a candle. Still others did it while in fear that their house could be riddled with bullets any time. And some students did not want to leave the classroom because they would surely get maltreated once they arrived home.
I had experienced going to a precinct to beg a store owner not to press charges against my student after he stole a bar of chocolate that he gave to his starving younger sister. I once went through a dark and narrow alley to visit the house of a habitual absentee. I was once called to pick a female advisee from a barangay hall and to be brought to DSWD because her father would not stop molesting her. Believe me, I had been through hell several times and every time I emerged from fire hole, I felt rejuvenated and more eager to fulfill what I consider a filial and civic duty for the simple reason that my young and impressionable students depend on me.
That the teaching profession in my case never yielded financial rewards but bore fruits sweeter than ambrosia was more accurate than the fact that the sun will rise tomorrow and had become more encouraging than the image of the cloud with a silver lining. Many teachers I knew toiled tirelessly everyday preparing lesson plans and visual aids not only to look good in front of their students but also to hasten and make more effective the learning process. In doing these tasks, I was absolutely sure that none of them, even Dr. Josette Talamera-Biyo, the first Asian to win the “INTEL Excellence in Teaching Award for 2002”, thought of having a planet named after them as a fitting salute. They painstakingly checked their student’s papers school year in and school year out, made notes, computed grades, accomplished tons of other paper works such as school registers, report cards, and the dreaded summary of grades, did their best to finish their master’s or doctoral, and, occasionally feared for their lives every election time. Teachers like Gomez (and me!), who still took this profession seriously abound in our country’s teaching force. And they were the ones who chose to stay. (The business-minded usually quit early and become rich.) And no matter how lowly many considered this devotion to be, no other profession could boast of the capability to dictate the direction that this country would take. Even a president, at some point of his life, was mentored by an educator and this became his torch in hand as he ruled his country.
I was once asked to deliver a brief acceptance speech in a seminar that I attended. I was instructed to answer the very same question. Why did I choose to remain a teacher? Inspired with being among the excellent ones in our division, I answered with pride.
Ours are the hands that rock the cradle, not to rule the world but to impart knowledge and wisdom and instill values to produce God-fearing, well-rounded, conscientious, and productive members of the society out of our students. Ours are the minds that inculcate creativity, innovativeness, and resourcefulness to ensure the dynamism of our culture. Ours are the hearts that provide the extension of our students’ homes, the school, where they learn concern, understanding, and compassion for their fellow being. The power lies in us to make our country a better place to live in. And we must always persevere to deliver.
And as I no longer experience the agony that I once had as a public high school teacher, I, sometimes ponder on what my life was back then. I may no longer feel the heat and smell the sweat of the sea of humanity in a small classroom (I am now an instructor in the College of Fine Arts and design in UST, teaching Art History.), but the love of teaching is still strong in me.
When I took the teacher’s examination given by our division to determine a teacher’s rank, I fortunately got the top spot. But this did not help me get a slot to teach in a public high school. I was just lucky to have as a friend, the mayor of our municipality who power played the principal just to get me in. I got my salary from the national government only several months after when I gave one of the DECS people “lubricant”. That time, my check was a meter long but the list of the people who lent me money was about a mile longer. I wanted to swear the moment I felt the smooth texture of the pink cheques. Oh… they felt good in my hands. I immediately went to the bank indicated in the cheque. When I saw the thick wad of bills, I totally forgot about swearing. Instead, I felt a slight rumbling in my stomach. I had gotten very hungry so I immediately went to Mcdo and ordered a quarter pounder meal.
When I took the Licensure Examination for Teachers or LET (like Ms. Gomez, I also had to take education units just to take that IQ test), I heard a fellow examinee crying when I took a leak. She told me that it was her third and that it was harder than LET’s previous version. The sad fact was less than 35% passed the exam that year primarily because many did not follow the instruction while the rest simply did not know the answers or did not know anything at all. Why did that happen? This anecdote of mine may be considered one good reason.
A neighbor of ours one day chanced upon my mom and me standing by our gate. He looked so disappointed. He just came from school to get his daughter’s report card and was on his way home. I was not sure if he was aware of the fact that both my mom and I were teachers. So, we were so disgusted when he opened his mouth and said, “Pagteateacherin ko na lang yung bunso ko. Mahina ang ulo, (I’ll just tell my daughter to teach. She’s slow, anyway.)” and waved his daughter’s card to us showing grades written in red ink. It was such a rare occurrence when both my mother and I were at a loss for words (Especially my mother!). But we chose to keep quiet rather than combine our powers and rant at the poor confused soul. Then, he went to a nearby store to buy Instant Pancit Canton. I wanted to tell him then that the MSG in it made his bunso (youngest child) slow. This, sadly, could also be the reason why many parents held teachers in low regard. Some of them consider teachers as the lowest kind of professionals based on the salary rate and level of intellect.
When I left the public school years ago, the basic pay was Php9, 466.00. For sure, I would remember the figures forever. I was born on the fourth of September, 1966.
Sometimes, a former co-teacher, after paying her dues, would only take home a little over 2,000 to her four children and her husband who drove somebody else’s tricycle and did not earn more than her. Imagine, 6 hungry mouths to feed, three to send to school, one to buy a big S-26 can and a big package of Pamper’s God knows how often, electric bill, phone bill, water bill, and other essential grocery items such as cooking oil, bath and laundry soap, etc. So, she needed to sell longganisa, tocino (processed meat products), and other easy-to-carry-to-school items such as make up and insurance kits.
There was also a time when I was ostracized in a faculty room infested by teachers coming from another school (This was when I taught in a private school.) simply because I came from UP. Being a new instructor, I thought then that they were just a bunch of xenophobes. But when one of them said, “Kayong mga taga-UP…!(You grad students of UP…!)”, that was the only time when I found out that the hostility was reserved for us, tortured and hanged in Diliman to earn 3 or 6 units to remain in the program. Whenever my co-faculty (who also came from UP) and I would study after checking our students’ papers, one of them would come near us and say, “Ang bobo nyo naman, e six units lang kayo! (You idiots! You’re only enrolled in six units!)” when she, while leisurely cross-stitching, would update everybody on the latest chiz.
It was not easy at first, to make my friends understand this decision which most of them called revolting especially during those times when I needed to borrow money from them – something that I never did before and which could be so humiliating, I tell you. I was tempted by a friend’s offer to work abroad several years ago but I chose to remain here. I told my friend that if I were to make a student brilliant, he should first be a Filipino. But even that firm conviction nearly waned due to the humongous hardships that I went through not to mention the pakikisama (friendliness?) that I had to extend to my co-teachers and my students’ parents to make them torture me less often.
But of the things that kept me burning was in knowing that the force was constantly blessed with new breeds of young and idealistic teachers like Gomez who still chose to stay in the profession in spite of the problems that beset the Philippine Education System. It made me feel that the load the old timers are carrying had gotten lighter.
Receiving a low salary was not exactly the only difficulty that basic education teachers face everyday. Just being concerned with the students was one problem big enough. There were those students who needed to sit on desk tops whenever the whole school got inundated. There are those who still needed to ride a banca (small boat) to cross a river or walk for miles to climb a mountain just to get to school. There were students whose only source of light while studying came from the flickering flame of a candle. Still others did it while in fear that their house could be riddled with bullets any time. And some students did not want to leave the classroom because they would surely get maltreated once they arrived home.
I had experienced going to a precinct to beg a store owner not to press charges against my student after he stole a bar of chocolate that he gave to his starving younger sister. I once went through a dark and narrow alley to visit the house of a habitual absentee. I was once called to pick a female advisee from a barangay hall and to be brought to DSWD because her father would not stop molesting her. Believe me, I had been through hell several times and every time I emerged from fire hole, I felt rejuvenated and more eager to fulfill what I consider a filial and civic duty for the simple reason that my young and impressionable students depend on me.
That the teaching profession in my case never yielded financial rewards but bore fruits sweeter than ambrosia was more accurate than the fact that the sun will rise tomorrow and had become more encouraging than the image of the cloud with a silver lining. Many teachers I knew toiled tirelessly everyday preparing lesson plans and visual aids not only to look good in front of their students but also to hasten and make more effective the learning process. In doing these tasks, I was absolutely sure that none of them, even Dr. Josette Talamera-Biyo, the first Asian to win the “INTEL Excellence in Teaching Award for 2002”, thought of having a planet named after them as a fitting salute. They painstakingly checked their student’s papers school year in and school year out, made notes, computed grades, accomplished tons of other paper works such as school registers, report cards, and the dreaded summary of grades, did their best to finish their master’s or doctoral, and, occasionally feared for their lives every election time. Teachers like Gomez (and me!), who still took this profession seriously abound in our country’s teaching force. And they were the ones who chose to stay. (The business-minded usually quit early and become rich.) And no matter how lowly many considered this devotion to be, no other profession could boast of the capability to dictate the direction that this country would take. Even a president, at some point of his life, was mentored by an educator and this became his torch in hand as he ruled his country.
I was once asked to deliver a brief acceptance speech in a seminar that I attended. I was instructed to answer the very same question. Why did I choose to remain a teacher? Inspired with being among the excellent ones in our division, I answered with pride.
Ours are the hands that rock the cradle, not to rule the world but to impart knowledge and wisdom and instill values to produce God-fearing, well-rounded, conscientious, and productive members of the society out of our students. Ours are the minds that inculcate creativity, innovativeness, and resourcefulness to ensure the dynamism of our culture. Ours are the hearts that provide the extension of our students’ homes, the school, where they learn concern, understanding, and compassion for their fellow being. The power lies in us to make our country a better place to live in. And we must always persevere to deliver.
And as I no longer experience the agony that I once had as a public high school teacher, I, sometimes ponder on what my life was back then. I may no longer feel the heat and smell the sweat of the sea of humanity in a small classroom (I am now an instructor in the College of Fine Arts and design in UST, teaching Art History.), but the love of teaching is still strong in me.
Yes. Why teaching? I might have become a masochist. With a great number of teachers wanting to go to US, being an educator here in our country is not really worth it. But you see, no John will love this country of many MSG deranged citizens, only a Juan would.
