The SHIFT key on the left side of my keyboard stopped working today. It is hard to adjust to the SHIFT key on the right side. I keep going back to the left key over and over and over again.
Going from the state of 'employed' to 'unemployed' has not been much different. I knew it was going to be tough, but nothing can ever prepare anyone enough for Reality, eh? But I must say the support I get from all my family members, close friends and sometimes even strangers during this phase, has been very touching.
The first month was a breeze, mostly. This phase was marked by self confidence and big hopes of realising one's dreams. The same self-confidence that made it easy to leave behind an average paying job, the family, a vehicle, the good life, close friends and take a leap of faith into the unknown. It had to be done, of course.
The second month is a bit harder and things feel more real. Giving up certain habits of the past life and making most of what I have. I've had to re-evaluate my expectations and even my own grasp of things relating to what I wanted to do in life. I've had two jobs slip under my nose. The second slip (a teaching role) seemed a harder hit than the first (an admin job with a starting salary for a new graduate). It suddenly hit me, after a most unfortunate and cold interview that lasted about ten minutes, that I might be actually happy in a teaching profession. I have been hiding behind cubicles doing desk jobs for the last five years so sure, there are some confidence-in-talking-in-public issues I need to sort out to be a teacher. But apart from that, there was a time, before I headed for university, when it gave me much joy to be able to teach a child something that they knew nothing about previously and give them the push to believe in their own abilities in getting through school. Like what most teachers say, there is great joy in seeing a child do significantly better with your involvement.
During my O/Ls, we had to move back to my mother's ancestral home as we no longer had the government quarters. It was a village, very different from the life in a fancy housing scheme. Sadly, the worst part of the experience was that I had to give up riding my bicycle, because I would have been booed or even harassed by the close minded boys and men who lived there. But otherwise, the laid back beauty of the place compensated for the lack of facilities and hardships we had to endure. But that's besides the point.
We used to walk nearly one and a half kilometers from home to where the school van picked us up on the other side of the river and the same distance back in the evenings. So walking that much with the blue uniform of our international school meant our school got plenty of free publicity! It didn't take too long for the people to realise that we came from a good educational background and had a strong grasp of English than most. Very soon, parents dropped by the house to ask us to teach English for their children. It was hard to accommodate everyone, while schooling full time. My two friends couldn't converse in the language spoken in the area, so they could not tutor any of them and most of it fell on me.
The standard of English of some of these children going to the village school (ages ranging from five to about fifteen) was downright depressing. There was hope for the younger ones, at least. But I felt helpless for those teenagers who couldn't even read a simple word such as "splash". It was clear that the slow learners who could not keep up with English teachers in school fell off the bandwagon and wandered blindly class after class, year after year, in ignorance and failing grades. It was a losing battle with the older ones, there was no way to bring some of them to the standard of sitting a public exam, when they could hardly read the instructions, let alone understand it.
Up until the last few days before I left the country, I tutored about nine kids (who have grown up into massive looking young men and ladies. It's funny how they still smile shyly when I bump into some of them when I go home). Some improved significantly over the years, others moderately, and yet others just worked to impress me and loved the time they got spend at my house getting tea time treats sometimes and getting an inside tour of the house. At the end of the term, I'd even organise movie screenings for them. They loved watching Matilda (adapted from Roald Dhal's book), just as much as I did! Whatever their motives for coming to class and their personal backgrounds (it was not uncommon for some of them to come from poor, troubled families, where some fathers were drunkards or slept around - the worst part is, the bigger kids knew that about the fathers). The satisfaction I got from hanging out with those kids was greater than the fifty or hundred rupees for eight classes I earned a month from some. Come to think of it, that was my first real pay and it felt really grown up to be able to give my mother a small fee for my food and lodgings!
My mother was a clever parent. She once, without our consent, volunteered our three names at an orphanage for girls. She figured it would be a good character building exercise. We objected to it a lot at first (I was even angry), because it meant walking up a really steep hill, to the top, where the orphanage was and it also meant giving up on our play time and TV time on some weekends! It was a very short stint but we managed to teach some English for a small group of girls. More than anything academic, they just seemed to enjoy our company, watch us, ask us curious questions, giggle and show off their skills in singing and dancing. That was awkward mostly. Not all of them were orphans, some were victims of abuse, living there in safe custody until court matters were settled. I cannot forget one girl aged about 13. She sang like a nightingale. There was not a sign of distress on her smiley face when she sang, but we learnt later from the matron-in-charge that she was a rape victim of an older school boy. I still find it hard to come to terms with that.
And finally, I got the real taste of being a subject and class teacher in primary school for seven months when my Principal invited us, just after our A/L exams to take up teaching until we heard from universities. My starting pay was three thousand five hundred rupees a month. Having my friend D take up teaching with me felt supportive. Armed with no experience whatsoever in classroom management, we were thrown to teach and discipline a huge pack of little wolves. The moment I walked into my class and uttered my first words, the clever terrorists figured I was a softie and they didn't have an ounce of fear or respect. The boys were extremely naughty and a couple of bad apples were enough to turn half the class into unruly mischievous devils. The girls seemed more settled in that class of Grade 4s (9-10 year olds).
On some days, I'd come home beat and without a voice, after all that yelling. On some days I was in tears because the kids were impossible to deal with and I wanted to quit. On some days, the senior teachers had to intervene to quieten down the class of about forty kids because they didn't listen to a word I said. On some days, I had to cane some of my kids who were extremely naughty (yeah, back then it was allowed sparingly!). Most days extended to long nights marking books and papers.
But slowly as the months went, I began to settle in and the children in turn developed more respect and interest in my subjects. After they grew attached to me, they just wanted to hover around me and not lose the attention. It was hard to hear them all talk excitedly and relate tales at the same time sometimes. I didn't have to lose my temper to punish them, I just found better ways to punish them like take away their privileges to the games period (muahahahaha!). Some naughty kids responded miraculously to getting bigger responsibilities like being a class monitor or getting an opportunity to carry my books from class to class (they fought to be chosen!), others changed their attitude a little with regular chats in private. All the macho ring leaders were usually very vulnerable when questioned individually. Usually, it was a case of not being heard out. I got smarter in predicting what they were up to and it was easy to pick out guilty faces while looking out at the sea of little faces and asking about homework.
Copying techniques during exams were not much different from my time in school, though one had to keep up with the latest trends and stay a step ahead to catch the little criminals. It was fun to take them on field trips. D's uncle once pulled some strings with his friend and got an opportunity to take my class to a biscuit factory (the factory belonged to
this guy's father). The kids loved it! There was rarely a dull moment in the classroom. Some of them will probably end up part time comedians some day! I had to occasionally supervise the LMD (Literature, Music & Drama) period, where they came up with plays and musicals, complete with props and costumes. Some of them were seriously talented in acting - a million times better than I am NOW. Back then, children with minor learning disabilities were not identified and separated from the rest. They just sat at the back of the class and got thrashed for being idiots by most teachers and some probably stuck with that label until they left school. The toll it might have taken on their self esteem is not a nice thought to reminisce. I stayed back an extra hour in school on some days, at the pleading of one very weak boy's mother, to give him extra help. Individual attention did help him to a great extent, but he never matched up with the average standard of the class. I could not connect with some children, though I tried. On some days, it was about coming to terms with the harsh reality that I can't make every child work harder or work smarter.
One day, I had a letter from Singapore. I had successfully gained admission to a good university. As relieving as it was, it was extremely sad parting with the kids after breaking the news to them. They were devastated
to be abandoned by a class teacher for a second time. On my last day of work, they wrote me cards, letters, poems, drew pictures for me and some even gave gifts. I was touched beyond words by the big thoughts that came from these little ones. I still have each and every one of those cards and poems and pieces of paper they gave me, safely tucked away in my box of memoirs. I read them on and off, and it always takes me back in time to a happy place and makes me feel good about myself. When I used to visit my old school during my term break, I would go and meet the same kids. They got bigger and changed, each year I visited. Not all were friendly and some became distant. One girl in my class, she was really smart, wrote to me from time to time up until she got her O/L results. She kept me regularly updated on her grades and ambitions and even sends me e-cards for some of my birthdays. That reminds me, she's probably sitting for her A/L exams next month, I should write to her. Another girl jumped at me from behind a shelf at the supermarket last December when I went home and she was squealing away saying "Auntieeee, do you remember meeeee? I was in your Grade 4 class!!!" I tried hard to act my age, "OMGGGGG, YOU ARE SOOOO BIG AND TALL NOW. YES, I REMEMBER YOU!!!!". (Beat that, crappy admin jobs)
It's been about nine years ago since I taught that batch of kids, that too, only for seven short months. They are nearly done with school. It wasn't all fun and easy. I don't know how much of what they picked up from me helped them later on. But I gave it my best. And no job that I did afterwards quite felt the same.
And it bugs me that I did not mention any of that at the interview last week because they never asked me why I wanted to teach.
Last week, I went on an adventure halfway around Singapore to track down an item that had gone off the market shelves. Interesting story too, much like one of Earl Hickey's stories about making things right. That's when I heard the song (same as the title of this post) play in two of the departmental stores I visited and it stuck. But that story will have to be another blog, as this one stretched longer than I expected.
Coincidentally, it's May. Both my
first proper blog and this one happen to be tied to this particular month.
So thanks, Katy Kat for that little nudge you gave today.
