Taking Stock

School has ended....technically.
Term ended almost a month back, and I wonder why I don't seem to have much things done.

Let's take stock.
Maybe not...for there seems to be more things left undone rather than done.
The easiest excuse would be just to say that "really...there's so much work"...but I feel that partly the fault lies in the procrastination of a lot of things.

It really has been an eventful November.
To those who know...a time of great shock and disappointment.
It was also a time of hellos and many goodbyes.

The batch of 2010 have graduated.
I think it was a simple, but meaning night..."Sparkles and Jewels".  It marked the last time I would be organising this event. It's part relief...someone else will take over, and maybe breath some life into it.  It's tough when the thing is supposed to be self-funding.  But I will miss doing it for the kids ( I wonder if they appreciate this though)

I said goodbye to a few colleagues and good friends.  Their presence will be sorely missed.  Rab has always been a rock...rarely unflustered, and keeping a clear mind of things. I really enjoyed working with her.  Keng Wee...what can I say? I hope that he takes a good break. 


Why is it that people only appreciate what others have done when they are no longer around?

Me?
I have not been courageous.  I wanted out..but only got perhaps 2 toes out.
I will still do the main job, but to pull out completely is not possible.
Perhaps, one more year. We shall see.

My own children...they have grown.
The little one is on his way to sec school. I am proud of you, Akmal.
The girl...wow...she is facing a major exam next year.
And the eldest...NS soon.
It's like a new chapter in my life.

Dear God,
Thank you for all your blessings.
Thank you for looking out for my family and loved ones
Thank you for showing me the way.
I still need guidance and your Nur.
Do not forsake me.
Ameen.

Audi partem alteram

I am here to give my views...not to argue; nor to debate.
Also, I know that the logic,ethos and pathos I use; are derived from instinct and not from purposeful thinking.
I see to understand, not to condemn, not to change, not to put values on opinions that are different from my own.

Dear child,
I must say that 'this' was the clearest 'voice' I heard in that has been writing.  Paradoxically, you said that you are getting 'confounded by...rationalising'.  Your 'scattered thoughts' have said a far lot more about your situation.

I guess that it must be really hard to be you. That is why you use the word 'hate' - one of the strongest forms of negative emotions.  It is not a word that I would normally use because of the connotations - but you are one who do not mince your words.  You are fully aware of your own self-expectations, and if these are not met - the idea of a letdown ; to others, and to the self, becomes pretty intense.

No one seems to fully grasp the nature of your feelings...no one ever will really. Unless they are you, no one can comprehend the complexities of the fear, frustration and anger (if I may label them as these).  Your tone and demeanour are interpreted as 'arrogance and callousness'...for very often, people cannot accept that when one is blessed with good brains like yours, one should be happy with the good results one gets...and not 'hate the capacity to overtake others without doing the proportional amount of work'.  Unfortunately, that is the reality of life. It will never be fair or equal....really, I cannot imagine how much you can fly if you truly overcome your own shortcomings of 'complacency'.

You are clear-headed; and your sharp mind is probably your most crucial asset. But this too is like a double-edged sword...for it hones in on, and harps on your flaw.  You find that it is not right for people to pin hopes on you; or for that matter; you seem to think that even you will let yourself down ultimately.
After all, it all adds up right?...the failure of the past because of complacency, a certain person surpassing you in terms of academic performance, your action of spending a lot of time on the computer; and so on. You know that these are almost dialectic evidences of your 'weakness'.

You are fully aware of your predicament..of how your gift of intellect is also your curse (I know you never said that..so pardon me if I misunderstood this). And you are right..about how easy it is for people around you will be so offended and put off by the things you say, or feel.  Unless they walk in your shoes, it is extremely difficult to empathise the depth of your dilemma.

I am not going to venture into your stand on relationships yet...for I acknowledge, that is really difficult to me to even find a middle ground.  But what I am trying to do, is really to sift through the words and emotions I pick up, and perhaps see how best I can support you from behind.

Perhaps, after your exams, it would indeed be good that you are going in early.  Being in an non-academic environment, and away from people and things which remind you of your internal conflicts may bring about new perspectives and experiences.

We cannot change the past...and we cannot really predict the future.
We live in the present...doing the best of what we can...to make things a little more bearable. Perhaps, you will find your inner peace...of the spirit and mind...there.

In the meantime,...just focus on doing your best.
I will not hold you to your promise...
Just be yourself...just be a little more happy.

We Teach Who We Are - lessons from Parker Palmer

As I was clearing my desk area yesterday, I found a little green book tucked between some of my old files. It is entitled " The Heart of a Teacher" by Parker Palmer. He is well-known among the education fraternity; and his works on issues of education, community and social change are often widely quoted.  This essay that I found is an extract from his book "The Courage to Teach: Exploring the Inner Landscape of a Teacher's Life".

Maybe there is a reason as to why this book suddenly appeared....for the last time I read it was almost four years ago.  I had slipped it into my bag, and since the Sup was late for the interview yesterday, I had a chance to re-read Palmer's work yesterday.  Maybe...maybe it gave me the answer that I was looking for inside.

"Teaching, like any truly human activity, emerges from one's inwardness, for btter or worse.  As I teach, I project the condition of my soul, my subject, and our way of being together.  The entanglements I experience in the classroom are often nor more or less than the convolutions of my inner life...viewed from this angle, teaching holds a mirror to the soul...

...to know good teaching, we need to look into the inner landscapes of a teacher's life... - the intellectual, emotional and spiritual...None can be ignored.

Reduce teaching to intellect and it becomes a cold abstraction;
Reduce it to emotions, and it becomes narcissistic;
Reduce it to spiritual, and it loses its anchor to the world...."

"Good teaching cannot be reduced to technique; good teaching comes from the identity and integrity of the teacher."

I think I have lost myself somewhere along the way for the past few years.  In the pragmatic, competitive environment, there is a heavy price that I have paid...that the flames that once burnt bright within, has somehow diminished in intensity...it flickers, wavers...and even came close to being extinguished.

There are days when I do not 'teach as I am'...
It is always easy to blame others, or even circumstances for this...
But what about myself?
Why have I allowed this to happen?
Where is the engagement...and the connection?

That was my reflection for that 20 minutes or so that I was there...to think, and reflect.
I want to find myself again...and,
I hope...that was the message that was sent, and received during the interview yesterday.

The end of this chapter

This is the last day.
As effect of 4.30pm, I will no longer go by a 'certain title'.
It comes with a lot of mixed feelings.

I had anticipated that I would be asked this question:
"Why?"
Mentally I had earlier prepared myself to meet a superior who, through the course of the years, know me through our professional dealings.  But she too, has left...for a new post.  I had to speak to a different person, one who recently rose up to the higher rung.

It would have been easy to simply say that I stepped down for personal reasons.
That has been, and still is, the main factor in my decision.
But I know that I needed to come up with something that will carry more weight, professionally.  One cannot simply cite personal reasons.

The other day, a minister toyed with the idea of raising up the retirement age to 68.
....so from 45 (for some services like the army)...to 55 (old minimum withdrawal age)...to 60...and then the current 62.
But given the current financial situation, and longevity of the average Singaporeans, we are inching up.
Bottom line...you work till you have one foot in the grave?

I have been in the teaching service for 21 years already.
If I get my Maths right,...I need to serve another 24 years.
That...at the moment, is just too mind-boggling!
Can I envision myself doing then, what I am doing right now?
Gosh...it is not something that I think I would have the capacity to do.

Without a doubt, as one ages, priorities change.
I have reached a stage in my life where I think family, religion, happiness, good health overide the need for recognition.
This is the reality of life...
I still know that I need to go on earning a living...I love my profession, and will want to contribute as much as I can.

So now, circumstances has pushed myself in this direction.
As hard as it is to let go, I feel that with God's grace, I am ready.

Dear God,
I thank you for the experience of the last 7 years in that chapter of my life.  It has both its good and bad times, and its share of challenges.  But I have grown from what I have learnt, and my life has been enriched by it.  As I close this page, and move on to another, I seek for Your guidance and blessings still.  Show me the way, and make me serve You in the way I can.
Ameen

Finding Myself

As I made my way along the corridor, I passed by the door.  A booming voice beckoned me.  I braced myself for more work.  Lately, the moment I am summoned, I tend to jump.  That's how paranoid I have become.  Either work, or for a 'gentle remainder' of work not done.

I was told to sit down.
I could not get the image of the Chesire cat, grinning at me.

"Are you still serious about your decision?"

I steeled myself.  That, was a loaded question.
My mind was already worn out by an earlier discussion.  I felt vulnerable.

I forced myself to look ahead.
"Yes."

The shoulders in front of me slumped a little.  It's already past 6.  A little late for a battle of wills; too late to try to pull a fast one.  Mind games...power games...

I needed to get out of there, quick!
Before...my shields fall.
They know that I have an Archilles heel.

"Ok...prepare your portfolios.  But I must say, I don't know what you should have.  You got things ready?"

Hope reigns...
Yes, yes, yes!

Those were the sweetest words I heard.

Dear God,
Alhamdulillah.
A shackle has come off.
There are many more I need to unlock.
With you, I am not alone.
Ameen.

Apathy Kills

I did this poem with my 4E3...and thought that this would be one way to really get a response from the kids. I have done the theme of hunger with some of my previous kids, and know that no one would be totally immune to what they would see. So with the visuals from Youtube, and pictures from Google Web, I got the students to reflect by the message driven in the poem.



How to Watch a Child Die


Avert your gaze from his eyes,
even if they plead for you to be drawn to their depths.
Instead focus on his sallow complexion
the sun crawling on his aged skin,
the colour of the well-trodden carpet
in your living room;
the spot where you son once threw his football boots
and you missed the bleaching
for the past few years.


Do not try to guess his age
or say, he is older than he looks
as you study his brittle bones, too-large head
and the empty basket of his ribcage


Think instead of the sound they may make
when his body is thrown into a ditch;
the sound of rain whipping through branches,
the cracking of a creek before thaw
or your antique vase
crashing into smithereens
from its place on the mantelpiece.


Turn away from the blank faces of your own children
and make no associations.
Pretend you do not notice
how your teenager leaves her food
uneaten on her plate. (Convince yourself you are
not an escapist) After all,
this skeletal child is merely
a marionette in a macabre fairytale.


Now, ignore the queasy feeling in your stomach
as you get up to dish out the dessert.
Resolve to write to the authorities
to complain for showing such
disturbing footage during dinner.


Be blind to the broken birds of the child’s
hands as he reach out pleading to be held,
the rolling whites of his eyes, the bruised animals
of his lips, parting as he takes his last…


Turn off the television set


Children should not know that
(in some very remote parts of the world)
they may die before their mothers.


By Amanda Chong,16
from Singapore who won the Foyle Young Poets of the Year Award 2005, which is held Britain, is one of 15 winners and the only one from Asia to win this award.

A teen...who captures the idea of how wasteful and apathetic our society can be.

I salute you...for reminding me.

How do you say goodbye to a child?

Two Sundays ago, I attended the wake of a 14-year old child who lost his battle with leukemia.  Timothy was the son of an old friend, June, whom I got to know way back in NUS.  Initially, when the news of his passing came about, I did not make the connection.  Susannah's young son, Geof, who were classmates, had been shaken by the tragic news because 'the idea of how our fragile mortality suddenly became real. As a mum, I am frightened that I can no longer protect my children from such realities." That was her status update on FB that Friday evening.

I saw the picture of a smiling young man, placed in the obituaries on Saturday.  It did seemed a little out of place, for the other pictures were of individuals who were at least fifty years and above at the time of their demise.  Again, it was a reminder of how Death, is indeed a leveller, and does not discriminate gender nor age.  I took a cursory glance at the names, and also felt a tinge of pain for the parents. It seemed to go against the law of nature that the child goes before the parents.

It was only on Sunday morning when my own 'reality' sank in.  Zafran said that former classmates where going to visit his literature teacher, for her son had passed away.  June was Zafran's literature teacher...and that was how everything sort of fell into place. I hunted for the papers again, read it carefully , and this time, really felt my heart sinking when I saw June's name there.

Back in our varsity days, I know June had her fair share of adversities...She had endured them all admirably; she is spunky and always saw the proverbial cup as being half full instead of empty.  But this...

With Zafran, I made my way to her home. They were having prayer sessions then, so I had a chance to speak to June's Muslim colleague who waited with me outside.  They had placed chairs for visitors, and along the walls, were pictures of young Timothy, all smiling, in his school uniform.  There I learnt that he had the disease when he was younger, had pulled through, and this was a sudden and unexpected relapse.  He developed a high fever on Thursday, and by Friday, he was gone.  I can imagine how devastated the parents were.

I saw this so poignantly played in the many scenes that unfolded.  A tall man stood dazely by the door to welcome and thank visitors who came.  In the line patiently was another man to offer his condolences.  Suddenly the tall man caught the other in a bear hug, and bawled.  It caught all of us by surprise - by the sudden burst of emotions.  From the soothing sounds and bits of exchanges I caught between them...here was the grieving father, and the other, the doctor who had treated Timothy ever since he was young.  Both men sought comfort in each other; knowing that a greater being had a 'greater say' in how fate is shaped.

The casket lay in the middle of the living room.  The school flag was draped over it.  But I was drawn to several things.  There were the usual wreaths of flowers; mainly in white orchids, and lilies...but a lady came bearing a single red rose.  She gazed down at the face in the casket, and said rather loudly, "Bye Timmy. Don't be cheeky in Heaven".  My heart caught momentarily then, and those who listened smiled.

I inched closer, and unconsciously, I sought for Zafran's hands.
I saw the colourful posters and letters Timothy's classmates had written...all placed above the casket...saying goodbyes.  They spoke of 'his laughter, his sense of humour and his zest for life'.  Under the casket, were a pair of football boots, a soccer ball, and the jersey of his favourite soccer club.  Tucked at the corner, was his NCC uniform...all stark reminders of what an active, lively boy he must have been...during his short time on earth.

Over and over again, I rehearsed in my head what to say to June while waiting in line.
I saw her ... standing dignifiedly, thanking people who came to share her grief...as she mourned the loss of her first-born.

Share...how can I ever measure that?
Only God knows the amount of pain she felt...the emotional and spiritual torture.
To have tears flow...even in rivers...but that will never bring that precious life back.

In the meantime, there were two other moments which, by itself, highlights the almost cruel juxtaposition of life and death.  June's second son was in the midst of his PSLE exams...and on the day of his brother's funeral, would have to sit for his last science paper...in fact, the funeral service would proceed after his exams.  Looking very tired, the 12-year old picked up his book, and sat at the foot of the coffin, reading.  He leaned against the hard wood where his brother lay...a very grim reminder to me how life must go on.

June's youngest boy was only 4.  I wondered how much he understood what the loss meant to him at the moment.  He had stood in line with the rest of the family, and if there was anyone who cried openly, this child, in all his innocence, held the other person in a tight embrace. He said, " Don't worry.  Don't cry.  Timmy is happy. Timmy is in Heaven.  Timmy is not in pain."...maybe these are echoes of the adults who have said this to him...but how much does he really understand? How will the pain be like when he realise that Timmy is never going to be able to play or argue with him anymore?

I reached June.  She opened up her hands.
And despite all the things I have practised, I did not know what to say as I hugged my friend.
Maybe there was no need for words...her pain was mine...and my fears were hers.

I watched as she hugged my first born, Zafran and thanked him for coming.  And then she turned to me and said..."Love your children, Adibah...love them."
I think I was in a daze after that...for all I knew was of the blessings I had been given as I held tightly the hand of my own child.  There were too many unspoken questions.

But...I had one more 'lesson'
Someone else had offered the condolence to June...something was said.
And in all clarity...this was June's remark.
"How do you say goodbye to your child?"

....and that...no mother would wish to have to do.....

RIP Timothy Thambiah
You were truly God's gift to your parents.
May your mother's tears and sorrows be your blessings in the hereafter.