NEVER NEVER GIVE UP (A Sunday with the Kaibigan ng mga Kabataang may Kanser)

What I’m being hesitant about joining organizations for a cause is I get too emotionally attached with people I get involved with. Their stories touch me. Although I’m not a mushy person; but deep inside, my heart wants to explode sometimes.

I was in the middle of blogging when my friend Rome from the Mirror Poetry Guild called me up and told me to join the storytelling activity for the KKK (Kaibigan ng mga Kabataang may Kanser). Though I already knew all about it, I was kind of lazy to go out because of the heavy rain. And yes, I didn’t have any children’s stories to tell. But when she told me that one member couldn’t make it, I got no choice but to brave the rain and find M.H del Pilar Street in Jaro. So I took the taxi and told the driver to take me wherever M.H del Pilar is, and thankfully, I found Rome waiting for me in front of the parish church.

The mass was still ongoing when we entered the church. It’s weird that I felt a certain vibe while attending the mass, and seeing all those kids set me on the right mood. Added up when the parishioners gave one another the sign of peace and the parish priest approached and kissed and hugged us all. What a strong fellowship they’ve got there in that parish. Anyway, when the mass ended, the Prayer Warriors (that’s what they call kids who offer prayers to the kids with cancer) paid tribute and the priest led the prayer for the cancer victims who passed away. It was a heartwarming scene, and a moving one, which I only see on TV. But having this personal experience with these people lashed a bittersweet feeling, knowing that their lives in this world are being counted. I just couldn’t imagine the pain these kids have to go through young as they are. And I also admire those volunteers who serve as their strength during the rough times. Always telling them Never Never Give Up. That statement actually reminded me of Jason Mraz in his blog titled “Never Never Never Give Up” where he joined a fun run to help raise funds for an organization which helps those with spinal cord injuries. I guess, each one of us is called for a certain advocacy. I’m deeply honored that the KKK invited the Mirror Poetry Guild to collaborate with them in this event. I’m also glad that I counted myself in.

After we left the church, we headed straight to Jollibee Diversion for lunch. The kids were already there when we arrived. Being in that fast food chain became a special moment for them. It even became more special because Toni Bulilan, the owner of Toninos Ristorante celebrated his birthday with these kids. The kids were delighted with goodies and a storytelling from Rome. They enjoyed answering questions out of the story their Manang Rome told them. While we waited for the other guests, I got the chance to meet Mariel, a three year old girl who’s suffering from sarcoma of the eye. Such a shy kid. A volunteer told us that Mariel had it when she was just a baby. I just couldn’t imagine how in her frailty and innocence she’s able to muster her grip in order to survive her ordeal.

The fun continued with some games where all the kids joined. Again, I found it poignant, despite the fun, when the host asked the kids what they want to be when they grow up. And I just had to leave.

Yes, what I’m being hesitant about joining organizations for a cause is I get too emotionally attached with people I get involved with. Their stories touch me. Although I’m not a mushy person; but deep inside, my heart wants to explode sometimes. But then again, this day was quite unforgettable. Inspiring. Bittersweet as it was, I knew that, in behalf of our group, we had done our part to make these kids happy by sharing a little of what we have. I’m certain that this will not be the last. Again, the Mirror Poetry Guild is grateful to the KKK President Dr. Socorro Martinez and to the volunteers for making us a part of their noble work.

A Teacher’s Dual Mien

I’d like to believe that teachers have double mien.  Or at least, if I look at myself, both as an ordinary person and as a teacher, I just couldn’t fathom and even reconcile these dual role that I’ve been playing since I graduated from college.  Me, a teacher?  Well, at some point, I envisioned myself as a teacher especially that, when I was a kid, I would gather children who live in the apartment and teach them the alphabet and all sorts of stuff.  Yeah, sure.  I spent  my money buying notebooks and I would always coax my mom to buy me a small blackboard.  But that was just a phase all rubbed out by numerous dreams I aspired while growing up.

http://www.evolllution.com

I already blogged the reasons why I don’t want to be a teacher (click here for the full entry), and yet, it seems that fate prodded me to immerse myself in this so-called noble profession.  And indeed, it is.  Teaching is a noble profession. Not to mention: performatory.

Teaching pushes myself to the limits.  It makes me discover dispositions I didn’t know I possess.  At home, I’m the one who could barely speak, you know, always the shy-type guy.  However, when I enter the classroom, it seems that I’m being transformed into a kind of an actor.  As a person, you might find me uninteresting, always bury his nose in the books or his laptop.  I am an aloof person to begin with.  That’s why, I’ve always considered myself a wallflower.  Anti-social.  Yet, life has its oxymoronic (if there is such a term)  ways that let you defy certain roles, not because it’s a choice, but because it’s something that comes natural to you.

I won’t question my role, my dual role, that is.  Even though at times I find it surprising that I am able to crack jokes or laugh with my students which I seldom do in ordinary days.  But I guess, that’s just who I am.  The classroom is my oyster, so to speak.  Or a stage where I can perform.  As what Shakepeare said, “All the world’s a stage,/ and all the men and women merely players/They have their exits and their entrances/and one man in his time plays many parts.

Teachers have dual mien.  As they enter the classroom, the become performers.  As they egress, they leave marks, before they change into ordinary people once again.

Dear Cara: An Open Letter to a Friend

I should have never made you cry. When you took me by the hand and told me to sit for a while, you never wanted anyone but me to heed your throes. The instant you began disclosing your emotional quandary, deja vu seemed to manifest and, once again, history has repeated itself.

What do you want me to feel? As a friend, a confidante, I have never missed to offer you advices you sorely needed to mend your relationship with N. In the first place, I don’t think my advices matter to you at all. Again, you drench yourself in the puddle of confusion…misery. You needed me to be honest. I almost smashed your head like a tennis ball just to get you back to your sanity. Your tears fell.

I was saddled with guilt, thinking that telling you “You never learned from your mistakes” elicited those tears to fall from your eyes. That moment I knew you still linger in the past, and the thought that moving on seemed to be the only resort, I proved myself off beam. You still love N despite her skewing affection towards you and the “other party.” You still love N despite the fact that she never loved you back, or if she ever did… I don’t know. The truth is that, you loved her more than she did love you.

You always have the choice, my friend. And my silence, my ocassional nods as I listen to you, will assure that I am always here ready to lend an ear…a hand.

PS:
Go back to poetry.
Your friend,
Sed

 

I Am A Teacher by:John W. Schlatter

I am a Teacher. 

I was born the first moment that a question leaped from the mouth
of a child.
I have been many people in many places.
I am Socrates exciting the youth of Athens to discover new ideas
through the use of questions.
I am Anne Sullivan tapping out the secrets of the universe
into the outstretched hand of Helen Keller.
I am Aesop and Hans Christian Andersen revealing truth
through countless stories.
I am Marva Collins fighting for every child’s right to an education.
The names of those who have practiced my profession ring like a hall
of fame for humanity…Booker T. Washington, Buddha, Confucius, Ralph Waldo Emerson, Leo Buscaglia, Moses and Jesus.
I am also those whose names and faces have long been forgotten
but whose lessons and character will always be remembered in the accomplishments of their students.
I have wept for joy at the weddings of former students, laughed with
glee at the birth of their children and stood with head bowed in grief and confusion by graves dug too soon for bodies far too young.
Throughout the course of a day I have been called upon to be an
actor, friend, nurse and doctor, coach, finder of lost articles, money lender, taxi driver, psychologist, substitute parent, salesman, politician and a keeper of the faith.
Despite the maps, charts, formulas, verbs, stories and books, I have
really had nothing to teach, for my students really have only themselves to learn, and I know it takes the whole world to tell you who you are.
I am a paradox. I speak loudest when I listen the most. My greatest
gifts are in what I am willing to appreciatively receive from my students.
Material wealth is not one of my goals, but I am a full-time treasure
seeker in my quest for new opportunities for my students to use their talents and in my constant search for those talents that sometimes lie buried in self-defeat.
I am the most fortunate of all who labor.
A doctor is allowed to usher life into the world in one magic moment.
I am allowed to see that life is reborn each day with new questions, ideas and friendships.
An architect knows that if he builds with care, his structure may stand
for centuries. A teacher knows that if he builds with love and truth, what he builds will last forever.
I am a warrior, daily doing battle against peer pressure, negativity,
fear, conformity, prejudice, ignorance and apathy: But I have great allies: Intelligence, Curiosity, Parental Support, Individuality, Creativity, Faith, Love and Laughter all rush to my banner with indomitable support.
And who do I have to thank for this wonderful life I am so fortunate
to experience, but you the public, the parents. For you have done me the great honor to entrust to me your greatest contribution to eternity, your children.
And so I have a past that is rich in memories. I have a present
that is challenging, adventurous and fun because I am allowed to spend my days with the future.

I am a teacher…and I thank God for it every day.

These are a few of my favorite things…

This morning I was listening via Soundcloud to Jason Mraz’s Journal Entries and I enjoyed the part when he listed his favorite things–from organic food to running his bike–and the simplest joys that we sometimes tend to ignore.  Yes, based on the song popularized by Julie Andrews and inspired of course by my favorite singer and person in the whole wide world, lemme share, too, a few of my favorite things…but wait, these things are not the usual stuff that most of you may associate myself with e.g books, poetry, and short stories, but these favorite things I’m going to list down somehow may seem trivial, but they really mean the world to me.

1. Key. I always freak out whenever I leave the key in my dorm room especially when I lock the door and I realize I forgot the key inside.  You see, our landlady gets a bit gnarly when I borrow the spare key, and so to avoid dealing with her, I always make sure that I always bring the key with me wherever I go.  Suffice to say, my key tops my favorite things because it has been my companion ever since I stayed in the dormitory.

2. Mug. I’m quite a drinker, and every minute of the day, especially when I spend the whole time in my room, my mug has always been within my reach.  The stain around the lid stands as a witness of how “abused” this mug is. From coffee, to tea, and yes, even vodka, my mug alone knows my drinking habit.

3. Doodle book. Life will have no meaning, not unless I scribble in my doodle book.  Although lately I kinda set aside my interest in drawing, I am certain that my doodle book patiently awaits until I get hold of my pencil and start opening its pages again.

4. Goodies from friends. I’m a very sentimental person, so whatever my friends give me whenever they went on a vacation or tour, it excites me to receive even just a simple pasalubong like key chains, or pens, or cellphone holders.  Receiving stuff from other people is always special. And I’m so glad and lucky that my friends are very thoughtful.

5. The sand and the sea.  Summer is my favorite season of the year.  Despite the scorching heat, it is also the time when I get to bask in the enticing sultriness of the sand and the sea.  I’m a water person; being born in a coastal community, I am always fascinated by the sea. Whenever I visit home during the weekend, I would stroll along the shore and empty my mind with all the hurly-burly worries of the city.  And the sea is always there to welcome me.

How about you, what are your favorite things?

I Remember: A Freewriting Exercise

I remember. Today I shall remember.  I remember when I brought my students to Urdaneta Hall and lectured about Greek columns.  I remember laughing with my friends which I didn’t know what we were laughing about.  I remember sitting in Sir Sid’s Poetry class.I remember crying over a gay novel.  I remember attending my class early morning and it was fun.  I remember laughing and enjoying my Arts Appreciation class no matter how handful my students were.  I remember going to the library and searched for Goethe’s The Sorrows of Young Werther and luckily found it.  I remember teaching my students how to doodle.  I remember posting my doodle art in FB and Tumblr and received good comments for it.  I remember how to appreciate things and the impossibility of events.I remember teaching creative writing and it was a dream come true.  I remember enjoying life by drinking coffee at Coffeebreak with Joven every 2pm.I remember the smiles and the greetings of my students.  I remember how my MA3-1 class sang me Happy Birthday although it was late. I remember staying in the faculty room though I didn’t feel like it.  I remember how I fetched and handed Cara the jacket despite  the rain and the flood.  I remember the Mirror Poetry Guild sessions at Cocoon and Appetite. I remember when my dormmate Dean left the dorm after five years of staying there.  I remember sleeping alone.  I remember… saying my crush’s name and it felt good.  I remember AU and I wished I was her boyfriend. I remember thinking about her whenever I close my eyes. I remember how my heart beat faster when I saw her along the Blanco Hall corridor and we said “hi” to each other. I remember R. when he asked me how much do I earn as a teacher. I remember being in love with I don’t know who. I remember dreaming that I killed J.  I remember going to the beach.  I remember going to the beach with my father just before I knew he has tuberculosis.  I remember eating the whole day.  I remember how it is to live. I remember hating God for letting Ma’am Amor die.  I remember when I suffered from hemorrhoids and it felt painful.  I remember going to the Booksale almost everyday.  I remember when my Mama bought me a bookshelf.  I remember receiving a text from R. saying how sorry he was.  I remember R. waiting for me for hours and I didn’t know why he did that.  I remember how we exchanged posts in Twitter.  I remember when I lost my trust in him for some unknown reason.  I remember someone telling me R. is gay and I was not shocked at all.  I remember having dinner with R. and how comfortable it was talking to him.  I remember telling him to stay away from me.  I remember noticing his glance whenever our paths meet but I ignore him already.  I remember how my friends hated him.  I remember how he tried to explain but I shut him off.  I remember that feeling which I tried to forget but I couldn’t. I remember when everything was still okay.  I remember hating him to the core.  I remember how he might have hated me as well.  I remember that I have great friends around and my family who doesn’t know what I’ve been through.  I remember my sorry childhood.  I remember going to that creepy old hut and something terrifying happened.  I remember everything that happened inside the hut.  I remember writing. I remember AU.  I remember her smiles, her Chinese eyes.  I remember the guilt when I think of her night and day.  I remember the reason why I did that to R. and I wish I could tell him straight to his face.  I remember the mountain we used to climb when we were kids.  I remember going there.  I remember the good times.  I remember IYAS workshop. I remember getting drunk but not wasted.  I remember places.  I remember.  I remember now.

Edmodo: A Modern Teacher’s Tool

Imagine a college instructor treading the hallway, carrying in her arm, aside from the books and envelope, a rolled white cartolina or a folded manila paper scribbled with her lessons. As soon as she enters the classroom, she immediately posts her stuff while wiping her sweat with her handkerchief in between posting the manila paper. As the scotch tape creates a squeaky noise, the students, on the other hand, watch their teacher grapple with the burden of keeping the manila paper in place, by adhesion, to the blackboard. I am talking about a 2013 classroom situation, where every teacher (college teacher at that) is expected to somehow employ “modern” means of delivering her lessons in a convenient and relevant manner. And, believe it or not, some teachers stick to the old school strategy of using cartolinas or manila papers as visual aids.

In the advent of new media, education has extended its range beyond the walls of the classroom. Of course, technologies like multimedia projectors and computers can be a big help in teaching, but lack of equipment such as these, pose a problem especially when teachers have to share limited units of multimedia projectors (three for every twenty faculty members). In this case, they have to rely on one important visual aid: the body. Aside from visual aids, what irks other teachers is the pile of papers to check, whether assignments or essays, and most of the time, it becomes a burden especially when they have to finish checking everything just before the deadline of grade encoding arrives. And yes, I am talking about my own experience as an educator. And lately, I have found solution to this problem, and somehow, my burden of spending money on photocopying handouts or checking papers or even connecting with my students has finally been eased up. The solution? Edmodo.

You read it right. Edmodo is just like Facebook. Only that it is intended for academic purpose. Thus, it is a social learning platform for teachers, students, and parents. It is a venue where teachers and students can connect easily with one another and so provides opportunity to share learning in an easier and convenient way. Edmodo can be incorporated into classrooms through a variety of applications including Reading, Assignments, and Paper-studying. Current uses include posting assignments, creating polls for student responses, embedding video clips, create learning groups, post a quiz for students to take, and create a calendar of events and assignments. Students can also turn in assignments or upload assignments for their teachers to view and grade. Teachers can annotate the assignments directly in Edmodo to provide instant feedback (www.wikipedia.com).

I was introduced to Edmodo last year when my co-teacher recommended me to try it. And as far as I know, only the two of us are using it in the University. Although I only required using this e-learning platform to my students taking the major subject (there were three of them) last semester; now, I’ve been going full blast in requiring my students to sign up. It only took a little prodding to let them create their accounts. After all, as I always tell them, “You belong to the W-T-F Generation. Wikipedia-Twitter-Facebook Generation, that is. As students begin to explore Edmodo by submitting their assignments, they also begin to experience a real time and personal connection with the teacher and they can follow their progress in terms of their scores minutes after they have turned in their assignment. On my part, I find it also convenient to monitor my students activity and at the same time accommodate their concerns regarding the lessons and assignments. Handouts can easily be accessed thus sparing the students and the teacher to spend a lot of money to photocopy.

As a social media platform, Edmodo also provides a safe venue of learning. Teachers or and students may be too concerned about security and privacy, but Edmodo is a closed and private community, and students can only access Edmodo through a teacher’s account and the class code given directly by the teacher. This code can also be given to parents, who can have a bird’s eye view of the instructional activities occurring within Edmodo. The eyes of the teacher, parents, and students are on the discussion postings, and any improper comments can be deleted by the teacher or addressed by the group (http://elizabethdobler.weebly.com/uploads/8/2/3/5/8235454/readingtoday294_edmodo_2.pdf).

Modern times demand modern means. For a teacher not to be left behind by the fast-changing technology, manila papers and pieces of chalk become a trend as passé as bellybutton jeans. Students get amazed with tools that are not only convenient but current, too. Edmodo is more than just a social e-learning platform. It flattens the classroom and connects not just the teacher and the students into learning within the classroom, but it also reaches across the globe. I must say, Edmodo is highly recommended. And yes, teachers must love technology.

 

Once Again, I Dream of a Butterfly

photo credit: http://treasureboxproject.org/images/Katy%20images/butterfly_on_hand.jpg

Dreams come to us in metaphors. Disturbing metaphors. Those images that loom unto us and visit our slumber like crows in the midnight – tarrying for hours until we wake up – restless, questioning. Dreams paint horrid messages all splattered in a fauvist strokes and colors like the ocherous sunset in the horizon. Alluring, yet fatal. Dreams are mirrors that reflect the unknown. We know nothing except that image that we see right in front of us. And thus, again, dreams leave us to ponder on the meaning they bring: when we are asleep. When we are awake.

Butterfly. Once again, I dreamed of a butterfly. About ten years ago, I had the same dream so vivid that I almost felt the pang as the golden butterfly landed on the soft skin between my thumb and pointing finger, leaving suddenly a scar where a red rose sprouted and majestically bloomed where the butterfly had landed after it chased me for hours. Mysterious, isn’t it? I had so many dreams and reveries but not as significant as this one. I wondered what it meant.

Dream interpretation would tell that butterflies symbolize transformation, abundance, happiness and wealth. A dream of a butterfly could be telling you to settle down and not to flit from person to person or it could have to do with social situations.. The bigger and more beautiful the butterfly, the more of an impression you will make on society, or at a special function that you must attend.

But I still ask myself. What about that pain before the rose bloomed out of my hand? What about that giant butterfly that chased me and brought fear as I escaped myself away from its shadow?  Do they also mean transformation? Or some kind of metamorphosis?

Can dreams deceive us?  Butterflies may not always symbolize change or beauty or happiness. But what if butterflies signal impending loss, or discontentment, or worst, pain?  But then again, it can be a wake up call.  if this is a warning, then, let me dream, once again, of a butterfly.

 

On Teaching

We all want everything to be okay.  We don’t even wish so much for fantastic or marvelous or outstanding.  We will happily settle for okay, because most of the time, okay is enough.

-A, Everyday, David Levithan

http://gazette.teachers.net

A teacher always finds solace in the classroom.  As soon as s/he is given the teaching load, nothing can compare the enthusiasm that inundates her or his heart as s/he treads even the tedious hallway going to the classroom.  Because that four corners become an abode. A turf where s/he and the students engage into discourses that sprout new learning.

Whenever I’m faced with uncertainties regarding my teaching loads, I try to curb my mind thinking of all things positive.  I have always been an optimistic person who looks at the brighter side of the world.  And knowing that as an educator placed in an academic-title-conscious “edifice”, my hope tends to dwindle like a water swirling its way out of the funnel.

But no.  I always wish that everything is OK.  At least it will be OK.  I  may not be the best teacher, but the classroom is one big affirmation that I belong in the academe.  That this is all I ever wanted.

Ten Things I Hate About My Dad*

I hate the way he puffs his cigar
and the way he drinks his beer
I hate the way he talks
Like a broken record
when he’s drunk.
I hate the sound of his motorcycle
As I catch him leave the house.
I hate it when he plays
Some Kinaray-a songs on his phone
I hate it so much it makes me smile
Not all dads have his taste
I hate the way he always asks
“What dish shall I prepare
for you today?”
I hate it when he hugs me tight
Like I’m still a six year old child
But mostly, I hate the way I don’t hate it
Not even close…
Not even a little bit…
Not even at all…

 (*inspired by the poem from the movie “Ten Things I Hate About You”)

Father’s Day Quote:

“Sometimes I think my papa is an accordion. When he looks at me and smiles and breathes, I hear the notes.” 

― Markus Zusak, The Book Thief