In fact, my admin page for this blog is practically filled with incomplete drafts – great ideas and stories that came at that moment of epiphany (no I did not take political science in the university, if you know who I’m talking about), yet the inability to fully sit down and finish any of them in a coherent manner.

So a year on from the moment I entered my current college as an educator, well, I guess I’d be in some sort of position to finally make some comments about what I’ve learnt, amidst the current piles of marking that I have to do.

***

Ideals are but self-gratifications of one’s soul.

You see, most people entered this business of education because they held certain ideals, certain dreams about how their classroom would be like.

I did.

Well, that’s perfectly fine. In fact, when everybody goes through pre-teaching training, and practicum, the mentors, lecturers, and even the system, actively encourages one to chase these ideals. Practicum is the best time to try out all your pedagogy! The common myth ensued.

Some time afterwards I threw it all away.

***

No, I’m not trying to be the anti-thesis of pedagogical approaches. In fact, I do agree with them, and I do utilize them from time to time. What, however, that I realized was that to some end, the utilization of these approaches to satisfy my absolute want of some form of idealized classroom situation was nothing but self-gratification.

In short, “ideal” is what we define it to be. But when one is in the business of education, the notion of “ideal” has to be something agreed upon by not only just the educator, but also by the students.

To that end, “ideals” are not what we need. “Shared visions” are in fact more powerful, and well, practical.

***

A year back I was adamant that I would make my students love Economics. I would do my best to let them understand the linkages between topics. I would build understanding. I would push them all to greater heights. Blah blah blah.

Not that it did not work – to some extent there was greater interest in the subject.

That’s great, you say. But that, unfortunately, did not reflect well when it came down to what mattered most – grades.

***

Grades?

This is the point where the idealist in you and I would shake our heads in disbelief and disagreement. No, it isn’t about grades!

Well, a shared vision is only powerful when it is clear that everybody has a common goal, and the objectives – the steps taken to reach a goal – are defined and agreed upon. Over time it became clear – sure, they would like to love Economics, but they must first do well at the subject.

Rewind my memories to some ten years ago when I was but an Economics student in class – I never did my tutorials, I could not understand the course. I never did well for the subject, not even at my prelims in year 2. I couldn’t understand it. And therefore, I disliked it.

Fast-forward to today – I love the subject because it tells me about the world. It tells me about human behavior. It is intellectually challenging, and I love all these scientific theories and how they applied a la an art form to the faintest of human social behavior.

But my students will not be able to see this, they probably will not love the subject as I do. Why? They simply don’t understand it!

(Well, not yet!)

But grades are a powerful motivation. They are the very thing that push the best among the best to strive harder for greater understanding (let’s face it, top students from top schools do go for lots of tuition), all in that chase for higher grades. And that’s when your vicious cycles becomes a virtuous cycle.

***

So a year of teaching has taught me this – ideals are but self-gratifications of one’s soul.

It’s not how good your lesson is, it’s not how interesting your lesson is. It’s about effectiveness, it’s about building confidence, it’s about getting them to really like the subject… well, after they start to score better for it.

At the end of the day (and everybody who has had graduating students would agree), nobody is going to remember you for your teaching. They will just remember you for how much – and how strongly – you have journeyed on with them.

***

You may disagree, I may be wrong.

But at least for this year, I probably am correct.

(Well, don’t argue with someone teaching a graduating batch! It’s not good for health! )

After a slew of consultation sessions, I asked a colleague and senior, K, about how it was like facing D-Day, when the students finally get sent off into the exam hall after months of preparation – or for some, the lack thereof.

You see, it’s my first time.

My mum used to say that the examination results are like her report card – they speak volumes of her contribution to the development of the children under her charge. Of course, that’s something deserving if you produce a class full of A-graders year after year, no matter the school nor class. To that end, I actually respect (and envy) my mum a lot. But, notwithstanding (and not to downplay her achievements), teaching an ‘A’ Level subject is unfortunately vastly different from teaching at the Primary level.

Variables, I would say.

Too many of them.

Yet it’s still with anticipation that I look forward to the coming of tomorrow, along with a tinge of nervousness, a little bit of worry, and a bundle of hope.

Hopes and dreams, hopes and dreams.

I don’t think any of my students – or students, in general – realize the amount of hope and unfaltering believe that I place upon them. If there was one constant that I would bring across my varying batches of students, that would be it.

Believe.

***

In a way, I cannot wait for tomorrow to come, and I cannot wait for the marking to be over. I cannot wait for the day when I can clench my fists and punch the air in jubilation at their results, and give these little seventeen (and some eighteen year-olds) a solid pat on the back. And perhaps, by some acrobatic means or other, my own back, too.

***

Disappointment is a facet of life, but till then, I remain optimistic.

They know it, too. I’ve told them countless times – I will never give up on you, till you do so on yourself.

For the person that they will disappoint the most is not me, but themselves.

***

Believe is a strong word. It’s also a beautiful word – from it stems the next most important word – motivation. Sometimes it feels as if my primary role was not the educator, but instead, some sort of cheerleader, motivational coach, whatever. If anything, the governing principle behind all the endless content-driven lessons was the ultimate believe that yes, you can do much better than you even think you can.

And it is also with believe that enabled me to keep going, to keep pushing on, to keep pitching the lessons at a higher level, to keep running the classes at a faster pace. And many of them love it.

If you ask me, one of the primary stumbling blocks to learning is the educator thinking that his or her students are limited in potential. No, our kids can’t do that is but a sorry excuse for not trying. It is a fallacy to assume that students do not have a thirst for learning – most of them do. Most.

I love their reactions when I always go in class, “Those people at RJC learn this anyway, so should we. We’re not about to lose to them, right?”

I get sniggers, some snide smiling to their classmates, a little bit of eye rolls, and then full concentration.

It’s amazing how competition – and confidence in abilities – can go a really long way.

***

Tomorrow is the manifestation of my believe.

Unfortunately, some may not make it – and that is but a facet of life. Yet I remain hopeful.

I remain hopeful not because of what I have done, but because of what they will be doing, because of the fact that they know they will only be disappointing themselves should they fail, because of the fact that I believe in them, and because that believe is unfaltering, undying, unwavering.

They won’t be reading this – but as if my actions haven’t spoken for themselves – all the best, dear kids.

Today, one of the conversations during a consultation veered in the direction of “what do you want to study in the university?”, and student K vehemently objected to Literature, claiming that it was one of those academic subjects with one way out in life – teaching.

“No, I can’t teach. My entire family says nobody in our family can ever become a teacher. Really, it’s down to karma points. We’re all terrors to our teachers. The karma will come back to haunt us.”

I laughed.

“And you see, I really cannot stand stupid people. I can’t take it when I explain something and anybody can be daft enough to not understand it the first time round. Take D for example, I can never have your kind of patience. Teaching, no.” She was almost adamant.

“Well, how do you say it? When you’re a teacher, your… How do I say that in English – your 立场 is different.” I had to explain myself, at the very least.

“What’s that? Your stand is different?” A volunteered a translation.

“No… More like, a teacher takes on a different role. You see, if I was a student, perhaps I might feel the same as you do. Wait, I most probably will. But now my role is different – which is why I will see things differently from you.”

K seemed unconvinced.

And I left it as that.

***

A few conversations later, she was telling A about her tuition kids in Primary 6. They probably weren’t paid assignments – I vaguely heard her mentioning about it being voluntary… Church related, most likely.

“And just that day I was telling them to write down their dreams. So cute – one of them wants to go to NUS, this other one wants to grow up to study Law. Some others had shorter-term goals like getting into whichever secondary school, whichever JC – it’s kind of amazing to see them want to work towards a goal. I really feel important now – I’m like part of this growth process. They’re so cute!”

That made me look up from the script I was marking.

“K,” I said, with that little glimmer in my eye, “that’s because your role is different. All of a sudden you don’t hate stupid people anymore, do you?”

She tried defending herself – to which I simply concluded, before returning my attention to the script at hand, “You know, I think you’ll make a great teacher next time.”

***

Karma works in mysterious ways, yes, but who says it can’t be beautiful?

***

Sometime around 14th July.

Today, a student of mine was caught smoking outside of school.

You see, this boy – while he has always not been paying attention in class, not really listening in lectures and all that, he has never been an outright troublemaker. True, he was tardy with his work, he never studied for his tests, but he never exuded any instance of stress.

Yet it was only till much later from today that I would finally find out the amount of problems that a young kid of 17 like him was facing. Or maybe “amount” wouldn’t be the right word – it wasn’t exactly the quantity, but instead the magnitude and sequence of events that kept hitting him one after another.

Then comes the question – why didn’t I discover this earlier? Had I, in some way or another, given up on him some time through my teaching? Did I, purposely or accidentally, let him slip out of my radar, till he was just a meaningless blip on the corner of my mind?

Perhaps I did.

And perhaps we all do.

***

I remember, at some course one day a month or so back, somebody who was conducting the course asked an entire class full of teachers, “What’s your favorite kind of student?”

It was that kind of question that I, personally, found difficult to answer. There’s of course the easy way out – smart, hardworking, hands in work on time, answers questions in class, participates actively in discussion, blah blah blah.

I mean, why should I even want to define the criteria for favoritism? Back then, I gave my response from the bottom of my heart – I don’t have a criteria, I treat them equally, and nobody should be denied my attention because someone else performs better academically or in any other ways. We’re responsible for getting all of them to university.

Let’s just say my response eventually got brushed aside.

***

Yet a month on, I had let some people slip under my radar – the very people that I want to get promoted to year two, the very people that I silently and fervently promised myself that I would get to university.

The elder and more experienced teachers would probably know the statistical impossibility of even achieving the first goal completely – that teaching really isn’t that easy, that some students will inadvertently “fall through the cracks”, and eventually spending an extra year of revision to get back on track.

But that doesn’t erase my guilt, does it? The responsibility that I promised myself?

***

Perseverance is a strong word. When I was in secondary school I learnt it during my CCA as something called “fire”. Eventually that evolved into something called “fighting spirit”, which is something slightly more tangible. To a 14-year-old, that is.

Of course, as I grew older and as my vocabulary expanded, I finally understood the whole spirit thing as simply perseverance. But the good thing was that I had long understood its meaning before I actually understood the word, which made something seemingly bombastic easy to comprehend, and perhaps, execute.

So I look at myself today, in the role of an educator – I must be the one to persevere, for it is only when I do so, then can I in turn be the one to impart this value to the very people that I am responsible for.

I still forget, yes, sometimes, the promise that I have made myself. It’s so easy to forget. But I shall remind myself, and I will.

***

He’s much better at his work now. He’s actively getting his studies back on track, and his effort is becoming visible. I’m talking to him more as well, but no, the credit really isn’t mine, sadly. During his darkest period, I wasn’t the one who stood by him, but I was instead quick to criticize.

On hindsight, I was obviously in some wrong. But that’s common, isn’t it, to always look at things in retrospect and express regret? So it’s but crying over spilt milk, lulling over what cannot be undone.

Yet the more important thing is not what cannot be undone, but what can be done. And one thing still remains for sure – I can still persevere.

And when I do, so will they.

Call me a Jack-of-trades, but perhaps it’s just my nature to be amazed by many different things, not just on the technological front. There’s a little part of me that wonders if I actually have ADHD – I recall the times when my report cards were always returned with one of the comments saying that I need to learn how to focus, that I lose focus easily, so on and so forth.

Just like my so-called love for Economics – I kind of lost the energy someway during my University studies, when all that mattered in the learning of the subject was a bunch of numbers and mathematical equations that simply did not synchronize well with me. I started becoming better in my electives, really truly living up to my nature, indeed.

Of course that changed with the advent of Behavioral Economics, but that’s a story for another time.

My nature has lived up to its name, indeed. Fortunately (or unfortunately), my income has somewhat been able to support my techno-frenzy, and I’m not broke yet, and still on the way to buying my first HDB flat – if the government finally realizes that I’ve been applying for a few times already, that is. So all’s still well, and will still go well.

If you’ve read thus far, I congratulate you on reading a bunch of nonsense that does not pose any academic sense, nor value-add to the integrity of this blog. You see, the entire post was lengthened for the sake of delivering a punchline – just one simple one, in fact.

***

Sent from my iPad.

(Woohoo.)

To be more specific, studying in a Junior College in Singapore sucks. Your day ends at five p.m., your Co-Curricular Activities start at five-thirty. When you’re finally done with it, it’s already nine p.m. at night. And that was your three-and-a-half hours of respite. Then you pack up, take the bus home, gobble down your dinner, take a bath, and swear to whichever almighty that you believe in that you need to finish tomorrow’s homework – after you clear the backlog from two Fridays ago.

You finally sit down, check your e-mails, spy up your friend’s brother’s cousin’s friend’s girlfriend’s photos, and then you clear your mind, all ready to begin. It’s eleven p.m., and the next thing you know you woke up on the bed at six in the morning all ready to begin a new day.

Except that the last one wasn’t supposed to end.

Let’s face it, your life sucks. All that encompasses what you are right now is defined by the colour of the uniform you wear five days a week, whatever activities that you have to partake in to gain your CCA points for two years, and a busload of homework that never seems to end, yet keeps refueling itself. On the weekends you have your tuition, your music lessons, your religious commitments, your family commitments where you sit in a living room not knowing what to say to the person next to you who seems to be your age, but distant in available conversation. Your life sucks – that’s what it is. Homework, school, weekends that don’t look like weekends, and more homework.

The root of problem? You’re a student in a JC in Singapore, and being in a JC sucks. That’s why.

***

I hate homework, and I really don’t want to do all that homework!

If that’s the grouse you’re hearing yourself making, then your life not only sucks to the max, but it’s also filled with irony.

***

You see, there is a world out there, beyond being a uniformed individual, beyond being a member of a certain tutorial group associated with a string of code. That world is called life.

That’s right, there is life beyond studying – there is life beyond being an ‘A’ Level student. It’s called University.

Finally your teachers are not the one telling you that you are a young adult – youknow for damned sure that you are one. You have the freedom to make your own choices, you study whatever you’re interested in from a whole range of academic subjects, and you finally are given the autonomy to decide on the path of your life, however it will map out.

You might pick up a new hobby, you might learn a new skill. For some of you, it will be the best time to seek higher knowledge in academia that you are really interested in. Some of you may find new purpose in life – you may decide to become a humanitarian. You may eventually become leaders of expeditions in aid of the sick and needy in third-world countries. You might find interest in travelling, in backpacking, and you might finally travel around the world – alone. Or with someone you love.

Hell, you may find new love. You may discover a new partner, somebody that you want to spend the rest of your life with. For some of you, you will eventually marry this partner and have children. Your life will be different, your life will be changed. Your life will finally, really, completely be in your own hands.

There is life beyond the present.

But first, you have to get out of JC.

***

Which is why I said that your life is filled with irony.

It is filled with irony precisely because your life absolutely sucks right now, yet you’re not taking the path that’s leading you right out of it. Studying, doing your homework, seeking consultation with your tutors whenever you have doubts. These are the exact things that will get you out of this mess, into a beautiful future where your life is in your own hands.

Yet you do the exact opposite.

You don’t study, you don’t do your homework, you procrastinate, and all you would really love to do is sleep, and wish that your homework will be completed by the time you wake up.

It is with conviction that I say that teachers absolutely hate to see you for three years when you’re taking a two-year course. Which is why we nag, we scold, we chase you for your work, and make you stand behind the class facing the wall like an absolute idiot. Because you’re too blinded to see the path out of this sucky mess that you’re in, and yet when we try to guide you back on this path, you decide not to take it.

Isn’t it ironic?

***

It is one thing to say that teachers teach. It’s another to say that teacherseducate. Cliched, yes, but who gives a damn about specifics? My job is not just to transfer you knowledge in a subject that I feel strongly for but you feel negatively about – it’s to show you that there’s a world out there, a life out there beyond this little space that you’re so enclosed in, encompassed by the bureaucracy of the colour of your uniform.

In fact, I can’t wait to send you out of this little world into whatever your future may bring.

What about you? Can you wait?

Should you?

Jumper!
they cried,
you have a Choice!
he knows that for sure, of course
but still he sat,
contemplating -
thinking, about the
choices
that he could make;

I got it Straight!
he decided
and pushed himself off -
the Green water beneath
screaming Bloody Murder;
And stood up
on his Own Two Feet
and left the cabin.

The End.

The problem with pedagogical theory is that most of these are but scientific know-how meant to somewhat explain the behavior of a class of students. Ironically, which is almost similar to what Economics at ‘A’ levels is like. However, the distinction between the two lies in the fact that Economics makes more logical sense than pedagogy – it’s easier to define a rational and maximizing person when it comes to talking about money and profits, but when one tries to create a Homo Discipulus to fit the assumptions that the Economic Man seem to be able to, the difficulty rises exponentially.

Prior to these three weeks, I faced practicum with excitement – I still do, actually, but what constitutes excitement is completely different. Excitement used to come in the form that our days at NIE were coming to an end, and assignments were ending, and that we were finally going to be posted to schools to really teach. Conversations will soon veer from what was once endless complaints about impending deadlines to that of how students raised interesting and baffling conceptual questions, how the new school environment is, how we were going to meet each class with fresh-faced jubilation.

Excitement now, in contrast, comes in the form of being able to interact with the students – the emotions and the feelings that one invests from the moment he or she steps into the class and announces that this is where everyone will be for the next ten weeks, where everyone is headed for the next ten weeks, where everyone will eventually end after the next ten weeks. Vested in these, however, lie the students – the very people whom we build our plans upon, build our assumptions upon.

Yet we build the assumptions based on what we think is right, what pedagogical theory says is right. It can’t differ to much, can it? We think to ourselves before we embark on the typological process of putting our thoughts down into a document template – or should I say, that’s what we convince ourselves to believe. The problem comes when we step into class, and we then discover that hey, nothing is really working out right here.

Why?

***

My school would be something that the commoner would call an “average” school. So we can extend that notion to everything else and therefore the students, are by extension, “average” as well. However, it doesn’t take a mathematician to tell you that statistics lie, and that the mathematical notion of “averages” is but a overly simplified way of normalizing a bunch of very dynamic individuals.

Students are dynamic individuals – we crown and label them by these spectrum of so-called “ability levels” according to what pedagogical theory says and hopes we employ, but we fail to realize that this dynamic nature of each and every student means that the notion of “average” is but an easy way out of planning a lesson.

***

These three weeks have been rough – the last week especially. After one of those lessons, I had a conversation about teaching with K – you see, I love these conversations about teaching and students, and it helps when you feel down and out that a colleague (who may not be in the know) talks to you about how we can make things better.

Undeniably, the short conversation forced us to rethink our strategies for the students – K is more experienced than I am, mind you – but the theme of the conversation was simple: assumptions that we make need to be constantly re-evaluated, re-made, re-applied. So must our teaching, so must our pedagogy – if we even believed in them in the first place.

***

G raised a lot of valid points in his briefing to us – we’re service providers, we may be the best providers of the subject, but can our methods ensure that the students have received the service successfully?

Dedication is one thing, care is one thing, being a master of content is another – but what if these are none of which the students want? Where do we go from there? What else can we do?

***

I can’t help but evaluate my own lessons with trepidation – because I am not a student, I am not that dynamic individual whom I set out to teach, educate, and inspire. I am but a product of an age-old education system undergoing transformation. So what can I do to make things better? How else can I change and evolve my processes to make things relevant?

Change. Let this be a constant reminder to myself – we are the gatekeepers to the learning of these dynamic individuals, and it’s time to figure out how to let more of them in.

Why is there a price to everything? For the very fact that if everything that we wanted was in abundance, you could have gotten them for free. Yet the notion of scarcity states that resources are limited, so of course, resources are not in abundance. So because resources were not in abundance, and these resources were required to get whatever we wanted produced, these resources thus command a price. Now because these resources command a price (or cost, from the producer’s point of view), that means that somewhere along the line, that price (cost) must be transferred to somebody. And of course, it finally transfers to you, the consumer.

There goes – a link between scarcity and the existence of prices.

Time waits for no man, but please
if you could -
spare the lady.