LARGER-THAN-LIFE

There is no point of denying about how tired I am physically but not my mind – when words are just so overwhelming and can’t wait to tell another epic story – a superb term at CWF filled with fun-learning experience one teacher must cherish.

Sure enough, you all have seen my disclosures and haven’t failed updating my family and friends whether via e-mail or through Facebook or simply blogging about this recent journey. In many occasions, I’ve laid down every picture as clear as crystal for the entire world to see. And you all deserve to know.

When I signed up for another term engaging in classrooms, I only had few things in mind – not even expectations but more of a personal agenda: a worthwhile comeback and a meaningful exit. Whatever technical or theoretical issues in teaching, I left it to my experience for years – not to ego though, but it wasn’t just my worry this time. Besides I’m not new to this intuition. I taught here for a year before.

At first, a week was seemingly like a yearlong to countdown despite my enthusiasm. Even though have done my best trying to fit in and see the positive angle in this TESOL life, I had paranoia too. And if you still remember, I posted an article (First Impression Dies) telling my battles against racists and first impressionists. This time destiny had favored me and it turned in a larger-than-life experience.  

Then in a span of another week, I was so attached to my students. It took sincere prayers, hard work, passion, and love to get that.

And in a span of a month, we were having so much fun with endless giggling laughter to hear and reminisce. It was again another impressively great moment I didn’t expect I’d obtain. Thanks a lot to this school (CWF) for the wonderful opportunity and for giving me their trust maximizing my potential for this country – to simply serve this amazing group of people.

Finally worries had left me and days got better and better with unforgettable memories in line for a grand scrapbook. And before we knew it, time flew quickly and this term had come to an end – but not the established rapport with my learners so dear.

Not in my expectation that I would have a larger-than-life journey this term. I am reminded by this – “You get it when you least expect it.”  When something is not awaited or least expected was a better option to do rather than to get frustrated in the end. 

For the first time in years I got cakes on my birthday. I had typical birthdays as usual. This year my students broke the norm so we can rejoice together. Truly had a fantastic Day and I haven’t been surprised big time – only in this special occasion. 

So grateful as well for the honor to train young learners a simple and yet useful tool in teaching – T.E.S.O.L. – a two-day-workshop about teaching English aside from learning the textbooks and venturing extra-handouts. Not to mention their addiction to playing UNO which I consider an educational game still. I couldn’t ask for more accomplishments this term. Thank God for all these blessings!  

           

I wanted to say more, but let me just repost the statuses I’ve posted this morning on Facebook to express my overflowing joy, my victory, and my praises:

“My students dear, thank you so much for the wonderful time we had this term - epic, superb, and amazing – I wouldn't trade for any wealth in this world. I’m so blessed for the opportunity having you around for the fun-learning experience together. You guys have taught me a lot so I would become a learned-teacher. Unfortunately, that's all I could give for now. As I said, I will see you all someday. Till we meet again. KEEP. SPEAKING. ENGLISH.”

Here’s another one:

“More than just a teacher, I father my students as well. For one reason culturally, I couldn't befriended younger people. And so fathering is one BIG privilege to keep a relationship lasting among my learners. Last term was another wonderful experience to thank the Father above and those who have supported me in this journey. Now, it's another victory to mark. Thanks a lot for your prayers and financial supports. And to those who never stop bringing me down with assumptions and accusations, it taught me something else - PERSEVERANCE. God bless everyone!”

The term has just ended yesterday with fun parties to celebrate, but the memory of a classroom along with awesome students will last eternally – it will never be forgotten – it is always larger-than-life experience to treasure.

 

Veranda (Part 2)

Although I come from a very superstitious family and orientation, but none of this gullibility could spellbind me. Listening to credulous rumor wasn’t just my cup of tea – it was never fascinating. And so seeing things from my tiny veranda are all naturals including those inexplicable existences that required more grace to understand.

One might be tempted to deduce looking at the clouds in a form of a rabbit, of a horse and the moon as the eye, but last night’s one-of-a-kind scenery above the sky was purely coincidence – only a happenstance that needs no interpretation. And if it did – it was simply a manifestation of favor for my eyes to behold freely – straight from my veranda.

I don’t have a television or a radio in my room, but I can tell how angry Mr. Sun is or how happy Mr. Moon as well. A step away from my kitchen is my favorite place at home where I don’t need an earth-orbiting satellite to transmit communications signals or a powerful instrument to predict the weather – I can see it plain from my veranda.

And a step away from my veranda is like sitting next to a fiery oven dripping sweat. It’s just a thin line distance to feel a changed temperature. Thanks to my veranda where I can cool myself down especially when wind do not bring much coldness. I prefer fresh air because I dislike air from the electric fan a lot.

Whether or not I am tired, I have to clean my veranda keeping it neat and indulging. Or else it will be untidy to take advantage of.  

For as long as I am in this house, this tiny place is inseparable – not a single night or day I’d miss taking pleasure in – regardless what each season brings – one will always find me here moon watching and counting numerous stars and guessing weathers and beholding sunsets and expecting sunrises and many more.

For whatever reason brought me to my veranda every time, people will not be able to understand my intention. Many times I got the feeling that my neighborhood is very suspicious of me – whether I’m a psycho or a spy or someone else – at least from my observation. If only they grasped grace is, then they will truly comprehend me and my obsession with veranda – a favored place one tenant couldn’t afford.      

Like any unpredictable days, this is where I spent my quiet time to reflect life and the stresses it caused me and others. This is where I prayed for mercy and safety when rumors of war worry every citizen of this country left scary individuals paranoid – right in this miniscule spot of my house.

Typical or unordinary night my veranda is always welcoming – I usually drink my coffee or tea here; I listen to my favorite songs here whether or not I hum or sing along with; I also sleep here once in a while when heat is just too hot to bear.

I can no longer remember each drama and eureka moment my eyes have witnessed simply in this place where I spend most of the time at home – they are too many to recall.   

One cold evening as I was enjoying the cool breeze in my veranda, I fell asleep. Suddenly I felt a severe heat all over my body and smelled a strange burning substance.

What was that? I said while my nose in protest. And then I woke few of my closest neighbors up including the guard to make sure nobody was burning the house down. Few minutes after there was a power cut which alarmed the whole community.

Paranoia after paranoia drove some minds wild that night trying to give few assumptions – when what ifs were just irresistible to think of.    

“It smells like Chinese incense to me!” a friend said. Her comment settled everything. We realized that the Chinese community was actually in celebration, burning intolerable incenses.

If I wasn’t in my veranda, I would not know. So this place for hundred times gives me access to think of others’ welfare when dangers is seemingly present – not for nosiness’ sake but trying not to be indifferent.

As usual, horns at night annoyed me still but I know these noises are only temporary. I’m not going to be here forever. So let this bugging be and have me enjoy this veranda. Maybe in my next move out won’t be able to find a place like this or maybe bigger than this. No one knows exactly! 

 

Bidding

He thought he would not survive for another day or one more day at least. This time he was on the verge of throwing in the towel a byzantine life he once learned to embrace, and wage war for thirteen thousand and eight hundred seventy days. One miss call a way could be the end of the line or the last part of his unembroidered journey in this erratic world filled with volatilities.

The noontime sun wasn’t that scorching hot and yet it weakened him harshly like he was so close to hell. He knew it wasn’t the heat but the pressure of life which left him struggling for subsistence – whether it would soon cause a confused mind or a dying soul ready to pull the trigger.

He was just too tired to resist another condemning idea and to look at the bright side of life in this anguish. He was so sick of pretending about each lie the future has in stored. It seemed like every reason to live was gone by the wind and so he could no longer give himself a shot to stay for more.

He has suffered so much more.

What a misery!

Six hours to his damnation was no difference to a ten-second countdown of kicking the bucket.  And so he had to sms and call someone, the first and only person should know about his agony before it’s too late. He did. Fortunately his friend heard his plead and made a promise to come soon to his rescue. Thanks goodness!

But hours and even days before that was another story – he was in gloom. Even though he tried every possible answer to get out of this desolation, yet nothing happened. Life stressed him out until he’s worn out – not even a hint of hope to see or a small voice of God to hear. Each single minute was a torment to endure.   

He is his only friend in this strange land – a person who never gives up on him and never will be – his help in small and in big troubles. His friend came an hour later and that’s when the bidding started.

“Is that how your life worth - a hundred and sixty dollar?” His friend asked.

“Yes, it is…for now!” He confided.

“I’ll pay for it and even higher. It’s just small amount and you deserve a life.” His friend said his final bidding.

“Sold! I’m your slave now. Thanks for saving my life.” He told his friend in gratitude.

Then they went off somewhere to settle what has just been bid so he can now have a fresh start – a new life, twelve hours before his birthday or else they will mourn for him on the day he was born (dancing into mourning).  

He has never bid his life for money or wealth or fortune in this world – not that he knows of. But destiny has just been very cruel lately which left him almost defeated. Thanks to another miracle although he gave up believing. And thanks to his only friend for saving him from this road he’s on. He owes him one.

“Life is beautiful!” he used to say this to himself for countless times like anyone else who believes in the splendor of every existence around. Amidst obscurity of life and the darkness it brought all through these years, he was hopeful still but not that day when he had to bid the price not even worth his life – he knew it he’s worth much more than that – so priceless.   

Reminding himself about his worth didn’t make sense anymore – to live in shame for eternity or take away his life were the options at that moment. He didn’t bid a single amount but destiny did and so his friend had to outdo that bid to save him.

For many years he used to believe that “life is truly precious” and he had to do every single chance to preserve it – do whatever it takes to behold life and have it to the fullest. But not in this less than a minute situation – when life’s a bitch and there’s no motivation left to win the race or die in the attempt. Now death is next in line and all he had to do was to ask the kind bidder – his friend and no else would do it for him.

And so he owes him his life big time. 

   

Ma'am C

Aside from enduring Advanced Algebra, Physics, and other knotty subjects in high school, writing a composition was another thorn in the flesh – a sheer hell to many students but a joy to few including me. I liked writing since then and so it was no big deal.

“Again?!” I could hear my classmates in gripe as they made attempts to put every imagination from rough to final drafts. Whether it was an announced or a surprised task, it was never a great idea to come up with a beautiful essay. And four years were like light years away to bear – as often as not a struggle more than just a pain in the neck. I could tell.

Right now, I’m so tempted to say that it is undeniably my destiny to write – for one reason is to bless every heart. However, it is also a pure vanity not to mention or not even alluding to the person who had affirmed this gift in many chances – it was Maám C, my teacher dear in high school.

If only she had a choice, she would probably want all her students to be very good at grammar or to do well in creative writing as much as she did. But it wasn’t for her to decide because gifting and interest vary. Well, she had me and I owe to her this inspiration for as long as I live.     

Every time the word “grammar” is brought up in a conversation, I am but constantly reminded of her. It’s always stepping back in time when I first learned the language rules by heart besides basic foundation. I wonder if she noticed my eagerness and enthusiasm for such an area of interest; maybe or maybe not...who knows?

I was always a late bloomer in my younger years, in different domains except singing – from literary works to sports and even in academics, I began to have developments only in my secondary years. To be honest, I started playing the piano in my senior year in high school.

I had my first written poems and songs in sophomore year including cheering yells and jingles. And so it was a great feeling to have someone to affirm your strengths – Ma’am C alongside with my appreciative classmates.

Through her I had come to know the life of every famous poet – that I might be inspired and urged to write more – I did for many years.

Hope stirred within my heart by becoming a journalist because she helped me see it – she prayed for my dream and seconded my aspiration. She always bragged about me to other students. I heard it through the grapevines.     

“You are a natural teacher, a gifted one!” she told me a couple of times for every opportunity reporting the assigned topic. She wasn’t foretelling or prophesying but she was avowing what she saw in me. And no one could distort that image or nothing could take those kind words away from me, not a single chance.

  

Where I am from, we don’t really address our teachers by first name; we call them Ma’am or Sir to show respect regardless of status and age. But it is no unusual to give teachers other names as well as long as they aren’t aware of that or no one calls them those made up names.

And so we had one for her – Ma’am C or Ma’am Composition – a funny name to others but not to those who find inspiration from the name itself.  For it was in this seemingly bizarre name I have become what I am now. If not in this, I wonder if I could write an essay or a reflection paper or a research paper or a thesis or dissertation or a book or simply have the courage to join any literary competitions.

Through Ma’am C, my confused imagination was unlocked becoming a creative, a reflective, and a critical thinker more than I could predict – because of one unanticipated composition a person like me would seriously take.   

If I wasn’t told, didn’t know that I gave her bolt from the blue for my write-ups. She was my captive audience and for sure would still be if she hasn’t gone home. 

This is not the first time to feature her in my journey to the world of writing, I already did few times. If you have been following my blog, you probably have read an article (“Don’t Forget to Remember Me”) by now; featuring people who have blessed me tremendously. And if it takes hundred write-ups to do it, I would not mind.

It’s truly a big regret; she could have had copies of my published and unpublished works. And my heart is in endless thanks to you, Maám C. 

IN AND YET OUT

Unless a conjunction “and yet” is supplied in between two opposite prepositions (in, out), no grammarian could reconcile the weirdness of this thought – making these words similarly connected. As far as the use of rules is concerned, this is unacceptable.

Aside from driving a lot of minds wacky, I wonder how many question mark sign I would get to express their wordless comments for using contradicting words as my status on Facebook – in and yet out – to express their confusion in my intention to abridge a story through this bamboozling discourse.

“In and yet out, ‘does it make sense to you?’ ” I asked two of my Australian cohorts.

“No!” They said frowned, confused.

“That’s the point.” I told them.

For forty-six hours last weekend, I decided to live in seclusion. It wasn’t the first time in months, but had it for several instances reasonably. I wanted to be alone – again – to think about life and my suffering at the moment – when praying was more intent than those fervent prayers in the past – when nothing was gravest than this.

But had my Facebook logged on so that I could still see the outside world and pray for those in need of intercession as well. I might be in the room physically and yet out at the same time in spirit. So that even in my downcast soul, I could still see and hear hints of hopes from encouraging individuals in this seemingly doomed condition.

Thanks to human brain to produce one creative imagination after another because it’s the only way to make things happen in the absence of our mortal presences. Through this we can still remember friends and family in prayers or think about their welfares – in and yet out somewhere.

We may be miles or so million miles away and yet it’s like home because our minds can possibly bring us back no matter the distance – by imagining – when you don’t have to experience the hassle of traveling to get home; for we’re always home.

Also thanks to Facebook for the instant access to the real world – unraveling every thing including bits and pieces man wants to know or does not. One acceptable ground is for the sake of awareness not to live indifferently. Although I was in a secluded place and yet it’s like out in the arena knowing what’s going on and praying about it. It’s one of my raisons d'être.

It’s good to be alone at times but it’s also good to keep attached or in touched to the outside world – in and yet out – two irreconcilable contraries – my alternative way of explaining a phrase, which is … “physically present  and yet mentally aware”.      

So confusing or incomprehensible this may seem and I totally understand, but not for sensitive people. It’s always a preference to remain indifferent. I pray that in your isolation or privacy you will still remember others who are in pain and suffering.