[week 2: wishes, shovels, and nostalgia]

First of all, all I’ve eaten today is coffee and a couple of pita chips. Unhealthy. smh.

Yet another week of Kindergarten runs away (like the gingerbread cookies we made) and I’m left to reflect on it, as I have promised myself. I’m also currently Facebook chatting with one of my froshies from last year. He’s that kid who doesn’t do well in school because he’s bored and intellectually beyond his classmates. But he seems to be doing well. That makes me happy.

“A wish”
We have lots of dandelions in our recess area. This means that we also have a lot of dandelion seeds floating in the air. But in Kindergarten, they are not dandelion seeds – they are “wishes.” So every time a dandelion seed floats by, one of the kinders points to it and yells, “a wish!” At this point, they attempt to catch it. If they do, I remind them that it’s someone else’s wish, so if they also make a wish on it, they have to share the seed. Wishes are made and then blown away again.

Kinder poetry.

Shovels
A kid threw a shovel because he thought it was funny. The boy next to him was no longer blonde afterwards. Now he has big ass staples in his head. Oh, kindergarten.

The Magic Clay
We had to have a long discussion at circle time this week, to establish our “agreements” for the class (i.e. keep your hands to yourself, respect other people, don’t throw shovels, etc). And by long discussion, I mean a discussion lasting longer than 7 min. So to keep their energy flowing in the right direction and maintain focus, the master teacher (who I will refer to as MT, from now on) gave them colorful pieces of clay to play with while we had our discussion. In theory, this is an excellent idea, especially since I’m the type of person that would need a toy.

In practice – it actually works! I mean, there were definitely a few kids who were more into their balls of clay than the conversation. BUT for the most part, they were all able to split attentions. Me gusta.

MT 1 Kinders 0

Nostalgia
Uncle Cracker (my partner in crime – I’ll explain in a future post) and I were given the task to go check-out a shit ton (yes, a shit ton) of picture books from the library during reading time. That was probably the most fun task this whole week. I ended up finding all of the picture books that I grew up with, even some of the ones I don’t like, and got to a have a moment with my kinder self. Turns out Uncle Cracker’s favorite books were the same, so we get to have a friendly fight over who gets to read which books to the kids. In any case,  now I get to reread all of my happy picture books, or have them read to me (thanks to Uncle Cracker).

This coming week is Back To School Night. I love those – not. Also, because we teach kinders, we see their parents all of the time. So really, I don’t know why we need Back To School Night for kinders… I guess for the specialist. In any case, huzzah.

I have now completed a plate of left over Filipino food. Om nom nom. But really, plantains in my chicken adobo? Hm… questionable.

I would write more, but with family members visiting, and very little sleep, I need to get to bed before 10 pm. More on MT and Uncle Cracker later.

[dragon eggs, voices, and CSI]

So I survived the first week of Kindergarten. THANK GOODNESS. I had no doubt that I would survive it, but it was still a relief when it was done. To make life a bit more manageable, I’m going to bullet point my observations from this week. It’s probably the only form of “order” I get out of the general chaos that is kindergarten. And lord knows I need some order right now.

1.) Kindergarten = 9th Grade = College Freshmen
No, really. There isn’t too much difference between the three groups… The first day of school usually consists of impeccably dressed children (yes, ‘children’ applies to all three groups) and their overenthusiastic parents that ask every question under the moon while the child tries to stray away in an attempt to look cool in front of his or her peers. Yes, even the kindergarteners. There is so much anticipation, excitement, and fear in the air. And OH MY GOSH, will the parents please just stop?! Your kid and I will connect when we’re meant to. Don’t try to force it. I appreciate the cupcakes and chocolate though…

I feel like I’ve done so many first days of school…

2.) A simple left over easter egg on the other side of a fence = Golden Dragon Egg
I always knew that children had a more vivid imagination that adults. I’ve heard it in studies as well as seen it before my eyes. But now that I teach kindergarten and am surrounded by kids in early childhood, I’m seeing this imagination take place at such a magnified proximity. Our kids found a plastic silver egg on the other side of the fence where kids can’t go. It was left over from summer camp but they immediately concluded that it was a dragon egg. So then the first week was consumed with trying to figure out how to attain the egg from the other side of the fence.

This is your first hit when you search "cute dragon" on google images.

Some kids drew and created elaborate contraptions with stick and rope that was meant to somehow grab the egg, while the other kids fought to leave the egg alone in case the mother dragon returned. One of my favorite opinions/conclusions was that the egg was too soft and we had to wait a few more days until the egg hardened and came to term… and then we could scoop it out with a basket. This kid has been watching Animal Planet too much…

Also, in attempts to get the egg, the kids tried to create a seesaw contraption that would catapult a student across the fence – just like one might see on a cartoon.  BRILLIANT idea. Just not the safest. I wish we could’ve done it though. It was really tough to come up with a reason not to do their seesaw catapult idea besides “it’s not safe.” But who the f cares if it’s not safe? Let’s catapult a kid across!

It is fascinating to see how these little minds are operating and comprehending information. Clearly, I have much to learn when it comes to imagination and play.

3.) Goal: Don’t feel like I have to respond to every child
Since this first week of school hasn’t included much ‘academics’ (like math, P.E., writing, reading, etc), I’ve had the chance to do a lot of observing and reflection. What I noticed was that on a subconscious and conscious level, I feel the need to respond to every child and every outburst. This is very tiring and draining. It’s like when you have a bag with a leak that you don’t know about, and by the time you realize it, the liquid in the bag has drained out. That’s sort of how my energy drains out of my body every time I respond to each kid.

I was watching my master teacher and realized that she really only responds to the kids about 30% of the time. No, she’s not being a b*tch. She’s just picking and choosing which students actually require the attention and need a response. And then of course figuring out those comments that will be fun to elaborate on and will move the class forward. Many of the kids’ outbursts stem from their lack of self-control and general excitement for what’s happening at the moment. But they dont’ really care if you hear or respond to them. They just need to speak.

So what I’m going to work on for the next week or two is figuring out my own balance of who and when to respond to a child and understanding when to just smile and nod.

4.) I need to work on my voices.
I kind of knew this, but for some reason it didn’t register before – but kindergarten has A LOT of reading story books out loud. This in itself is great. Reading picture books aloud is the most ego-abandoning activity one can do. But I really suck at characters voices for the characters in the book. I also tend to forget which voices I used for which characters and then I get confused and the kids get confused and it’s all just a big mess.

So yes, I need to work on voices and accents. It doesn’t help that my partner is ridiculously good at voices.  So much pressure.

That's right. CSI. What what?!

5.) Play-doh, dust, sand, paint, marker, glue, snot… My clothes are not happy
There is just so much going on in the day… My clothes end up being a canvas for kindergarten. So you want to know what happens on a typical day in kindergarten? CSI my clothes and forensic science that shit.

 

I don’t even know what to expect for this coming week. All I know is that this wine is definitely holding me through for the week. smh.

[reading list for (the 2nd half of) 2011]

I was inspired by one of today’s Freshly Pressed, Summer Reading list 2011 and decided that I must make my own. Except in my case, my reading list would span for the rest of the year, and not just the summer.

I was reading in The Happiness Project that it’s not a horrible thing to reread books that you enjoy. That seems to make sense to me. So keeping that in mind, a few that I will be rereading in the near future:

• Eat, Pray, Love by Elizabeth Gilbert (Call me a cliche, but this book really did change my life and my relationship with spirituality. And also, I read it before the rest of the world jumped on the bandwagon. I am a trend setter, not a follower)
• The Unthethered Soul by Michael A. Singer (Probably had more of an impact on me than Deepak Chopra)
• A New Earth by Eckhart Tolle (Are you noticing a pattern yet?)
• Red River by Lalita Tademy (I had Thanksgiving dinner with Lita a couple of years ago. She’s a fascinating woman and I love her books. It’s like Gabriel Garcia Marquez but Black History version)

The Classics. I’m thinking that the theme for the rest of the year should be The Classics.

I just finished telling a friend that I hadn’t read a single Jane Austen book and that I was a disgrace to all normal, non-suicidal, looking-for-love, I-love-The-Notebook women in the world. The only thing is I don’t like The Notebook.

So, the Classics:

• Pride & Prejudice by Jane Austen
• Sense & Sensibility by Jane Austen
• Gone With the Wind by Margaret Mitchell
• A Charles Dickens book (I don’t know which one yet. My former boss is a Dickens fanatic – er… academic – so I should probably ask her)
• The Merry Wives of Windsor by William Shakespeare (Why not?)
• Wuthering Heights by Emily Bronte
• Jane Eyre by Charlotte Bronte

Non-Classics I should probably read anyways:

• The Hunger Games by Suzanne Collins
• The Help by Kathryn Stockett

I’m sure there are many, many more that I want to read and I should read. For right now, this is probably a good place to start.

Here I come, Washington Square Park!

[the happiness project]

I finally finished reading Gretchen Rubin‘s The Happiness Project. It took me about a month longer than it should’ve – mostly because I took a month off from reading anything happiness related. A few days ago, I finally picked up the book again, mostly out of pure stubbornness of needing to finish the book rather than my desire to embrace happiness again.

To be honest, I picked up the book randomly at Costco because it was sitting next to The Girl Who Kicked the Hornet’s Nest and since I was buying The Girl I figured I’d buy the book next to it with a pretty blue cover. I knew nothing about it and didn’t even realize that the reason her name seemed so familiar was because I had actually spent a summer uploading various blog posts from her onto Intent.com. And really, I was also just drawn to the title.

So I started the book expecting to like it. And then I actually didn’t like it. And then I decided to just embrace the book as it is and I would say that when I closed the book an hour ago, I was more or less satisfied with what I read.

My initial dislike for the book can probably be narrowed down to the fact that I was expecting an Eat, Pray, Love sort of book, but instead got a New York lawyer-turned-writer who really liked to quote famous people and laundry list studies related to happiness.

I also didn’t feel a lot of “reflection” being done on her side. While I knew that the point of her book was to tackle every day things in life, she did seem to do a lot of nagging and criticism throughout the book. Thankfully, 250 pages in, she finally recognized the demons in herself and realized she needed to change. This may have saved the whole book for me. It is also slightly ironic that she did not seem to get to the nagging and criticism piece until November – my birthday month.

Alas.

That said, I suppose Rubin’s take on happiness and her life was a somewhat refreshing break from the Deepak Chopra and Gangaji books that I’ve been having a hard time concentrating on lately. And let me remind you that by the end of the book, I actually enjoyed her book.

There are a few things that I think I can take from this book (this is when I am glad that I am disgustingly reflective by nature):

1.) It is easy to be heavy: hard to be light

Rubin is reminded of this quote from G. K. Chesterton when she realizes how much easier it is to criticize, be unhappy, and be negative than it is to appear happy. My mother would probably argue that I am a walking billboard for this statement. In truth, I don’t actually enjoy being sad or negative, and I don’t like it when other people are either – hence my recent physical move in the workplace. I didn’t enjoy the criticism and negativity over my shoulders. So I left.

On a similar note, teaching is probably a weird affirmation of this quote. It is easy to yell at or criticize my students for the bad work that they had done, or the lack of work all together. It is harder to try to joke around with a 14 year old’s sense of humor and easier to scoff at their immaturity.

It is easy to be heavy, and by god do I know it. It is hard to be light, and do I know this as well. But hard does not mean impossible. So recognize that it is hard, and keep trying.

I think I should have that last paragraph tattooed on to my forehead.

2.) Apparently, by definition, I am actually neurotic.

Okay, so maybe not the most accurate of statements. Nonetheless, Rubin finds that the definition of “neurotic” is something along the lines of people who have “very strong negative reactions – fear anxiety, shame, guilt, disgust, sadness – very often directed at themselves” (pg. 265) By this definition, I think I’ve been neurotic since I turned 11 years old.

3.) To be happy, you need to consider feeling good, feeling bad, and feeling right, in an atmosphere for growth.

I remember in January of 2010, after a relatively emotionally tumultuous 2008 and 2009, I made the conscious decision to be happier – my own happiness project without labeling it as such and not knowing Rubin’s book existed (it was published in 2009). This meant taking a class that I was interested in even if it didn’t really count toward anything for graduation, saying yes to adventurous weekend expeditions that I usually would have said no to (basically “say yes”), reaching out to important friends, and concentrating on myself. The results were immediate – I was intellectually stimulated by my Asian-American literature class, enjoyed Sunday morning hikes and museum hopping in the city (great pictures!), got to catch up with friends that I hadn’t talked to in a while, and got work done.

Along the way, I also got to a point where I could really let myself embody the idea, “love and be loved.” I finally stopped resisting what was blatantly in front of my face and to let myself be loved. And sure enough, I found love.

For the first time in a while, I was happy with where I was.

Here was strong evidence that my own happiness project, that was unknowingly quite similar to Rubin’s, actually worked.

After I graduated, though, I slowly began to give away again to my neuroticism (look! I can label myself now!). I had no direction post-graduation, I went to live under the same roof as my mother (a decision that I knew would probably be emotionally unhealthy for me and ultimately was), and widened the physical distance between myself and all things that I loved by moving to the most physically isolated island in the world. I couldn’t go hiking with friends, museum hopping with my bosses, and most of all, I lost opportunities of shared experiences with the person that I loved.

There were moments when I tried to revive my happiness project. I said yes to a job that I knew would challenge me and force me to grow. I thought living with my mother again would reestablish our relationship post-divorce and I would develop a relationship with my new step dad. And I met some very interesting people through work.

That said, my level of happiness dropped immensely in the few months after college and moving back home. My family could feel it, my friends could sense it, and my biggest regret is that I forced the burden on to the person I love.

While I haven’t been able to snap out of this state of decline completely, somewhere along the way I realized that I needed to move and be near my friends and community. I needed to move away from home and be my own person.

I needed to stop asking others to carry my burden with me and to start acting happy so I could actually be happy. Consider feeling good.

Unfortunately, I realized this too late and have lost the person I love. Consider feeling bad.

And now I’m taking steps to move forward, albeit rather struggling through it, to the next chapter in my life. Roommates, new apartment, new city, and new job. Consider feeling right.

One of my happiest moments is sitting at Evo's Coffee Shop in Ashland, Oregon

I know all of this will cultivate growth. I do not doubt that. But this is also why the lovely phrase “easier said than done” exists.

I know that I have to start my happiness project again. And I know that there is no right time to start it. In fact, the right time is probably now.

But first, I think I need to get my life in order. I need to reconsider what feels good, what makes me feel pain, and what feels right.

I already know a few of the resolutions that will be included in my happiness project:
- eat more vegetables and fruit (thank goodness SF is very hippie)
- take a dance class (my body is screaming for this)
- volunteer to help youth (help others!)
- learn to flirt (I am absolutely horrible at this)

If anything, even if I didn’t always enjoy Rubin’s method of spewing happiness studies or how half of her chapters involved her taking excerpts from her comments on her blog (probably shaved off about 30 pages of the book if those weren’t there), perhaps the most important thing I will take from this book is a reminder that I need to get back on track.

In her “The Happiness Project Manifesto” Rubin declares, “you’re not happy unless you think you’re happy.” I don’t think I’m happy. That’s why I’m not happy. But I know that I was happy once, so I know that I’m capable of it.

Finally, in her last chapters, Rubin quotes Samuel Johnson in his reflection about resolutions: “The need of doing, therefore, is pressing, since the time of doing is short.” In other words, just get off my ass and start that damn happiness project. Stop wallowing in sadness. Look forward to the next hour, the next week, the next month.

The time of doing is, indeed, short.

–

Rubin’s “The Happiness Project Toolbox“

[tiger mother, Asian daughter]

I just finished reading Amy Chua’s Battle Hymn of the Tiger Mother.

Let me start off by saying that I actually enjoyed it. I thought I would rebel greatly against her child rearing philosophies and then want to throw the book across the room. On the contrary, I pretty much read it in one sitting (it was also short and simple enough to finish in one sitting).

Honestly, rather than disagreeing with Chua tactics, I related immensely to the characters (or… er… her family) – especially her eldest daughter, Sophia.

My mother is not what you call a “stereotypical Asian mother” though she is Japanese – born and raised in Japan by a Japanese mother. She would boast that she is actually quite the opposite, and seeing that both my brother and I ended up going into the performing arts (not classical piano or music) I rest my case.

At least that’s what most people think and I almost bought into as well.

Unfortunately, or fortunately depending on your interpretation, after reading this book I realized that my mother had enough “Asian mother” in her to be… well… The Asian Mother.

I often categorize my mother as “too Western to be completely Japanese” and my father as “too Asian to be Asian-American.” I think this fundamental disagreement in way of living contributed greatly to their divorce. Having a “too Western” mother meant watching musicals instead of going to piano lessons and declaring our (my mom, brother, and myself) mathematical incompetencies (an Asian mom that is horrible at math – she seemed to break the cardinal rule right there).

But as I read Chua talk about drilling her children with multiplication tables (apparently also teaching them math in the Chinese way), I was reminded of all of the car rides, baths, and post-dinner sessions where I had to repeat the multiplication tables to her in Japanese. Luckily, the Japanese have a riddle-like, sing-song way to memorize multiplication tables that allows you to memorize multiplication not based on numbers, but whatever sound followed each other. It proved phenomenally useful when I had 50 problem multiplication quizzes in fifth grade, but achieving fluency in those multiplication took countless hours of grueling repetition and my mother yelling “Practice your multiplication tables! You messed up! Start again! Okay, now start from 1 and go all the way to 9 without messing up!”

Half of the book is devoted to Chua’s battle with her daughters – mostly her younger daughter, Lulu – to get them to practice the piano (Sophia) and violin (Lulu). On bad days, the daughters play for hours on end with Chua by their side giving pointers and yelling at them whenever they made a mistake. I remember quitting piano in 2nd grade because a.) it wasn’t fun and b.) I didn’t like having my mom nag me about how I had to practice. Hmm…

When I let go of piano though, ballet and Ikebana took place. I shudder just thinking about all the times we argued about me not wanting to go to 2 hours of ballet rehearsal where I was yelled at because I wasn’t good enough after 3 hours of basketball practice where I was told the same, while she countered with how I had a responsibility to my teacher and dance studio and that she did not want me to embarrass her and myself with so many absences. There were so many nights where we sat in the parking lot of my dance studio, 15 minutes before lessons started, with me in the back seat crying my eyes out and my mom yelling at me and throwing in a slap or two depending on that night’s argument.

Now that I think about it, in the first 18 years of my life, I feel that there are very few things that I did on my own accord – most everything was influenced incredibly by my mother. This is where I relate to Sophia. She is the “good daughter” that listens to Chua and excels in everything her mother tells her to do. But much of her actions seem to come from her desire to not “rock the boat.” It is easier to just go practice piano than to go through the yelling match with her mother. Instead of trying to argue with my mom about why I didn’t want to do the speech team or continue with Ikebana, it was easier to just do it. And luckily if I did well, we were all winners.

I realize that this sounds like I’m just complaining and that I’m an ungrateful child of an Asian mother. I’m not ungrateful – I AM grateful for the experiences I had. Regardless of whether it all amounted to anything post-college, I’m grateful that she forced me to go to ballet lessons for 15 years, continue Ikebana until I got my teaching license, and participate in the speech team for all four years of high school. I knew all of those activities took an incredible amount of money to continue and that I was not necessarily a cheap child to raise. I wrote my college application essay about her and how her insistence that I continue everything I started was a great lesson to learn.

I also have a competitive, perfectionist streak in me so that if I was going to do something – whether I wanted to or not – it had to be done fully and to perfection. This was partly to avoid my mother’s nagging and criticism of my work, but also because if I was going to do it, at least I was going to do it right.

Yes, I am confirming Chua’s belief about the Chinese mother and family dynamic – the child will end up feeling grateful for all that the parent had done for us.

But I would also like to point out that these feelings are not void of resentment. So when I read Lulu’s outburst in Russia where she finally bursts from all the pressure her mother put on her, I wished that I was her. I wish I had done that for all the years that I felt forced and pressured to do something. My mother’s Tiger Mother tendencies used to reach out to my school and peers as well and I knew that most, if not all, of my friends resented me or disliked me to a certain extent because of the behaviors of my mother. It was not unusual for me to be called names – brown noser, teacher’s pet – by my peers behind my back. And when those high school insecurities are combined with the pressures of a Tiger Mother, it’s incredibly hard to keep yourself composed. But I did it. I did it through the hours of grueling ballet lessons, hours of lecturing about commitment and responsibilities, criticisms about how I look, talk, breathe, and ultimately my parents’ divorce.

But I’m grateful. I’m sure I wouldn’t have gotten into the college I had graduated from if it wasn’t for her pushing and nagging. And I’m sure I wouldn’t have been able to have as many things to show if it wasn’t for her driving me from point A to B to C every night with no complaint.

There’s a funny line toward the end of the book that made me laugh out loud and then nod in agreement:

“Sophia… you’re just like I was in my family: the oldest, the one that everyone counts on and no one has to worry about. It’s an honor to play that role. The problem is that Western culture doesn’t see it that way. In Disney movies, the ‘good daughter’ always has to have a breakdown and realize that life is not all about following rules and willing prizes, and then take off her clothes and run into the ocean or something like that. But that’s just Disney’s way of appealing to all people who never win any prizes. Winning prizes gives you opportunities, and that’s freedom – not running into the ocean.”

Then again, how many times does Disney feature the “eldest daughter” as the main character? Usually it’s the youngest or the only child. I will admit that college ended up being my “taking my clothes off and running into the ocean…” But I have 18 years of blood, sweat, and tears in battle with my Tiger Mother to show.

As I closed the book, I had a sense of satisfaction knowing that what I had suspected about my mother was true – my mother WAS an Asian mother, whether she liked it or not.

But on the same account, I must also face that I am, at least a little bit, an Asian daughter.