What's this feeling? Frustration, weakness, loss of hope. Oh yeah, despair. That kind of sums up my morning. It was my first day of teaching after a week away. Usually these first days are a little rough around the edges. Today it was a train wreck.
Last semester my biggest problem was chattiness and trying to get the students to focus. Now it's quiet in the classroom, a little too quiet. It's all too obvious to me now that the kids have stopped trying. I've hit a wall of apathy and now I am banging my head against it.
The senior one (10th grade) students are divided into six classes, the brightest kids in three classes and the rest in the remaining three. I had four classes this morning, three of them with the not-so-bright kids.
To motivate the unmotivated is like conjuring some magic spell. Some teachers have that gift and I have to accept that I just don't. I'm up against too much. There are too many who don't care and who don't care to such a great degree that I can't even get them to repeat words after me. ("I can't see," a student said to me this morning to try to get out of reading.)
The kids are ranked in their classes from the time they are five or six. From then on, you are labeled a "good" student or a "bad" student. The unfortunate thing is that some of my "bad" students are pretty good at English; they just couldn't care less about learning English.
In my third period class, after 40 minutes of urging students to answer questions and read sentences without one hand being raised, I came close to walking out.
"You're angry," one of the students said in Chinese.
I sighed heavily. I was angry, but instead I said, "I'm not angry. I'm just not happy. Every week you are like this. No one raises their hand."
I left the classroom the moment the bell rang and sat in the office brooding and thinking, "There are no bad students, only bad teachers." But the truth is, there are bad students. Maybe if they had more encouragement from parents or teachers early on and even now, this wouldn't be the way things are now.
I'm no super teacher nor a magic conjurer, but I am an optimist. I still have some time to figure out how to break through that wall.
Friday, May 7, 2010
Thursday, May 6, 2010
Shanghai: Fifteen minutes of fame on the Bund
When a tall, blonde American stands on Shanghai's Bund, Chinese people have an overwhelming urge to take a picture with him.
Allen and I had just asked a man to take a picture of the two of us on the iconic banks of the Huangpu River. Perhaps others passing by thought I was just another Chinese tourist, and perhaps they thought this was a hard-to-come-by opportunity, to stand side by side with a foreigner and have it memorialized.
The first ones were men who had hired one of the professional photographers along the river. Others saw this and within less than five minutes, fifteen people stopped to ask Allen for a picture. Men and women, young and old. At one point, three people who didn't know each other -- with point-and-shoot cameras and camera phones -- were taking pictures of him at the same time.
This isn't the first time Chinese people have made this request to him. I just found it strange that it should happen in Shanghai and, not only that, the most touristy part of Shanghai. Plenty of other foreigners were walking along the river too. Why they targeted Allen I'm not sure. One theory is he stands out more with his height and light-colored hair. Another theory is that he was with a Chinese girl (me) so perhaps seemed more approachable. Whatever the reason, this was celebrity.
Hangzhou: Heaven on earth
"There is Heaven in the sky and there are Suzhou and Hangzhou on earth." -- famous Chinese saying
Allen and I have returned from a week in Hangzhou and Shanghai. I have been itching to go to Hangzhou for some time now. Often Chinese people ask about my laojia -- literally my 'old home.' When I tell them my mother's side of the family is originally from Zhejiang Province, they immediately ask, "Have you been to Hangzhou? ... No? Then you must go. The West Lake is beautiful."
After two full days of walking and biking in Hangzhou, I must say the West Lake met my very high expectations. Trees lined the wide walkway, with pruned bushes and colorful flowers at every turn. On the lake itself, people rented small rowboats with cushioned seats inside. In the distance was downtown Hangzhou, a faint gray outline. It seemed that only around the lake was the city lively and bursting with color.
On the first day we circled the 15 kilometers around the lake by foot, which took most of the day. To me, what made this place so great wasn't the setting but the people there. Along the lake, couples walked holding hands, young parents pushed noisy strollers and every few steps people took photos of the view. One of the best things about traveling in China is watching Chinese people pose for photos. They must take no less than five shots of the same pose before repeating with another pose. I imagine many of these people did not even make it halfway around the lake.
After lunch, we returned to the lakeside where crowds huddled around singers, erhu players and drummers. The music was traditional Chinese folk, a singing style that sounds high-pitched and nasal-y. I'll call it an acquired taste. I'm not a fan of the music but I loved watching the crowd form during the impromptu concerts. It seemed at any moment a curiosity of some sort could draw a crowd. A couple with two miniature bunnies sat down across from us. Allen went over to pet one of the bunnies and I took a picture. Within seconds, a few people stopped to watch. Before I had a chance to take another photo, the young woman with the bunny was surrounded by people.
Our second day in Hangzhou coincided with May 1, a Saturday and also a national holiday for Labor Day. The lake was transformed. The streets encircling the lake were jammed with buses, cars, motorcycles and bicycles, including the two we rented. The bridges over the lakes and the pavilions perfect for photos ops were packed end-to-end. It looked like people were waiting in a mass line, but for what? They were already at the destination.
Weaving through traffic, we eventually made our way west, away from the dangerously close bumpers. The traffic, on both the roads and sidewalks, thinned. Very soon I spotted rows of short, dark green bushes. Straw hats poked above the bushes as women picked the tea leaves. Hangzhou is famous for its dragon well tea, and by chance we stumbled upon a park where there is an actual Dragon Well where the ancients prayed for rain.
Hangzhou is ranked the "happiest city" in China and I definitely see why. There's the perfect balance of nature's beauty and a big city's conveniences. (Just don't try to get a cab late at night downtown. It's near impossible to get a driver to take you to the West Lake. Trust me.) I wouldn't make a special trip to Hangzhou, but if you are going to Shanghai and have a day or two to spare, it's definitely worth the two-hour train ride.
Despite the pleasantness, I think it was just enough time. Any longer I might be bored from over-relaxation, if that's such a thing. So we headed to Shanghai when we did.
A day in my life
Travel website Matador published my article entitled, "A Day in the Life of an Expat in Lengshuijiang, China." Of course everyday is different with new surprises and challenges, but this article will give you a basic idea of what the typical day is like for me.
Friday, April 23, 2010
Foreign teacher ... and therapist?
I heard a soft rapping and thought it was my upstairs neighbor chopping vegetables. But the knocking continued so I opened the door just as the girl was about to leave.
“Can we have a chat?” she asked, and I let her in.
I didn’t remember her name but I knew her face. She was one of my better tenth grade students. I remembered her because her English was very good and she participated a lot in class. Whenever we ran into each other in the hallways, she greeted me cheerfully, her round face all smiles.
Today she was different. This chat, it turned out, would be an emotional unloading.
She sat on the edge of the chair, back straight, her eyes not leaving mine as she spoke. First she told me that she really wanted to talk to me because she felt like she related more with adults. There was no one in class she really connected with.
“Everyday I sit in my seat and I am -- ” She searched for the word in English. “Silent.”
She brought up her parents, who she said both worked so hard for her to go to school. She had just tried calling them on a school payphone, but all of the phones were broken except for one and now there was a long line to make a call. I asked what her parents do, and she told me they both work in a factory in Shenzhen. She repeated her previous statement, that they worked very hard. For her. She seemed pained as she spoke this sentence.
To fail at school was to fail her family and make their sacrifices all for nothing. The stress of performing well on the national college entrance exam or gao kao – more than two years away – already weighs heavily on her. Now she was doing terribly in science, she said. She spoke her worries about what would become of her if she didn't do well on the gao kao. The pressure was pushing her down, she said.
“I am falling and falling,” she said in Chinese and made a downward motion with her hands. She didn't always feel so helpless. In the past, she was like “Superwoman.”
But lately her health has suffered, she told me. I had noticed last week that she had gotten her hair cut into a short bob. I found out the cut was not to try out a new style. Her hair was falling out. She wanted to cut it to make the hair loss less obvious. She told me every time she washed her hair about 150 to 200 strands fell out. She had other problems too, like headaches and stomachaches. She couldn’t eat the dining hall food. It was too oily and made her throw up.
She was trying not to cry in front of me, constantly bringing her hands over her eyes, but the tears came and I handed her a tissue.
In English, she said, “My heart is tired.”
I spoke little the entire time as she shifted from Chinese to English and back. I didn’t know what to say, except some general encouraging statements, like, “Have confidence in yourself. You are a good student.” At the same time, I felt like this pressure to be the good student was the source of all her physical ailments. In a softer voice, I said, “Don’t put so much pressure on yourself. Just do your best.”
I stood up finally and told her I had to get ready for class. She thanked me for the chat and I watched the back of her bob as it descended the stairs.
As foreign teachers, what are we equipped with? I can sit and I can listen, but ultimately I can only silently disagree with the educational system in place here and watch as my students struggle not to be swallowed whole.
“Can we have a chat?” she asked, and I let her in.
I didn’t remember her name but I knew her face. She was one of my better tenth grade students. I remembered her because her English was very good and she participated a lot in class. Whenever we ran into each other in the hallways, she greeted me cheerfully, her round face all smiles.
Today she was different. This chat, it turned out, would be an emotional unloading.
She sat on the edge of the chair, back straight, her eyes not leaving mine as she spoke. First she told me that she really wanted to talk to me because she felt like she related more with adults. There was no one in class she really connected with.
“Everyday I sit in my seat and I am -- ” She searched for the word in English. “Silent.”
She brought up her parents, who she said both worked so hard for her to go to school. She had just tried calling them on a school payphone, but all of the phones were broken except for one and now there was a long line to make a call. I asked what her parents do, and she told me they both work in a factory in Shenzhen. She repeated her previous statement, that they worked very hard. For her. She seemed pained as she spoke this sentence.
To fail at school was to fail her family and make their sacrifices all for nothing. The stress of performing well on the national college entrance exam or gao kao – more than two years away – already weighs heavily on her. Now she was doing terribly in science, she said. She spoke her worries about what would become of her if she didn't do well on the gao kao. The pressure was pushing her down, she said.
“I am falling and falling,” she said in Chinese and made a downward motion with her hands. She didn't always feel so helpless. In the past, she was like “Superwoman.”
But lately her health has suffered, she told me. I had noticed last week that she had gotten her hair cut into a short bob. I found out the cut was not to try out a new style. Her hair was falling out. She wanted to cut it to make the hair loss less obvious. She told me every time she washed her hair about 150 to 200 strands fell out. She had other problems too, like headaches and stomachaches. She couldn’t eat the dining hall food. It was too oily and made her throw up.
She was trying not to cry in front of me, constantly bringing her hands over her eyes, but the tears came and I handed her a tissue.
In English, she said, “My heart is tired.”
I spoke little the entire time as she shifted from Chinese to English and back. I didn’t know what to say, except some general encouraging statements, like, “Have confidence in yourself. You are a good student.” At the same time, I felt like this pressure to be the good student was the source of all her physical ailments. In a softer voice, I said, “Don’t put so much pressure on yourself. Just do your best.”
I stood up finally and told her I had to get ready for class. She thanked me for the chat and I watched the back of her bob as it descended the stairs.
As foreign teachers, what are we equipped with? I can sit and I can listen, but ultimately I can only silently disagree with the educational system in place here and watch as my students struggle not to be swallowed whole.
Wednesday, April 21, 2010
When does enthusiasm die?
Between seventh and tenth grade, a lot happens to my students. They shoot past me in height. Their voices deepen. They care more about hairstyles and clothes. But the biggest change is not physical. As they transform from kids to young adults, what I notice most is my students' loss of excitement over learning.
When I began teaching, I found my seventh graders to be intolerable. I referred to them as my "little monsters." There was one week I started nearly every class period by breaking up a fight. I still regularly send troublemakers to the office, whether it is for cutting off a strand of a girl classmate's hair or throwing someone's notebook into a puddle. But I've come to understand that what makes the seventh graders monstrous is too much energy. Once I could control that energy, I had a class of (generally) well-behaved students who threw themselves into repeating vocabulary words and reading dialogues like they had been dying all week to do this.
On the other hand, I walk into many of my tenth grade classrooms to bored looks or heads on desks. It's depressing for a teacher to open class with a bright, "Good afternoon!" and only get a wave of grumbles. Contrast that to the seventh graders. I walk in and they are all on their feet by the time I have set down my bag. Their "GOOD MORNING, MS. LEE!" makes my ears vibrate. I love it.
The tenth graders' boredom and reluctance to speak any English continues throughout class. Getting them to participate is like pulling teeth. There are always at least three or four students in each class who dutifully raise their hand to every question I ask. But I cannot seem to get others to volunteer, despite my mantra, "Don't be shy; just try!" It's quite the opposite problem with my seventh graders. All of them want to answer my questions. The class will cry injustice when I accidentally call on a student twice in one class period. ("Teacher," they say to me in Chinese, arm straining to reach the ceiling. "Just give me a chance!"
I don't think this change from wild enthusiasm to an I'd-rather-watch-paint-dry attitude is sudden. Maybe if I taught eighth and ninth grade as well, the difference between seventh and tenth would make more sense to me. But I don't. I only see the before and after. What happens in between is a mystery to me.
Wednesday, April 14, 2010
I failed the Chinese government’s ‘psychological test’ – Am I crazy?
The PRC administers an online test to its foreign language experts. As an oral English teacher here, I had to take the test. I was evaluated on writing, basic knowledge and my psychology. In the last two categories, I failed miserably. (The result for the writing test has not come in yet so I could have failed that one as well.)
My score on the basic knowledge was 56. For someone who has never failed a test in her life, this result should have been devastating. However, I’m actually not so concerned. Throughout the test, I was thinking, This must be a joke. Here are a couple of the questions:
What color of the majority of Chinese have? [sic]
a) White
b) Black
c) Yellow
d) Pink
American psychologist Bruner thought the essential factor of studying was _________.
a) to form a kind of cloze
b) to form one's own cognition structure
c) to form the link between stimulation and reflection
d) the cognition of circumstance
How these questions could give any indication of my capability as a teacher – or a human being – I have no idea.
However, I was feeling more self-conscious about my score of 61 on the psychological test. According to the evaluation report, my high scoring areas were in “Drink, Extent of Mental Health, Harmonization Capability, Heart Endurance, Sense of Achievement, Emotional Stability, Tendency Towards Violence, Professional Spirit.” I did not have any low scoring areas.
Apart from the “Tendency Towards Violence,” the rest of the high-scoring areas are positive. Yet, how did I still receive such a low score -- especially since the introduction to the test stated there were no wrong or right answers? One should simply answer to the best of their ability based on their life experiences, which is what I did.
So when the test asked me if I would sing at a party, I said I would if asked by friends. Do I think smoking relieves stress? As an ex-smoker, I answered, Yes, sometimes. And when the test asked my strategy for playing chess, I chose, "I normally think about N steps and design a trap for my counterpart." (Maybe that’s why I have a “Tendency Towards Violence"?)
Other questions included: Do you like to laugh? Do you believe that drunken people normally conduct themselves badly? If you went out for dinner in a restaurant, where would you prefer to sit?
I confided in my boyfriend my scores. His first reaction was disbelief. Then I shared with him some of the questions and he laughed, taking full advantage of the situation to poke fun at me for both the scores and my freaking out over the scores.
“Am I really crazy?” I asked him desperately.
“Well,” he said. “A little.”
His answer was of no relief, and I was starting to doubt all my answers on the psychological test questions. But I felt comforted when he reminded me that this was a Chinese psychological test.
I may have Chinese written all over my face, but it’s the good U.S. of A that instilled my morals (maybe lack thereof, to the Chinese), my opinions and my personality. If Americans were all rated on a Chinese standard of normal, healthy behavior, I suppose most of us would seem pretty crazy.
My score on the basic knowledge was 56. For someone who has never failed a test in her life, this result should have been devastating. However, I’m actually not so concerned. Throughout the test, I was thinking, This must be a joke. Here are a couple of the questions:
What color of the majority of Chinese have? [sic]
a) White
b) Black
c) Yellow
d) Pink
American psychologist Bruner thought the essential factor of studying was _________.
a) to form a kind of cloze
b) to form one's own cognition structure
c) to form the link between stimulation and reflection
d) the cognition of circumstance
How these questions could give any indication of my capability as a teacher – or a human being – I have no idea.
However, I was feeling more self-conscious about my score of 61 on the psychological test. According to the evaluation report, my high scoring areas were in “Drink, Extent of Mental Health, Harmonization Capability, Heart Endurance, Sense of Achievement, Emotional Stability, Tendency Towards Violence, Professional Spirit.” I did not have any low scoring areas.
Apart from the “Tendency Towards Violence,” the rest of the high-scoring areas are positive. Yet, how did I still receive such a low score -- especially since the introduction to the test stated there were no wrong or right answers? One should simply answer to the best of their ability based on their life experiences, which is what I did.
So when the test asked me if I would sing at a party, I said I would if asked by friends. Do I think smoking relieves stress? As an ex-smoker, I answered, Yes, sometimes. And when the test asked my strategy for playing chess, I chose, "I normally think about N steps and design a trap for my counterpart." (Maybe that’s why I have a “Tendency Towards Violence"?)
Other questions included: Do you like to laugh? Do you believe that drunken people normally conduct themselves badly? If you went out for dinner in a restaurant, where would you prefer to sit?
I confided in my boyfriend my scores. His first reaction was disbelief. Then I shared with him some of the questions and he laughed, taking full advantage of the situation to poke fun at me for both the scores and my freaking out over the scores.
“Am I really crazy?” I asked him desperately.
“Well,” he said. “A little.”
His answer was of no relief, and I was starting to doubt all my answers on the psychological test questions. But I felt comforted when he reminded me that this was a Chinese psychological test.
I may have Chinese written all over my face, but it’s the good U.S. of A that instilled my morals (maybe lack thereof, to the Chinese), my opinions and my personality. If Americans were all rated on a Chinese standard of normal, healthy behavior, I suppose most of us would seem pretty crazy.
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