One of the things about teaching young teens is that when I look at them, I cannot help but recall what I was like at their age. Being giggly around boys. Not giving a toss about my studies. Racing home just so I could play computer games. All those not-very-nice memories about how I spent my awkward days. For some students I cannot help but shake my head, and call them my neanderthals, my animals, but there are also others I cannot help but respect because they just seem so calm and collected, far more than I could seemingly hope to be even though I am twice their age. It is a strange mix, that makes me reflect upon my not-too-distant terrible teenage years.
Yesterday I felt quite ill during my last class. Right before stepping in, I started to get a headache. Midway, almost 1 hour into the lesson I realised I was started to get breathing problems. As a result, I kept coughing whooping coughs and my airways struggled to clear. I wanted badly to sit down, and just rest my body. Except I was teaching, and I needed to teach lest my kids get the whole damn comprehension wrong. So I stood, propped against the cupboards and trying to gather my energies. When I had given them enough help, I finally left to puff on my inhaler and sat down, more than 30 minutes after I had first felt sick. I wondered what my students would do if I collapsed at that point in time (indeed I felt I was only at 30% function). That thought brought me back to an old memory, of when I was 15 years old.
That year I was Secondary 3, and suffering greatly in Chemistry class. We had a teacher that was very old school, and terrifying in an old school way, especially since we had only experienced more enlightened ways of teaching. What I mean simply was that she acted like a mean old bitch, and wouldn't hesitate to tear you one if you made her mad. Except lots of things made her mad. Not knowing the answers to questions, titrating experiments wrongly, even saying 'sorry' too many times made her angry. Boy were we all scared shitless by her and her ability to shred your confidence to bits. There was not a single girl she didn't pick on, and she did it almost methodically. Later we rationalised it was probably to make us realise we weren't as great as we thought we were - because underneath all those hurtful comments we knew somehow that she meant well. Anyway for those of you in the know, it was Ms. G K Goh.
One lesson late in 2005, she started to feel very ill. We knew she had been poorly for a while, and her condition only seemed to be getting worse. She was teaching us halfway when she suddenly stopped at sat down at the desk. She looked pale and said she felt like vomiting. I can't remember if that was the day she also took off her wig, but I do remember her saying she felt weak and needed to rest. Then she lay her head down on the table, and us students just looked at each other, stunned and scared. Although we cared for her in a human way, somehow we never thought of her as being human. That she too felt weak, could get sick and suffer physically. That she would feel so bad that she actually needed to stop the lesson and show her frailty in front of us. She died the following year after fighting for cancer for many years. Right after National Day celebrations in school, we went as a class to her wake. After she died there was much random tears and morose thoughts among all, plus the occasional odd morbid poetry popping from some classmates. I don't remember her death helping much with my already present depression then either.
Strange what I think about now, when I look at my students.
Yesterday I felt quite ill during my last class. Right before stepping in, I started to get a headache. Midway, almost 1 hour into the lesson I realised I was started to get breathing problems. As a result, I kept coughing whooping coughs and my airways struggled to clear. I wanted badly to sit down, and just rest my body. Except I was teaching, and I needed to teach lest my kids get the whole damn comprehension wrong. So I stood, propped against the cupboards and trying to gather my energies. When I had given them enough help, I finally left to puff on my inhaler and sat down, more than 30 minutes after I had first felt sick. I wondered what my students would do if I collapsed at that point in time (indeed I felt I was only at 30% function). That thought brought me back to an old memory, of when I was 15 years old.
That year I was Secondary 3, and suffering greatly in Chemistry class. We had a teacher that was very old school, and terrifying in an old school way, especially since we had only experienced more enlightened ways of teaching. What I mean simply was that she acted like a mean old bitch, and wouldn't hesitate to tear you one if you made her mad. Except lots of things made her mad. Not knowing the answers to questions, titrating experiments wrongly, even saying 'sorry' too many times made her angry. Boy were we all scared shitless by her and her ability to shred your confidence to bits. There was not a single girl she didn't pick on, and she did it almost methodically. Later we rationalised it was probably to make us realise we weren't as great as we thought we were - because underneath all those hurtful comments we knew somehow that she meant well. Anyway for those of you in the know, it was Ms. G K Goh.
One lesson late in 2005, she started to feel very ill. We knew she had been poorly for a while, and her condition only seemed to be getting worse. She was teaching us halfway when she suddenly stopped at sat down at the desk. She looked pale and said she felt like vomiting. I can't remember if that was the day she also took off her wig, but I do remember her saying she felt weak and needed to rest. Then she lay her head down on the table, and us students just looked at each other, stunned and scared. Although we cared for her in a human way, somehow we never thought of her as being human. That she too felt weak, could get sick and suffer physically. That she would feel so bad that she actually needed to stop the lesson and show her frailty in front of us. She died the following year after fighting for cancer for many years. Right after National Day celebrations in school, we went as a class to her wake. After she died there was much random tears and morose thoughts among all, plus the occasional odd morbid poetry popping from some classmates. I don't remember her death helping much with my already present depression then either.
Strange what I think about now, when I look at my students.
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