I thought it was one of those simple twists of faith but I figured I am being singled out for a terrible retribution for some previous misdeeds.
I became a teacher.
My friend Troy who is in the human resources in a company that runs those computers schools that abound in the streets of Metro Manila summoned me to fill a teaching vacancy. Apparently his boss had been heckling him to provide a teacher. He did not have a pool of applicants, so he called me up; his last desperate resort.
You see, I do not claim mastery of the English language. Sure, I have ample English units. Sure, I was an editor in our school paper during my high school days and tutored Korean students back in college. But I don’t think those will qualify me to teach English to college students.
What the heck. I have been bumming around for like months already and I needed bucks. I was lusting for an ipod, so I accepted the offer.
The following morning, I made a power point presentation on Subject- Verb Agreement before the school administration. As luck would have it, I was hired. I did not know it would be the start of my hellish life (insert horror soundtrack here). I was not forewarned.
Whoever said that teaching is a noble profession, I want to strangle him and ask him: What were you thinking! Were you even thinking!?
Teaching English is like- to borrow a line from one comedian- walking in a tight rope while eating a live chicken and doing Sisa’s mad scene at the same time (Parang tumutulay sa alambre habang kumakain ng buhay na manok at sumisigaw ng “Crispin! Basilio! Nasaan ang mga anak ko!”)
I did not know where to start. My students’ knowledge of the English language can be summed up in two words: What’s up! and cool. Ok, three words. Constructing sentence is a daunting task like finding a needle in a heap of hay. Students do not know the difference between is and are. One time a student gave a sentence, and he drawled: The dog is bark (sic). I thought it was hilarious but he was not even trying to be funny. For a moment, I wanted to get my two barreled gun and shoot him. But I composed my self and explained the proper form of the verb.
There are too much clutter and self-expression in the class room. Students can ask and the most stupid things ever imagined. They can even unabashedly bare their Id when prompted. A girl once shrieked until her tonsils burst just because, well, she just wanted to do it.
They come in school in their gothic outfits complete with make up and bling-blings like rejects from Adam’s Family Values or Tim Burton movies or in their tattered jeans and advocacy shirts in Swastika symbols, Hashish, Mao, Che Guevara, Bob Marley or (gasp!) porn star. Do they know what those icons mean? Senseless coolness.
Their crazy ringing tones annoy the hell out of me that I wanted to shove their cell phones into their mouth to relieve myself. They have extremely ambidextrous hands that they can text using both hands with their long manicured fingers. Their toes even. Still, others are oblivious of what is happening in the class room. They hang their bored heads in their seats with earphones plugged in their eardrums.
There are times that I would explode with seething rage and would run amuck or I am tempted to hurl myself into the speeding train at EDSA. There are times were I have to resist from slamming someonelse’s face into the concrete wall.
I wanted to give up. I am not Michelle Pfeiffer in the movie Dangerous Minds. I am more like Uma Thurman in the movie Kill bill, prone to gutting and dismembering.
I became a teacher.
My friend Troy who is in the human resources in a company that runs those computers schools that abound in the streets of Metro Manila summoned me to fill a teaching vacancy. Apparently his boss had been heckling him to provide a teacher. He did not have a pool of applicants, so he called me up; his last desperate resort.
You see, I do not claim mastery of the English language. Sure, I have ample English units. Sure, I was an editor in our school paper during my high school days and tutored Korean students back in college. But I don’t think those will qualify me to teach English to college students.
What the heck. I have been bumming around for like months already and I needed bucks. I was lusting for an ipod, so I accepted the offer.
The following morning, I made a power point presentation on Subject- Verb Agreement before the school administration. As luck would have it, I was hired. I did not know it would be the start of my hellish life (insert horror soundtrack here). I was not forewarned.
Whoever said that teaching is a noble profession, I want to strangle him and ask him: What were you thinking! Were you even thinking!?
Teaching English is like- to borrow a line from one comedian- walking in a tight rope while eating a live chicken and doing Sisa’s mad scene at the same time (Parang tumutulay sa alambre habang kumakain ng buhay na manok at sumisigaw ng “Crispin! Basilio! Nasaan ang mga anak ko!”)
I did not know where to start. My students’ knowledge of the English language can be summed up in two words: What’s up! and cool. Ok, three words. Constructing sentence is a daunting task like finding a needle in a heap of hay. Students do not know the difference between is and are. One time a student gave a sentence, and he drawled: The dog is bark (sic). I thought it was hilarious but he was not even trying to be funny. For a moment, I wanted to get my two barreled gun and shoot him. But I composed my self and explained the proper form of the verb.
There are too much clutter and self-expression in the class room. Students can ask and the most stupid things ever imagined. They can even unabashedly bare their Id when prompted. A girl once shrieked until her tonsils burst just because, well, she just wanted to do it.
They come in school in their gothic outfits complete with make up and bling-blings like rejects from Adam’s Family Values or Tim Burton movies or in their tattered jeans and advocacy shirts in Swastika symbols, Hashish, Mao, Che Guevara, Bob Marley or (gasp!) porn star. Do they know what those icons mean? Senseless coolness.
Their crazy ringing tones annoy the hell out of me that I wanted to shove their cell phones into their mouth to relieve myself. They have extremely ambidextrous hands that they can text using both hands with their long manicured fingers. Their toes even. Still, others are oblivious of what is happening in the class room. They hang their bored heads in their seats with earphones plugged in their eardrums.
There are times that I would explode with seething rage and would run amuck or I am tempted to hurl myself into the speeding train at EDSA. There are times were I have to resist from slamming someonelse’s face into the concrete wall.
I wanted to give up. I am not Michelle Pfeiffer in the movie Dangerous Minds. I am more like Uma Thurman in the movie Kill bill, prone to gutting and dismembering.
I can see the headlines now:TEACHER ON A KILLING SPREE INSIDE THE CLASROOM.
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