Today is my father’s birthday – the man whose oversensitivity I take after, the man whose nose, lips, and bad eyesight I’ve inherited. I hate that of all the wonderful things about him, I had to get the least-favored ones.

 

***

 It is very difficult to have no idea where you’re going next. You have this 10-step program in your head, all clear and mapped out, but you have neither the resources nor the adequate amount of courage to follow through. There is such a vast expanse of time, space, and life between graduation and the gradual, eventual settling down, I hardly know what to do with it. Such is the curse of my generation: properly-educated, middle-class brats. We got the fanfare that our parents put us through, the multitude of options, but sadly, not enough backbone and motivation. My mother was right in that department – we’re just not driven enough.

Ika nga ni Alanis Morissette, the only way out is through.

***

A couple of nights ago, I was thinking that I would have been much better off taking units in Literature than Education because, at least from the class I've taken, it seems I have been sucked dry of all creativity. Is this what MA classes in Education are like? I expected much more from the professor than spurts of lectures amidst a flurry of group reports. Then I realized how much of an arrogant shithead I was. I shouldn't expect my professor to interest and exhilarate me, I should expect it of myself. I chose a possible career as an educator, I should be learning how to teach, not demanding how that learning is to be presented to me.

 

Which brings me to my moderating job. Two weeks ago, I decided that I was a complete failure as a teacher, in the once-a-week sense of the word. I couldn't control them at all! The kids pretended to be each other at roll call, one kid took to mimmicking my hand gestures and I saw another kid pointing at me in unabashed deviousness. And for the grand let's-stick-it-to-The-Man finale, I had this exchange with a student:

 

Kid: Are you a real teacher?

Me: YES!

Kid: (suspiciously) What subject?

ME: ENGLISH! (I can't believe this kid saw right through me)

Kid: Where, Miriam?

Me: NO! I teach at the college!

Yes, my friends, I was reduced to lying to an eight-year-old. Sorry God, but it helped! They shut up after that.

 

However, last meeting, I do believe I have conquered them. Well, 10 of them, definitely. The other 43, Martin and Tina are in charge of those. Of the 53 boys, only 10 have joined the writing department of the magazine. It is a writing publication and less than a third of them have  intentions of writing. What gives? Sana nag-art club na lang sila. Anyway, I've been dying to try out the "Collaborative-Story Game" with them and I'm glad to say that they enjoyed. Of course, it was chock full of pant-pooping, M16s, and death, but hey, so long as their imaginations are at work, gore is alright by me. If my Media Professor sees this, I will get a big, fat, hairy F pero saka na yung morals, motivation comes first. Besides, I fully intend that they churn out nice things, I promise.

 

On that count, yay for teacher Mika.