I miss you but I’m better off without you
I love you but I hate you more. You never left war behind, you brought it back home. Unannounced cracked the gunshot, gouging into your leg. You toppled, collapsed. Too heavy to carry yet you held. You held onto me. Tight. Wouldn’t let go. Neither would I. You dragged me down. I tried healing your wound, bandaging it, amidst chaos blood drowned my efforts. I tried helping you limp, risked bullets blowing my heart up. They Almost did. Your lucidness lost in the carmine deluge Leaving me to fight the war for us both on my own. Sweating like a whore before confession Flashbacks intruded my thoughts: Our last kiss, the way you caressed my waist pulling me in and— But then again, you always pushed me out. You started to slip, not as tight anymore— our grip. Neither could help it, no fingers to point Just one choice amongst the chaos. Who’d be the strongest, wisest, bravest, kindest Is She who decided to let it all go. For the sake of us both. I had to let you go. Couldn’t carry us two, had to choose one. We died together or on my own I survived. If you loved me like I loved you, You’d have let go first. Leaving you did not mean loving you less. It meant loving me more. I hoped and I prayed and I begged that in peace you rested. I hoped and I prayed and I begged to a better place we’d both move on. I laid your body to rest and kissed you a soaked goodbye One last time, you breathed your last. A bullet grazed my chest. Left a permanent mark. A part of me you’d always be, my first love. But that’s it. You weren’t my whole, still aren’t. May we rest/live in peace. Rationale: This extended metaphor poem is inspired by a Vietnam vet’s speech and life story: His wife left him after his arrival from war because he was a different person. Her perspective wasn’t represented in the speech, so like Carol Ann Duffy, author whose poems this written task is written in response to, I wanted to give a voice to the military wife whose side of the story wasn’t heard. The learning outcome explored from part four of the course is: Analyzing themes and ethical stance or moral values of literary texts. I wrote an extended metaphor poem in order to explore in depth the comparison of a war scene where the soldier is injured, dragging his comrade down with him, with the Vietnam Vet and his first wife’s deteriorating relationship. The motifs of self-love and of a toxic relationship are explored as well as the themes of the independence of a woman and rebirth in absence of a man, which were inspired on Duffy’s poems “Penelope” and “Mrs. Lazarous”. Duffy’s extended metaphor poems “Quickdraw” and “Valentine” were explored as a basis of her style and diction. Like Duffy often does, I wrote the poem from a first person point of view throughout the perspective of a woman, Molly, the vet’s wife. In order to stay truth to Duffy’s style I made authorial choices, such as capitalizing important words for emphasis, such as “She” to highlight that the “strongest, wisest, bravest, kindest” one was the woman. I also used used enjambment from line 17 to 18 to make the pause in Molly’s thoughts longer and to emphasize the juxtaposition made “pulling me in and—/ But then again, you always pushed me out.” Like Duffy, often does, I included sexual innuendo and a range of stylistic devices to give Molly a voice.
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Are you practicing comparison or judgment? Yup. Are you practicing blame or loathe? Affirmative. Or are you practicing compassion and love? . . . If your answers were opposite to mine (no, no, yes) , you’re in the right track. If they coincided, you’re... not. Your mental switch might be in need of some acute adjustments— or of a complete remake if you’re like me. Then and only then, will we be in the right track with those others. Last Wednesday, during my weekly session with my psychologist, Lucia, she asked me to recall the last time I was kind to myself. I couldn’t remember. I couldn’t remember ever being consciously kind to myself. I’m so used to having my inner critic berate me for every mistake I make, for every situation I mishandle or basically, for anything and everything that doesn’t go as I planned. I have my personal Simon Cowell* settled inside my head unfailingly judging away, never ceasing to disappoint. “If you spoke to your friends the way you speak to yourself, would they still be your friends?” A nervous snigger escaped my lips. This, I could answer. No sweats. “Of course they wouldn’t like me, they’d hate me”. Her unflinching facial expression revealed she wasn’t surprised. In fact, she expected this response, “Why do you say that?” This time, to mask my discomfort I let out an apathetic chuckle, “Because they wouldn’t appreciate my unremitting criticism. It’d be unpleasant to be around me. If I were them I wouldn’t like me either.” Change of topic. Lucia knows exactly when to stop prodding; she knows I’ll shut down if she doesn’t. Plus, I always come back the next session having meditated on our last chat. This time, after leaving, I kept on thinking about the reasons responsible for my self-depreciation; the whys behind my lack of self-compassion. And it all came down to expectations: My friends’ expectations, my teachers’ expectations, my parents’ expectations, but most importantly, my own expectations. I’ve always had this never-ending need to prove myself. My ego encourages me to continually try to exceed people’s expectations by making my own even higher. I accept nothing less. My entire self-worth is dependent on my achievement and on everyone else’s acceptance. So when I don’t have evidence of either of these to cling to, my self-worth vanishes. And there’s nothing easier than maintaining a negative opinion of myself. A lot of us, self-haters, are experts when it comes to sitting upon a throne of self-pity and disappointment. Sometimes, it even feels like it’s the only thing we’re sure we’re good at. Besides, it’s tempting to stay in this wormhole—in this I-don’t-measure-up black spiral—waiting for the day to come when someone will finally pull us out. The thing is, if we keep on waiting for someone to come, we’ll be stuck in here till we breathe our last. We’re actually in an I-don’t measure-up-to-myself black spiral. No one will ever be able to change our own expectations of ourselves. This change will gradually come the moment we let some self-love, self-respect and self-worth in. There’s a reason why these all start with “self”, we can’t find them in anyone else. We’ve got to change the way we treat ourselves, that’s where our heartache comes from. Easier said than done, I know. But we can start by following these two basic norms: 1) Take care of how you speak to yourself; you are always listening. Our self-talk habits, like the ones where we ask ourselves, “Why am I such an idiot?” should be replaced with questions exploring the circumstances of our mistakes. We must look for anything that can be taken as positive. Practicing this will help us reform our over the top expectations. 2) Stop labelling and judging others, even if you don’t say it aloud. Once we label someone, that’s how we’ll see and think of them regardless of the evidence showing us otherwise—It’s the same with us. Stopping this will help us create an awareness of how labels limit our thinking. Who knows, maybe being less judgmental towards others will help us do the same towards ourselves. “What are you practicing”, is maybe the bravest of questions. It brought me face to face with the complicated emotional situation I’ve been in for quite some time now. It made me ask myself all questions I’d been holding back. It gave me answers, which only led to more and more questions making my walls crack a bit. And I’m starting to think that perhaps some compassion might’ve squeezed through. *Simon Cowell, English reality television judge.
“The difference between ordinary and extraordinary is that little extra.” ~Jimmy Johnson
While searching for a top university summer program to attend next summer, for about a second, I allowed myself to muse on the idea of studying in one these. Being the over achieving student that I am, It’s always been in the back of my head, either consciously or not. But being the pessimistic person I wish I wasn’t, I’ve tried to shove this idea out of my mind to avoid the disappointment I knew it’d eventually lead to. This time I couldn’t. I googled “How to get into an Ivy League college” just because, and clicked on the third option: “How to Get into Harvard and the Ivy League, by Harvard Alum”. Let me start of by saying that no, I do not intend on going to Harvard; it’s never been something I’ve aspired for—not that I’d ever get accepted anyhow. I clicked on this report because of the fact that an alumnus wrote it. Someone who did not only get into a 5.9% admission rate university, but who’s got an inside on the dynamics of college admissions. Turns out Allen Cheng, the author, didn’t only get into Harvard; he got accepted into every single school he applied to, including Princeton, MIT, and Stanford. One could say he’s got this admissions thing down pad. And so can he. Allen claims he wrote “the most comprehensive guide to getting into top schools [that he’s] ever seen.” His guide does not consist of the typical generic and vague advice we’re given by people who’ve never gained admissions to these schools themselves; it explains in detail what it is these colleges are really looking for in our application. Cheng busts the myths of what most people think admission officers want. My main takeaway: We, students, are spending our time on completely the wrong things; we’ve been fed mistaken information of what top colleges are looking for. Colleges search for two types of students: Those who’ll accomplish world-changing things and those who’ll contribute positively to the community while in college. How is it they determine if we’re one of these two types of students? By following the golden rule: “The best predictor of future achievement is past achievement.” In the school’s eyes, deep attainment while in high school is an indicator of our capability of achievement for the future. The purpose of our application is to convince the admission officers that based on our accomplishments so far, we’re going to continue succeeding and thriving while in and after college. The most repeated mistake we, students aiming for top colleges, continue to make, is trying to be “well-rounded”—trying to prove competency in every skill. We’ll play a varsity sport, aim for straight A’s and top test scores, volunteer for hours of community and service, while forming part of some clubs. By doing all of this, we’re demonstrating how we can do everything we set our minds to pretty well and therefore indicating future success right? Wrong. Wrong. Wrong. Colleges like Yale and MIT don’t see it this way; they see it as students who do nothing particularly well. Well-rounded students are not team captains of a national ranking soccer team, or heads of a statewide club, nor nationally published writers. We are jack-of-all-trades, master of none. Simply “mediocre at everything” and colleges know mediocre people won’t end up changing the world. The real question is what does it really take to make a difference in the world? It takes focus. Relentless focus. Think of it this way, if your head is not 100% in the game, don’t expect to accomplish anywhere nearly as much as someone who’s head is. We must remember schools appreciate commitment above anything. What they genuinely care about is our capacity for success; not necessarily what particular field we achieve success in. Princeton’s admission office divulged, "We are interested in the talents and interests you would bring to Princeton outside the classroom. We don't value one type of activity over another. Rather, we appreciate sustained commitment to the interests you have chosen to pursue.” We must prove that we’re capable of deep accomplishment in our field of choice; we must demonstrate we are world class in something we care deeply about. Allen Cheng talked to admission officers himself and witnessed Harvard discussions. He found it incredibly shocking how random admissions for a marginal acceptance could be; how admission officers often go “by gut”. Something in your application can either pique their interest or give them a bad taste. Forget well rounded, we must seek to develop a huge spike—what sets us apart from other applicants. It’ll take time, effort, discipline and passion. Ideally, our spike is what can make us world-class. We must not let the fear of our own limitations hold us back into complacency. When developing our spike, it’s okay to be unbalanced. Colleges care most about whether we achieve something great in our lifetime, by proving that we can do so in our area of interest, colleges care less if we fall short elsewhere. Now, we can’t totally fail in the rest of our application, we also need generally strong academics—colleges want to make sure we can survive smoothly without much trouble. Our application’s job is to support the story around our spike. Every piece of our application should be consistent with this story. If we’re passionate but have not shown achievement, Stanford will take a person who is similarly as passionate and has shown deep achievement. Every. Single. Time. The deeper we dive into our spike, the more we compensate for our weak links. The shallower we go, the more we have to compensate by being well rounded and the more well rounded we are, the deeper we fall into the crapshoot. “¿La hacen ir a tomar una leche de tigre?”, someone asks faking a foodgasm. I hear a mixture of gasps, sighs and screams as they all answer, “La hago demasiado.” As the food ignorant person I am, I ask, “¿Qué es eso?” Dead silence follows. Literally—I think the dog stops barking just to glare at me. Everyone is gawking wide eyed, wearing the same what the $#%& is wrong with her expression. Again, literally. “No te creo que acabas de preguntar eso,” the person to my right snarkily answers. Seriously? What’s Peruvians' fascination with food? What’s the problem with not knowing what a “leche de tigre” is? For a tourist it wouldn’t be considered such a crime, but being a Peruvian myself, I was lucky no one from the government heard or I might’ve been exiled. I’ve never understood why Peruvians are always either speaking about or eating food; It’s an all-pervading obsession. Why are lunch plans being discussed over breakfast and dinner plans over lunch? Go eat your ceviche and shut up about it! Americans, Italians, Indians, Mexicans, even Cambodians, could all argue their country is food-obsessed as well. But there’s something different here. I couldn’t put my hands on it before watching the documentary Finding Gaston, a film about how chef Gaston Acurio uses the power of food to try to change our country. Food does not only fascinate Peruvians, it subjugates them. Here, cooking isn’t only a pastime, something ludic. Cooking is maybe our new national emblem. Our cuisine goes around the world and places us on a geographical map, on the radar. But how did this come to be? In the year 2000 Peru could be found in its deepest hole. We dragged along a huge inflation. We’d gone through a tough stage where the government promised but did not fulfill. The environment inherited from the previous national crisis of skepticism if not pessimism, if not denial, persisted. Then came the leader, Gaston... Gaston Acurio. Astrid & Gaston restaurant was the cornerstone of this entire movement. It began offering "haute cuisine" with a French card, until the great transformation occurred with dishes based on mergers, such as pastas with seafood sauce and Peruvian specialties, like the latest “in” food of the 21st century, ceviche. Our national icon told the world we had a downright priceless element the world was unaware of. Gaston’s emergence meant a reassessment of what our culture already possessed. Demonstrating this throughout his dishes, he stroked the mentality of Peruvians, “Yo pude, tú también puedes. Mis armas son las tuyas; soy un cocinero no soy Dios” (Gaston Acurio). Acurio managed to turn cuisine into our social weapon. He paved the way to build the nation on cooking. He formed part of a revolution that never spilled any blood; a revolution that didn’t take anything from anybody. On the contrary, one that shared; one where cousin was used as a product that promoted a new country, that left behind terrorism, violence, dictatorships, to become again that divine country people used to evoke when they heard the word “Peru”. As if this wasn’t enough, Gaston doesn’t consider his job to be done. He’s kept on dreaming of what’s to come for us as a country, “Ahí está la clave, empezar a soñar. Que así como nos dijeron que el ketchup tiene que formar parte de nuestras mesas, que en cada refrigeradora del mundo al abrirse haya un saborsito peruano” (Gaston Acurio). Searching for Gaston is not possible, not if you’re looking at a specific location. Now a day, every time we spot a cooking school here, there is Gaston, even when it does not belong to him. Gaston es como es el Perú. I wasn't planning on reading the actual summer read assigned, “7 Habit of Highly Effective Teens”; I planned to get away with a kick-ass blog post I wrote based on a book summery I googled. It wasn’t as much laziness as it was disinterest. I’ve never felt like I learn anything I haven't heard before in this sort of “self help” books. They’re always embellished life lessons structured in a smarter way than when my mother or teacher first told them to me, making them sound eye opening and revealing. For once, I decided to ignore my skepticism and give this book a try. “If Mr. Bon and the entire class, who by the way have already finished writing their blog post, claim it to be good, then it must be”, I thought. Turns out I was wrong, about them being right I mean. I didn’t find the book to be anymore than a well-dressed version of my mother’s lessons. I found it to be an easy and somewhat entertaining read though— I’ll give my classmates that. I could easily write a suck up blog post where I praise Sean Covey for writing “the last word on surviving and thriving as a teen and beyond.” But I refuse to rave about the book being a distilled sound advice, which changed my life for the better, when I believe it to be a bunch of clichéd advice and rehashed common sense I’ve heard ceaseless times before. Now, I wish to clarify Covey does gives good advice, teens should follow the seven habits, they’re simply too universal—too repeated. Covey is no Aristotle. He’s not offering anything new; this book contained no miracles that will transform my way of thinking, living nor perceiving life. However, it did give me a time of reflection, a time for cogitation. It made me think of how my life doesn’t just happen; of how I’m the one who either consciously or unconsciously designs it.
I’m no Aristotle either and you’ve probably heard the following before, I know I had, but I chose not to listen. It's my one takeaway from reading this book, a piece of advice that suddenly clicked: Get to know yourself and how you work; get a grasp on how to use the tools you’re given. When you meet someone—woman, man or children—to deal with them you try and get to know and understand them. It’s the same with you. Get acquainted with yourself; you are the only one with the power to let yourself down. You choose failure, you choose sadness, and you’re the only one with the power to change your choices. Choose success, choose happiness. Learn to use what you have to make the right decisions. I’m far from perfect, but at least I’m not fake.
I’ve got a thing for genuine people. I hate fake folks, you know what I’m talking about, mannequins. Especially when they call themselves ‘friends’. It’s hard not to fall in their trap. After all, they come with their glowing hellos and over-reaching promises and all. Their plastered-on simile makes you come out the other side pondering, “how did I miss the signs again?” But it’s even harder letting them go, the mannequins I mean. Although you’ve got that nagging feeling deep inside, letting you know your ‘friend’ isn’t really your friend, you try to ignore it. You make up excuses for them; you want to be the bigger person. You give them the benefit of the doubt. Only to be disappointed again. Fake is the latest trend; it’s the new real. And I can’t stand it. When they exaggerate everything and border on lying to make themselves look good and you’re like, “Hey, that’s not how it happened.” But then they turn the whole group against you. And all you can do is search their neck for that made in China stamp. When they don’t follow up on anything, because talk is cheap and their character isn’t capable of real talk, so they break their promises leaving you in the lurch, while coming up with a ton of excuses. And all you can do is pray they'll take their mask off when they speak to you. Or when you find out about all the ambiguous gossip they've been doing behind your back, because you know, in a social circle everyone is always willing to tell you who said what. And all you can do is shoot them that “darling, you’re so fake” stare. Let them go— that’s what I told myself. So you know, little by little I ended up letting everyone go. I convinced myself that I should be going home at the end of the day feeling the interactions I had with others were genuine, and the emotional investments I made with friends had to be something worth making. I repeatedly told myself to avoid getting caught up in the hypocritical game, where we’re all nice and smiley and all, but then we’re trash talking behind each other’s back. I didn’t want to be a fake person myself. But now, viewing myself through an outside perspective, using the same criteria I used to classify others, by my own standards, I’m already fake. I’ve been in situations where I didn’t follow up on what I said, breaking my promises, while coming up with a ton of excuses. We just finished our IA photo exposition. Our topic being teenage pregnancy, Aitana, my partner, and I decided to photograph teen moms. It wasn’t easy asking nor convincing the “hermana Andrea” to let us take and expose the photos, they’re underage. We sat down with her and Mr. Bon, we had a deep chat and came to an agreement: In the inauguration we were allowed to leave the pictures with their eyes uncovered, but for the rest of the time the pictures were up, we would cover the girls' eyes. Of course I assured her 1000 times “que yo me encargo”, “que yo me voy asegurar de cubrirle los ojos apenas termine”. I covered these girls’ eyes two days after the exhibition. And of course I had a ton of excuses: “I had no time”, “I completely forgot”, “I didn’t know what to cover it with”. You see, I’ve been hypocritical. I’m a very direct person and try not to gossip, but you know what, of course I’ve done it before. I’ve arrived to school with the urge of telling someone how childish so and so are acting and how I can’t stand them any longer. I never walked up to them, sat them down and spoke about it. All this time I’ve been blaming society. Trying to exclude myself from this “fake” adjective I’ve labeled it as, when the truth is, I’m no better. When reading The Love Mindset by Vironika Tugaleva, there was one specific quote that stuck with me, “your relationship to yourself is and always will be directly reflected in all your relationships with others.” All this time I’ve been playing the victim here. Pointing my finger has become an art form for me—a natural instinct. The thing is, when I pointed one finger at someone, three were pointed back at me. I wasn’t aware that everything in my life was about me. Any relationship in my life has been a direct result of how I view myself. How I’ve interacted with others and the relationships I’ve formed, have been directly correlated to the wounds or walls I built during the hardest stages of my life. All my core beliefs were distorted and I had no idea. This translucent walls have been like judgemental lenses through which I’ve viewed others. I’ve been so fast to judge everything and everyone in my head that I’ve taken real friendship opportunities from myself. If only I’d taken the time to get to know the person’s reasons or motives to do or not to do something, maybe I’d understood. About two weeks ago I wrote a blog post about a hard period in my life and how during the roughest times for me there was nobody there but my parents, not even my sister. I didn’t publish it because of comfort reasons, but my mother wanted to read it. Hesitantly, I let her, I knew she’d find a way anyhow. After reading it she said something I wasn’t expecting; she said I had it wrong about my sister “not caring”. She said my sister did care and was there for me; she’d even cry out of worry... for me. The thing is, I wasn’t approachable back then, and wouldn’t open up to anyone, no exceptions. So again, I was so busy pointing fingers at her, that I didn’t take time to think about her reasons; I didn’t take time to think about how it was my fault. All I’m saying here is we’ve got to stop pointing fingers, labeling people and judging them, in order to truly open ourselves up to a real relationship. We’ve got to start being real with ourselves. This is the hardest challenge. Yes, this mean taking our masks off, accepting our weaknesses or insecurities as well as our strengths. Only then can we begin to be real with others, when there’s nothing left to hide. If we can accept ourselves, our awkward, clumsy selves, then we will be able to fully accept another awkward and clumsy person. I never said it was easy, It’s hard to find a true friend, really hard. But it’s more than possible, if you only let yourself. We’ve got to let go of judgment; the recipe for suffering: You begin with dissatisfaction over how someone is and then mix it with your desire for how you want them to be, resulting in you “letting them go”. Share your weaknesses, your hard moments, and share your real side. It may scare the fake ones away or inspire them to let go for once of that mirage called perfection. “Doubt yourself and you doubt everything you see. Judge yourself and you see judges everywhere. But if you listen to the sound of your own voice, you can rise above doubt and judgment. And you can see forever.” ~Nancy Lopez What I’d seriously like, no, what I’d seriously love, to change about myself, is the fact that I care too much. Way too much. About what? About everything, about nothing, I don’t know. — A fragment from my last blog post “If I could change one thing about myself what would it be?” Mr. Bon (who you already know by now if you’ve been following my blog posts) left a comment, “You'll need to define it more. I just don't believe it's about everything and nothing sounds too vague. I bet you can find patterns in those thoughts. That's the first step to inner peace.” I’m not as stubborn as you think Mr. Bon, I’ll listen to you this time. Confessions from a current approval addict: I’m plain. I’m short. My toes are too straight. My eyes are too big. My ears are too small. I must change my appearance. Maybe then you’ll care about me. I speak too much. I’m loud. I debate. I’m stubborn. I don’t listen. I must remain silent. Maybe then you’ll care about me. I overanalyse. I get anxiety. I think too much. I obsess. I create problems in my head. I have to “chill”. Maybe then you’ll care about me. I rely on reassurance. I ask too much. I have low self-esteem. I fake confidence. I must learn how to trust myself. Maybe then you’ll care about me. Thinking about the "Maybe then", that’s how I spend my life. I don’t really like myself— maybe you’ll do it for me? I don’t consider myself to be a loner or an outcast. In public, I feign confidence; I push back as many critical thoughts as possible. I put on a smile and laugh, like everyone else. The thing is, when I’m all-alone, at night, with no one besides me; when the dust settles, the thoughts start. That barrier I built earlier, turns out, it was of straw; the wolf blew it up in a huff, no puff needed. Critical thought rush in: “Why did I say that? What will they think of me now? I knew I shouldn’t have gone.” Little by little, they become more and more self-depreciating, “What’s wrong with me? Why am I so stupid? I’m not worth a dime.” I’m to blame. I take full responsibility of these thoughts— no one is coming up to me saying, “Hey, you’re not good enough. Change.” I’m the captain of my own mind; I set unrealistic and strict rules for myself. When I fail, I punish myself. Even when someone does say something mean, it’s still my fault. I should have control over what affects me and what doesn’t. But I don’t. I let others take me down a notch without thinking weather they’re right. Most times they’re just joking and I laugh, but I don’t laugh it off. It sticks inside me. I must change so and so, maybe then you’ll care about me. Maybe, if you would tell me I’m okay, if you’d confirm that I’m not as bad as I think I am, maybe... maybe then I’d like me. I know how and why I grew up with such insecurities. If I wanted, I could trace back the moments, which bit by bit, led me to question my value. But the how and the why behind my "self-torture" don't really matter. What really does matter, is how I must learn to tame, not destroy, just tame, these thoughts—I don’t think they’ll ever go away.
I wouldn't. I wouldn't be able to pick one thing.
I guess it makes sense to start at the bottom, at my feet. I'd change my feet. According to my sister they look like hands— fingers are too straight. Moving on to my legs, I’d change these two along with my hips, cheeks, arms and ... Oh no, my baby size, I mean, new born, I mean, fetus size ears. My eyes. Come on papis! Why brown? The funny thing is, my mother told me when I was a baby, I had this huge, blue eyes. Not anymore mother, not anymore. Maybe I'm being a little too superficial here. It's actually quite interesting, how every change I naturally thought about was external. When I told Mr. Bon, my Innovation Academy teacher, I’d be writing about the “one thing I would change about myself” in this week’s blog post, he tapped me in the head suppressing a giggle and ran off. Mr. Bon, what did you mean by that? That I’m what? Stubborn? Cause I’m not. I’m simply determinate not to change my position in an argument unless fully convinced. I can live with the fact that I’m simply a little more committed than everyone else not to loose my stand. What I’d seriously like, no, what I’d seriously love to change about myself, is the fact that I care too much. Way too much. About what? About everything, about nothing, I don’t know. All I know, is my mind is never at rest. Sometimes at night, after hours of replaying conversations, recapping uncomfortable situations and coming up with a ton of responses I will never use, my body continues to push back sleep. As I readjust myself on bed, in my typical fetus position, I start to ponder: Would it be better not to care? Then I picture myself coming back to school like a completely different person. As a stranger with a new mindset, a new attitude– like that girl who no longer cares at all. Would it be better? Quite tempting actually. I wouldn’t overthink every. single. detail. I wouldn’t create problems and scenarios in my head that weren't even there in the first place. I admire how most of my friends are just so “chill” about things— whatever happens simply happens. I want that. People don’t understand how stressful it is to explain what’s going on in my head when I don’t even understand it myself. I want my brain to shut up; I want to stop feeling pressured. But I know shutting all emotions isn’t the answer. I've got to find a balance, between caring and well… not. If I did find this balance, maybe some of the physical changes I currently want wouldn’t matter anymore. Maybe my ears’ ultra small size wouldn’t bother me any longer. Maybe I wouldn’t give a damn about being stuck with this baby face. Maybe I’d fall asleep as soon as I closed my eyes. Maybe. How do I find this balance? I don't know yet. What I do know at the moment, is the answer to my initial question. If I could choose to change one thing about myself, it would be that imbalance between caring and well, not. Why not? They grade us, why can’t we grade them?
Grades are a reflection of a student’s work, progress and achievement-- they’re a way of providing students guidance about future course work— a form of feedback to “motivate” students. If grading is as efficient as they claim it is and makes us, students, “better”, lets reciprocate; lets return teachers their own favor and give them grades to make them better as well! After all, one never stops learning right? Teachers classify students among themselves, as being either “good”, “bad” or “mediocre”— they’re not the only ones. we classify you teachers too, and some of you are not meeting our expectations. Policy makers on both sides of the aisle haven’t yet emboldened enough to state the obvious; they remain oblivious to the truth: there are some bad teachers in our school. I’ve actually had about five I can list from the top of my head . Last year, this one teacher’s class I’d actually call “free period”— it was that inefficient. No one learned, yet still no one complained. After all, you could walk up to him, have him “check” your work again, without having made any corrections after the last time he’d given you feedback, insist, no, not even that, just plainly say you made the changes and BOOM, grade raised. Those of you who were in this teacher’s class, you know who I’m talking about. A study by Stanford University economist, Eric Hanushek, found that the difference between a child being assigned to one teacher or another can make a difference of as much as a grade level’s worth of learning during the school year. This idea of giving your teacher a grade, is majorly for feedback; to ensure students are getting a high quality education. This new system could start out as an online anonymous survey at the middle of the school year, where students rate their professors from 1 to 5 in the categories of clarity, helpfulness, popularity, and easiness— a comment box could be added. All responses should be accessible to the principal (not the teachers) including the person who took the survey’s name. This would prevent nasty and disrespectful comments, students grading their teacher higher with hopes of getting a better grade and students that graded poorly being treated differently. Leila Campbell, a humanities teacher at Charter High School in Oakland, California, had received her results from a recent survey. She discovered her difficulty connecting with students. Since then, Ms. Campbell adjusted her classroom manner, resulting in an evident improvement. “The surveys have been transformational in how I operate, I’ve grown tremendously from this data”, she claimed. It’s a revolutionary idea, like Ronal Ferguson, an economist at Harvard, claimed. No one is more qualified to evaluate teachers’ work, than the people who see them every day—their students. |
Daniela Ontaneda16 year old Junior at Colegio Franklin Delano Roosevelt who's taking the IB diploma program. Archives
August 2017
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Future Blog Posts:
-Free to Learn by Peter Gray reflection
- If you could change someone's life - If you could change one thing about yourself - Should students be allowed to grade their teacher - What happens after death? - Are precognitions and deja vu different? - Mysteries of the mind - Mentalism - The positive of experiencing pain - What is existentialism -Impact of media on society |