Last Saturday we went to the Taipei temple as a stake so I woke up at 3:30 AM and was gone until late that night. It had been rainy and the air conditioning on the bus was very cold. When I woke up on Sunday morning, I had a fever and a bad cold. I slept most of the day and Sister Huang brought me chicken and bamboo root soup. In fact, for most of this week, when I haven't been at school, the sickness combined with heat has had me sleeping most of the days. I've never had a cold in heat and humidity before. It's kind of like breathing Jello. That's probably too much information. Sorry. Monday, I hadn't had the energy to get up and walk to the store so I feasted on a mango the size of a football for two meals. I tried to finish it before it finished me. Finally I put the last bit of it in a blender with the rest of my milk. This was an inspired idea. It's mango season and I am enjoying it--cheap, wonderful tropical fruit. Another wonderful idea: Chop up a lot of watermelon and feed it into the blender with a little bit of sugar and ice--heaven.
You can see that even with my best intentions to live better, I still eat like a refugee--whatever I can get, whenever I can get it, eating in strange places with my fingers if necessary. My life won't always be like this, right? However, I'm doing better with my resolve to take better care of myself. Those last few semesters of school I had a hard time eating writing, taking time in the morning with myself, etc. I was clean, but not terribly healthy or alert. I bought a blow dryer and invested in hair products and I'm figuring this long hair-in-the-heat-and-humidity-thing it out. I'm also exercising and taking calcium according to Master Huang's suggestions. I'm also doing better at getting up in the morning. My goal is 5:30. I'm still working on it. I want to be a morning scripture reader, too, after years as a night-time reader. I think God talks to me best in the mornings. I wish I was like the boy-prophet Samuel and when I hear the whisperings of the Spirit in the morning, I want to be able to answer, "Speak Lord, thy servant heareth," but I think I'm far too likely to groan and roll over and go back to sleep. It helps that most of the people around me are early risers. That is the only time it is cool enough to go outside. I went up to the accounting office last week and found ever office worker with their heads down on their desk fast asleep in the midday heat. It is starting to get really miserable.
There is little rest for the weary: I have just 12 days after this semester ends on the 30th before I begin a summer semester writing class. They are first-year high school students which is a challenge because communicating directions and grading criteria is hit-and-miss at best. Any suggestions? I also have a lot of ideas I need to organize for next semester.
Some more about my students: I've talked about the system but less about the individual personalities that make up my classroom and brighten my life. I've told you about the system and the ideal studious pupil, but the fact of the matter is that kids are kids. There are many similarities between my American students and my Taiwanese students. They get tired, they watch the clock and can't wait to get home, getting them to write can be like pulling teeth, etc. My Thursday class is the worst. I tell them that to review for the final, they need to choose one of the units form the book and write a comic. So, of course, if they're doing "Asking for directions," their characters ask how do I get to hell? (Actually, I would have given bonus points if they had a quality answer for that one, but the answer was garbled English), They write about extra-marital affairs and drinking, (things they really haven't any experience with- - they are at school all the time and the school's rules are extremely strict: no dating, alcohol, etc.) We had another talk on what is appropriate in the classroom, what's appropriate to ask a foreigner. *Sigh*
They are really wonderful, though. I enjoy reading what they write. As a final writing assignment, one of my classes was given the topic of "What is your definition of a good student?" by their former teacher. I read their essays and they wrote pretty eloquently about the frustrations of parent and teacher expectations, they also discussed how grades were not enough and courtesy and being a good person are part of a real education (as per Confucius). A girl named Sony, the best writer in that class, wrote about how she disagreed with the system here (her mother is Brazilian). She said that instead of producing "good students" Taiwanese teachers and parents are more interested in producing "good little robot machines." She called on her fellow-students to dare to disagree with the teacher, to question, to make the classroom a dialogue. She is the only one of my students who does that and in that way, she is a student after my own heart.
One thing about my teaching philosophy that I think is kind of unique is that I think student hecklers are important to the life of the classroom. They make the other students wake up and watch the teacher and student interact. If you can get attention, oh, if you can get their attention, what can't you do! They make me wake up too and defend my teaching with a grin. I have a few students like this. Louis, for example, brightens my day. Even when he is slowing things down and giving me grief and I find myself saying, "You're killing me Louis, you're killing me!" I say it with a grin. It's the students who are disruptive among themselves but refuse to interact with me, give me non-responses and are sullen, who are a problem. Give me effort! Even if it's the effort to defy me! and life in the classroom gets so much better. Nothing is more smothering to teachers and students than apathy.
I've learned something, too, about balance in life. I find that play is essential to my work. If I don't get out and play on the weekends/evenings, my work suffers. I think I can work through a weekend but I can't. Even "resting" isn't very helpful. Only playing hard helps me in working hard. I tell myself that the last year in school I was doing what I had to, and I was, but I missed something important. I stopped taking classes that weren't related to my major, I stopped voice lessons and going to dances or doing theatre. I told myself I didn't have the time, energy or money for those things. Maybe this was true, but just vegging (sp?) in front of a movie or lying around when I was exhausted, didn't really help. Here, doing other things, working with my hands like taking calligraphy, is so relaxing. Something about- those characters is so calming when I'm stressed, so aesthetic. I can't be Ms. Powell 24/7. Sometimes I have to be just Erica.
Speaking of being just Erica, I'm acting younger and younger. I think part of it is the language. I can't express myself as an adult so I think I act like a kid. Jessica and I play with bubble guns and nearly get kicked out of calligraphy class because we're always chatting it up and playing around. A couple days ago I was spending hours grading papers in the office when my red pen broke all over my hand. I pretended like I'd sliced open my hand and stared at the dark red ooze on my fingers, then called for help. Steve, Director of International Affairs, stared, the phone receiver in his hand in mid conversation. Scott and Yvonne ran from both ends of the office in rescue mode. That's when I started cackling. It's nice to know you're loved.
I live from tender mercy to tender mercy. Aislin reminded me of Elder Holland talking about angels. I believe they are near me. I get to feeling down, feeling that a year is long or that life is getting away from me. There are times when it is hard not to envy extroverts. As an introvert, i pull into myself when I'm struggling. It's so much easier to avoid people. Being in a crowd of strangers is exhausting. It's a constant temptation to just hole up in my room or to seek comfort in a book, computer, etc. Luckily, I'm never allowed to be alone. There are people that elbow themselves into my life and keep me out among people. Tuesday was a hard day and then Wednesday dawned. I was tired and sick and discouraged. It was the dragon boat festival here.
The story goes like this. Once a Chinese ruler and a statesman and poet disagreed on their vision for their country. The poet wrote about it and the ruler was displeased with his poem. I'm sure there's more to it than this, but the poet threw himself into the river. This man was beloved by the people and so every year on the anniversary of his death they throw moon cakes into the river so the fish will eat the cakes and not the body of the poet. They also have row boats that are painted like dragons which they race. The paddles are supposed to scare away the fish. I don't know why this makes me smile.
Michelle Liang, a new convert, SA and progressing English speaker invited me to go. She is shy and sometimes avoids me because of the pressure of speaking in English to me, though her English is surprisingly good. I was starting to give up seeking her out because I felt like my presence was so painful to her. We took the metro to the Love River, each bank of which was covered with people. As we talked and wandered through the stalls of food and listened to the live bands and watched the boat races, I was filled with gratitude. As it began to get dark and as the dragon boats and the bridges started being lit up with colored lights, Michelle said, "You are lucky to be here. If you weren't here now, you would have to wait a year to see it." Those words, "You are lucky to be here" resonated with me. I was lucky. Lucky to be a part of life and things happening. Life wasn't passing me by because I was here. No one does pomp and night-time grandeur like Asians and the experience lifted my heart. At the end of the day, Michelle and I were fast friends and comfortable with each other. As I studied scriptures that night, I was so happy and my scripture study improved. I need people. I learned this lesson long ago, but needed reminded. Being a tourist, seeing beautiful things and having experiences is hollow without people in your life. People are life.
Speaking of which, how many temple workers does it take to get one foreigner through a session at the temple? The answer is at least ten. At first I was a little bothered to be such a hassle and a burden and it hurts my pride to be so lost and dependent (I know that in the ward Bishop Huang has been assigning people to get me more involved. I chafe a little at being an assignment for busy people) but by the end I was grateful. It's important to be humble enough to be a gracious burden, to let people serve you. Mom reminded me how the temple is about the individual. If not, we'd just read out five names during a baptism and dunk them all. Being in the temple and doing Chinese names was important for me. I felt close to them and started to see the gap get smaller between Them and Me. I also had a horrible time pronouncing their ancestor's names. I've never had that problem before. This was good for me. The Taipei temple is the cutest little temple, and it's full of the coolest dark inlaid furniture.
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