(In which I try to fit in and . . .)
10 lesson plans, one journal critique, PowerPoint presentations, grades to compute, papers to check, and more importantly, more than fifty books waiting on the pile and on the shelves. I kept on saying I was busy. And I thought I really was. Until I became a teacher.
Yes, finally. So if ever someone from the 58 people who have followed me for the last 5 months or so notices the lack of post since . . . ehem . . .October 21st, the unsolicited excuse is hereby offered. I was busy. So terribly busy I’m going to die. Well, almost.
If there’s one thing I feel good about teaching, it’s teaching. Speaking in front of people and seeing the bewildered expression on their faces whenever they learned something new, or the enjoyment they couldn’t hide when the lesson turned out to be fun is utterly priceless.
And if there’s something about teaching that drives me crazy, it’s the paperwork. And the deadline, of course. Oh I forgot dealing with difficult people consisting of, but not limited to failing students and their guardians. Whenever I encounter things like these, I remember what my IELTS student once told me:
“I think you don’t like people. You like reading and writing and being alone. But yes, you like talking. So I think you will fit better in publication, or media. But not much in teaching.”
So now I’m looking at this rushed piece of work driven by the urgent need to reclaim a fragment of my previous blogging self and I wondered whether what the student said was true – that I’m a better writer than a teacher. But if I am a better teacher than a writer, as what I want to believe, then why do I feel so . . .?Perhaps that’s for another post.