Days in a Daze of Automated Motion

I spend my days in a daze of automated motion.

Teach, teach, teach, react to children, attempt to be positive, attempt to not F up their fragile psyche's, fear for the failing, onward, onward, teach, teach, teach.

Go home.

Fall down tired.

Reflect.

And there is much for the reflecting. Who I become in relation to the children, and who they are in relation to each other, in relation to themselves,in relation to the other children, in relation to their shitty parents who drive, drive, drive them to succeed (!)(?).

It's the kind of job where I wish I was a fly on the wall observing instead of an active participant in the ever forward moving span of events.

Wait...thats how I feel about...almost everything...in life...

Anywho. Children. Christ on a stick, they reveal so much! Both about themselves and about me.

There are some that make me the saddest. This entry is largely about them.

Gyu. What a complex little guy. One of those, "I'm keeping my Korean name" kids. They're always quite interesting. The pride implied in a keeping ones Korean name always translates to other subtle strengths (and corresponding flaws) in ones character.
Gyu and I started off quite well. He's probably about 10 or 11 years old, skinny little fellow, and quite sharp, but he has big emotions, a rebellious streak and a crazy mother to boot. This combination of characteristics will either save him from said crazy mother (I've seen her, she had the crazies in her eyes, and other teachers have confirmed her craziness) or make his fall all the steeper and the harder.
So we started off well, but as time progressed, and I had to reprimand other classmates (to his chagrin) he came to "hate" me. I put hate in quotes because child hate is a hot and fleeting emotion. Needless to say he called me a few swears in Korean, got his lil buddies to go along with him and now his class has a "No Korean speaking" ban on them. It actually works out quite well. They don't know how to swear in English, and I think their inability to really act out is making them realize I'm actually quite nice when they don't mess with me.
Gyu is the kind of kid whose feelings fester in him. I think due to the situation with his mother he feels powerless, after all being a child is all about powerlessness over ones situation. The world is decided for you largely by those whose care you are in. But as I said he's sharp, so I think this powerlessness and the mis-managment of his emotional state/life irk him all the more.
Yesterday I gave the children a sentence prompt: Tell me what you did yesterday. Gyu said, and laughed, "Yesterday my Mother hit me." I told him that made me very sad and I was not writing it on the board. He laughed before he said it, but shortly after I could see this look in his eyes, a sort of craven wanting for sympathy, for understanding. Class is short, and I don't speak enough Korean to be able to communicate with him well enough to express my understanding. This bothers me, but there's many a limitation I have to accept here in Korea by way of communicating.
After this comment I came to realize that his ever waning "hatred" of me was largely just a combination of projection, rebellion and masochism. I had suspected this, but this situation confirmed it. Projection because I am not the originating source of his anger and angst, he sends it out onto me (and the other teachers) because we are female sources of authority, but we are not the female sources of authority that he is railing against. Rebellion because he is trying to flout our authority through his rudeness and disobedience. Masochism because that plea for validation/empathy/sympathy showed me just how much he really wanted "my" (a female source of authority ie: Mother) approval. But he is willing to reject and destroy that desire (which is painful) for the sake of his rebellion as a means to maintain a semblance of some sort of integrity of self.
Again, Gyu is a sharp kid. When he's not being disobedient or rude he's actually one of the best in the class. His vocab is good, pronunciation pretty on point, and his grammar is borderline excellent. This sort of awareness recognizes the indignity in being mistreated, and is undoubtedly what has propelled him to rebel against his mother, and any other female figure of authority he perceives as being threatening--regardless of whether or not that perception is real. An intelligent being knows when it is being treated wrong and refuses to accept, and moreover fights against the source of mistreatment as a means to affirm their sense of self worth.
The problem with this is there is a fine line between projection and reality. The source of oppression becomes confused, muddied, and after a while the rebellion goes haywire, spreads itself outwards, in a malignant fashion, and can ultimately stunt the growth of a person. Because to rebel is to reject, and to reject too much is to refuse to grow.

And I wonder what will happen to Gyu.

Tom. God damn I hated that kid at first. He's in one of my classes that, well lets just say they're not my favorite. They're not bad, they're just not that good. However, there is something so wrong in hating a child. So I've been working on it.
Hate is too strong a word. Strongly disliked. He's probably about 12, in a class full of 10 year olds, so there's your first sign of a problem. He's a bit of a goon, and he also is really lacking in the social graces/awareness that a child of his age should by now possess.
What I'm saying is the kid is as annoying as Hell. Basically he's constantly repeating everything I say (even when he's not supposed to) or on the wrong page, or playing with something, or singing in this weird creepy voice that makes the other children look at him and murmur to me, "Teacher...crazy." I do my best to conceal my agreement.
I think he's one of those latch key kids whose parents don't give him enough attention and so his constant disruptions and general weirdness are just a plea for attention. There are a lot of kids like that, who initially piss me off, but then I come to realize they just want attention. Attention of any kind, good or bad, either will do, will someone just look at me!!! They scream in their little ways.
This hurts me, and softens my hardened, tired, irritable heart.

I feel a bit guilty about this next one. He's new. His name is Paul.
Paul is a tubby little 8 year old who lets just say has not been blessed with a refinement of features. That aside this kid is a damn fool. I caught myself thinking the other day, "God damn you are such a moron" before I could stop the flow of thought entering into my head. I felt pretty bad, but this did lead me to reflect on how and why he is such a damn fool.
Truly this child is very very annoying, but he's a child. A clumsy, ill mannered, emotionally fragile and emotionally ill equipped child. I would kind of like to smack both his parents, because usually when kids are this off they're to blame.
Needless to say Paul doesn't know how to shut up. Paul cannot really interact with the other children that smoothly. Paul cannot speak English very well and clearly doesn't really want to (I made him repeat something the other day b/c I thought he was making his voice sound weird on purpose to be funny...then I realized nope...he just sounds that way...I once again felt quite bad), Paul cannot take being reprimanded AT ALL.
Thats what pisses me off the most.
So Paul didn't do his homework. Whatever, you don't do your homework you lose a stamp. Stamps are basically just my signature at the top of the cover of the children's books. You do your homework you get a stamp. You get enough stamps you get candy. Yayyyyy candy!!! Children love candy and are easily bribed. That said the system works well. Paul didn't do his homework, so he lost a stamp.
A tantrum of sorts ensued.
That day in class three other children also lost stamps. These other children sulked a little, but they did not throw tantrums.
It was a quiet tantrum. A bit of huffing, and whining, a show of exaggerated pain and so forth. What pissed me off the most was his refusal to speak, and the way he would turn each page of his book with a force so violent that they would almost rip. That was a bit much. I asked the other teachers about him and they said he's just sort of emotionally unstable.
Oh this kid.
This is the kid who at the end of the class gallops by me in an uneasy sort of loping fashion, half pushes me over and often knocks my cell phone off my little teacher podium. I'm getting good though, now I dodge him and catch the podium before my cell phone (aka clock) can go crashing down. He apologizes, and I do my best to conceal the fact that I'd like to strangle him just a wee bit.

There are other children, Raphael and Michael. Brothers. Raphael is the younger and the more annoying, probably about 7 years old. Michael, maybe 11 or 12, has his moments though. It's funny to find out who is related. They're personalities and flaws are always so congruent. These are two that hunger for rejection. It's bound up in a desire for approval. Raphael asks for too much attention in highly irritating ways almost ensuring he will be rejected. He then sulks and acts kind of pissy--which is almost better than his incessant screams of, "Teacher, me, me, me, me, me, me, me!" But there is something sort of jagged in his emotions. It's hard to describe. The sadness in that little boy feels something like a serrated edge, and again I wonder about his parents.

And me? I feel a bit like a circus performer at some moments, and at others like a stern disciplinarian. With the little ones there is a certain air of stoicism I find needs to be cultivated. They need to be aware that I am in control and in charge, but also that I like them, and see them, am aware of them and appreciate them, think they are good, quietly love them. The little ones need so much. Though the lessons are easier the emotional demands are significantly greater. Some days every time I look up from my book I see every little in the room eye trained on me, asking for that validation that is eye contact, the affirmation that yes they are appreciated and kindly seen. It can be difficult. Children, little ones especially, are awash with fears. I think I am a person who has always been sensitive to the fears in others, and on days when I am tired or ailing it can be very difficult to process all that fear and attempt to neutralize it with a comforting smile, an affirming glance. Though I do my best. I feel like in some weird way I don't want to fail these kids. Because I remember all my teachers from childhood, and the ones I loved the most are still with me sort of silently cheering at my side. I feel like a dork saying that but it really is true. People of all sorts, and the impacts they've had, remain with us throughout our lives.
It is interesting to see how I adjust my personality in relation to the different classes, different ages and so forth. As they get older I find I have to mediate a careful combination of disciplinarian, but also something more of an equal, someone fun who can relate to them in many ways but who is not quite a friend. Someone who can level with them and exist in a sort of reality where they have to respect me but where the fault lines are less steeply angled between us. This especially goes for my oldest classes. These students are particularly sharp, but because of this worked harder than the rest and grasping their attention is what makes me feel a bit like a circus performer at times. I can use my humor and wit with these kids, and many a times have I defined the word sarcasm writing it on the board then saying something really sarcastic as an example(hehe). It makes me over-flowingly happy when they appreciate my jokes. Sometimes I catch myself dancing around the room, doing imitations of their exhaustion and so forth just to get them to laugh. Because once they laugh they like you, and once they like you no matter how tired they are, they want to participate and give something back. I really have to hand it to them for being able to even function for me by the time they are on hour 10 of school.

I like being here. There's so much to reflect on. Sometimes I reflect on how I wish I was able to reflect more, how I feel like I am not reflecting enough because so much of my time teaching is spent being "on". But that's life huh. You have to be "on" to function, but in the being so many observations pass us by.

In spite of children who make me sad (or annoyed--which ultimately means sad once I get over the irritation) things here are good. I feel like something is settling in me, some of the dust and smog circling about me are falling to the floor and things are appearing more sharp and distinctly defined. Is that strange to say? Maybe. But shit, I live in a foreign country on the other side of the globe. This is my big (slightly cliched, but still highly meaningful) existential experience, or rather this is the tip of the iceberg of it.

Dear America, I miss you, I love you, I honestly don't know when I'm coming home. Don't expect me back any time soon.
Love,
Liz