A Feeling, Not a Word.

My morning started with a multivitamin. And breakfast. A breakfast made for the gods...no - by a god(dess).

Seriously. I sat at the table with a glass of orange juice, a plate of sliced bananas and watched as Martita made tortillas filled with squash flowers. She even sauteed the squash and some carrots for me. She plated it beautifully and it tasted like Heaven.

Like. Heaven.

My host father was sitting at the table, and he chuckled over my joy. Food. He complimented Martita, and I stuffed my face. We eventually talked un poco de topics like familia (family), amigos (friends), y cosas mas politicas (more political things). We talked about globalization, cheap products, the destruction of communities...you know. The things people talk about over breakfast.

During that conversation, I found out Renee (host dad) is a retired architect. He built this house about 30 years ago and they've lived in it ever since. The house is amazing, and my windows are soundproof to the point that they keep 90% of the noises out. I've also got this amazing bathtub in my bathroom, but I can't use the tub because there's not enough water to fill it without depleting a huge chunk of the supply.

I also found out he owns a small ranch/orchard with orange and lime trees. Awesome. And that all of his siblings are dead now except for 2. Not as awesome.

Anyway, around 10:00 AM I met up with my british friend. Being my dad's daughter, I had already made us a few plans. We went to an art museum (pictures will be on Facebook) with all sorts of ancient art(ifacts). We enjoyed the exhibits there for a while, and then meandered down the street to a beautiful church with a nice courtyard.

Beautiful doesn't really being to describe it, though. It's strange, because when you're looking at these things - churches, artifacts, fountains - it's more of a feeling than anything else. It's a physical response, an interaction with it.

Adjectives don't work.

After that, we wandered into the Zocalo, and over to Lobo Azul. It's as though this place was built with the knowledge that someday I would visit. The first thing I saw was a side-bag/satchel/purse with a woman in a red bandana stamped with EZLN on it.

I don't need to say much more than that. I think you know, based on this alone, I felt I'd come exactly to the right spot. I ordered memelas and lemonade. The lemonade was hand-squeezed and delivered in a measuring cup!

After that, activities included sitting in a park, me fawning over every dog that walked by, going to the corner store and buying little snacks, dropping our snacks off at our homes, looking for a place with wifi and failing, but finding this really cool rooftop restaurant/cafe.

Seriously. This place is gold. From the roof there is a fantastic view of the city around us. I was so sucked in by this view - and distracted by good conversation - that I really wasn't aware of the ice in my drink until I started drinking it. Mi amigo (my friend) and I decided that it was best that I just fish the ice out, and then we chuckled at the fact that my fingers were probably dirtier than the ice could have been to begin with.

So, I potentially drank tap-water ice. But I kind of doubt it. My host family doesn't drink from the tap, so I assume that most people don't use the tap for that kind of stuff....?

Anyway, we enjoyed it there...but then we moved to the Zocalo for the evening - and we're lucky we did!! Apparently, Sunday nights are really really lively. There was an epic Edward Scissorhands "actor" - he even had a red chair and pretended to cut hair for people! There were these giant people-puppets that just walked through...and other fascinating street performers. There is always music playing in the Zocalo as well - and it felt very surreal.

Everything happening felt other-worldly. Especially this moment where we happened upon another church courtyard (in the Zocalo) and people were tossing these large, air-filled, decorated tubes. But they just kind of float, and they're long and straight. Music was playing, people were everywhere, and these tubes were just kind of floating about.

It sounds silly. It wasn't. It was a feeling, again, I guess.
The closest thing I can compare it to is a scene out of Big Fish. And that's not even right. Or fair.

I feel like I should have more to say, but all we really did was take everything in. We sat. We watched. We chatted. We ate. We listened. We wondered.

Tomorrow, classes begin - routine! Homework! Hopefully, my Spanish (and confidence) improve 10-fold. I'm tired of this plateau I've come up against.

Until tomorrow, folks!

Will They Know?

As a teacher in a city-school, I have my bakers dozen of kids that make me cry. They make me cry for different reasons. I cry when they exasperate me. I cry when they distract the class from learning. I cry when I think about the system that is failing them. I cry when they fail. I cry when they succeed. I cry when they cry.

Tonight, I have one young man in mind. I knew 5 weeks ago that this would be a student who I would cry over.

The first days, he was hesitant to do anything. I could see his frustrations with schoolwork boiling up into his eyes and spilling out in a variety of ways: tears, dancing and singing, throwing stuff, fighting. Everyday with this young man has been an absolute battle.

Two weeks ago, we had an open-notes quiz. He had all the notes in his binder, but they were so disorganized he didn't want to look through them. Slowly, we went through and pulled them all out and when he realized he had enough notes to get a B on the quiz, the biggest smile came across his face and he looked at me and said, "Oh. I can do this."

Yes, I thought. Yes - you can. You've always been able to do this. But for him to recognize that in himself was the key. It was a pivotal moment in our teacher-student relationship, and his relationship with his schoolwork.

Over the course of the next few days, he handed in all of his assignments. The effort he'd put into them was obvious, and he beamed at me as he handed them in.

"I bet these ones will be as good as my quiz!"

This young man is tender-hearted, but he's impulsive. Like most 12 year old boys, he acts before he thinks. He sees a friend in the hall, he's going to go to the hall. He feels like chatting with his buddy 6 rows over, he's going to get up and chat with his buddies. He hates the girl behind him? He is going to tell her, and when she comes back with "Boy, I'mma slap the shit out of you" he stands up and meets her request for battle.

This week, his impulsivity got the best of him.

5 weeks of piecing together the puzzle of this young man - so, so delicately - has been shattered. His eagerness and desire to please - to be included, to be heard in this world....those things took over.

He brought a knife to school. Kids were threatened.

It's heartbreaking. Just as we were making progress. Just as he was beginning to believe in himself, just as he was starting to understand that you can play the game of school without getting played yourself - that classrooms can be a place where we learn and grow and laugh and love and cry and live...

Over. Before it even started.

So I worry. I cry for him. I wonder - will there be another teacher in his future who will give him the time and space he needs to grow? Will they keep him in the classroom and let him know that he belongs there - not in the office? Will they let his behaviors keep him from learning?

Will they let his behaviors keep them from trying to teach him?

If At First You Don't Succeed, Cry About It. Then Try Again.

It's funny (not really) how life seems to slap you in the face.

You open up to the world, tell everyone "Hey! I'm afraid! I'm insecure about this thing!" and what does the world do? It kicks you when you're down.

I recently blogged about how I so badly want people to view me as their intellectual equals. Well, I guess that was the wrong thing to say because....today I got my MTLE Content Area Exam scores. I passed part one.

I failed part two.

Let it be known that I am mortified. Absolutely horrified. I am devastatingly embarrassed.

Sure, tests may not in any way be an accurate measure of someone's knowledge, but that doesn't matter a whole lot because, at the end of the day, the tests are still what matter. They count. Those tests decide what and who I get to be. And, right now, I get to be the one who had to take it x amount of times. I'm the one who, despite having a degree in the field, can't pull it together enough to get the minimum score. So yeah - tests may suck, but I am still the one left feeling like a complete idiot because I couldn't choose the right.freaking.answer.

So, I guess this is just life's way of telling me I am truly intellectually inferior. And, if not intellectually inferior, I'm still the world's worst test taker.

If I'm still allowed to become a teacher someday, I am going to make sure to do this to make sure my students never, ever fail a test:

If I only had a .... hmm.

What's the point in writing in these unless you want everyone to see it - right?
Not really. I mean... on some level I hope that if you come across this that you see something and take it to heart or sketch it into your memory.

On another level, I don't care. I don't write this for "you" (you, the reader). I write this for me. It's just waaaay faster to type than to write with a pen in a journal. Plus, people always try to sneak into your journals to find out your secrets. Why bother keeping secrets. I'll air my dirty/clean/stupid/angry/funny/political/religious/academic/happy/sad laundry right here... no need to sneak around!

Anyway - I feel like I'm under a lot of pressure. Maybe I am. Maybe... maybe I need to make a list and cross things off.

1.) Student teach (x)
2.) SAM (Spanish HW) (x)
3.) Cuaderno (x)
4.) Buy work clothes ___
5.) Go to job training ___
6.) Find a new place to live ___
7.) Find a good home for Bear ___
8.) Write paper for Text Analysis ___
9.) Group project for Am. Lit ___
10.) Read Middlesex and Their Eyes Were Watching God this week ___
11.) Pay Rent ___
12.) Pay Car insurance ___
13.) Pay utilities ___
14.) Clean apartment (again and again and again) ___

So far =/ I am failing. I feel like everything is falling apart. It's like... I have this horrible weight on my chest. I've never had this feeling before. I've been stressed before - just like everyone else - but never to this magnitude. It's like I can't breathe. It feels like as soon as one thing falls off the list, 3 more things appear.

I also feel like I can't say that out loud. For some reason people don't like things just "to be." It's like...being stressed out or worried is a huge offense to people. It's one of those things that eeeeeveryone else is allowed to do - aside from YOU that is.

If you're still reading this... I'm shocked. No one really gives a damn about what I say. Either you feel the same way, or you are just trying to find a reason to hate me. If you're looking for a reason to hate me... go stab yourself in the neck. Thanks.

---- I have way too much on my mind tonight.

I'm thinking about a lot. I'm thinking about the snot nosed brats I student teach. The lack of discipline (and teaching) at the school I am placed at. I only really started today though - so I guess I should give it a little longer.

I dunno.... you wanna know why the US youth are so stupid? Just go sit in a class at some of these alternative schools.

Also.... I really really really really really really really hate arguing with liberals. I feel like I get called a racist every day by some new idiot. I don't hate people because of the color of their skin. I just hate all people - period.

I dunno.... If you are actually reading this, maybe you understand. Maybe your brain is like mine - moving from topic to topic, worry to worry. I worry a lot. A LOT.

I hate on myself a little every day. I have to tell myself about all the things that are wrong with me. It's like I've been conditioned to shun anything positive about myself. I feel like a lot of the people I've met want to blame me for things, or use me. I'm not of any real value. Not usually anyway.
I feel like in order to be worth anything I need to completely forget me, myself, my ideas... and I just need to serve serve serve. To comply. To agree. I cannot have an opinion of my own or I'm wrong. I'm broken. I'm ignorant. I cannot disagree with others because then I'm a troublemaker. I cannot say things funny because people might take offense. I cannot forget to say please, thank you or excuse me or I'm rude. Inconsiderate. A free loader. I cannot speak up when I am offended or concerned because then I am out of line. I cannot express a concern in public because then I am an attention whore. I cannot disagree with authority because then I am ungrateful.

I carry these stupid things around with me constantly - and then I wonder why things are so one sided? How come I CANT but everyone else CAN? Why is it that when I vocalize something I have to be afraid? Is everyone else afraid? Are they just good at hiding it? Or do they just not care? I don't know, but I spend my whole life trying to tip toe around things and be pleasant and when I accidentally fail - I take it really really hard.

I beat myself up pretty bad...but then again, that's my own fault.

However, on some level I know that these things aren't worth worrying about. I know that I'm okay. I'm not rude. I'm not a bitch. I know. I know. I know. I know. People reassure me that I'm (insert fantastic adjective here) all the time. It's just .... well, hearing, knowing, understanding and believing are all relatively different.

You think I'm a freak now.
It's ok. I very well may be.

But...tomorrow, I'm smart. Tomorrow I'm pretty. Tomorrow, I'm enough. Maybe it'll stick for a while. :)