Whenever the issue of class attendance is raised, we hear groans. The students hate it that the university forces them to go for classes. We, the academics, hate it that we have to keep track of each students' presence in our classes. We don't like babysitting. Yes - we've all heard, and agreed with, the reasons: they're old enough to know what's best for them; good attendance does not correlate with achievement (and if it does, there's that correlation does not equal causation); we'd rather not have any who are there begrudgingly, therefore likely disrupting the lecture by idle chatter and other mischief. I'm not a fan of attendance-taking. However, I admit that I am relatively less reluctant than many I know.
Story time.
Where I began my teaching career, missing classes was an "offence" taken very seriously. If a student skipped 3 classes (not necessarily consecutively), a warning letter will be issued and mailed directly to his / her parents. A second warning will be issued if the student missed 3 more. Being absent for 9 classes in a semester without valid reasons will get the student barred from taking the final exam. This effectively means failing the subject. I never cared much about barring the kids - most of them didn't go that far (because of the warning letters sent to their parents, obviously) - but I diligently and gleefully kept track of their attendance (once again, because of the warning letters to their parents, which I get to send!)
It is due to this careful tracking that, once, very early in my teaching career, I noticed that three of the naughtiest boys in class stopped coming for lectures. At first, I was simply counting the days till I could submit their names to the faculty for the preparation of warning letters, but after three whole weeks of absence, I started having a nagging feeling that something more might be up. At the next lecture, I asked if anyone knew them or knew the reason they were not attending classes. One boy, fellow member of the naughty gang, then dropped the bomb - the 3 of them were in a road accident and were severely injured. They were probably not coming back at all for the rest of the semester. Being a young, inexperienced first-timer, I didn't know how to react, nor what to do.
For a good few years, I obsessed over students' consecutive absences. It wouldn't have made a difference whether or not I know the reason for their being missing, but somehow, I could no longer be apathetic. The case of the three boys reminded me of the tragic, heart-breaking, case of my friend and classmate who died in a hit-and-run accident in the middle of a semester, when we were students ourselves. The police contacted the university (they found his student ID on him) and the university contacted his parents. However, oddly enough, the faculty and lecturers were not informed. In the week before the final exams, our lecturer published the coursework marks as was the usual practice. In the columns of the row that was my friend's name, there were, but of course, many zeros... and a note that said "COME AND SEE ME". Nobody wants that.
So, when a fellow colleague told me that a kid from his class hadn't been seen in weeks, I was concerned. He did not respond to our emails and could not be reached via the contact number we had in our records. He was missing for the rest of the trimester and did not show up for his final exams. I spent weeks trying to reach him. Finally, one day, after the new semester had begun, I got him on the phone. He got a good reprimand from me (absolutely a must, don't you think?) I made him promise to meet me to talk about his future, as he is just one subject short of completing his course. He came and in spite of my questioning, had no justification for his disappearing stunt. He could not explain why he didn't read the emails we sent, or why his mobile number couldn't be reached for weeks. He acted as if it didn't matter that he had been stuck more than two years in a one-year course, as if he didn't care that he'd only one subject left to clear. Nevertheless, I advised him on what to do to get out of the pickle he was in, and how to move on. This was about two months ago, and... I never saw nor heard from him again since. I am not surprised.
And I am reminded of why I completely understand academics that are determined to not waste their time tracking their class's attendance.
Showing posts with label teaching/learning. Show all posts
Showing posts with label teaching/learning. Show all posts
Saturday, May 30, 2015
Friday, November 29, 2013
Then And Now
Right before I got my first degree, there was a period of time that I worked in a pre-school. Long story... (no, I'm not telling it all in this post)
Once, I was asked to attend to the children as they woke from their afternoon nap. The youngest of the group was a 4-year-old girl - an adorable little thing with an angelic face. She burst into tears she moment she was awake, and wouldn't say what was wrong. The older children told me she cried every day after their nap.
Not knowing what to do, and not wanting to call one of the real teachers for help, I did what I probably shouldn't have - I placed the girl on my lap, hugged her, sweet-talked her, and did her hair up with pretty ribbons... basically, I spoiled her until she stopped crying. Then, I took her along with the other children down to the dining room for their afternoon snack.
The kitchen prepared porridge that day. The little girl sat there motionless, looking melancholy, not touching her food. I asked her why she wasn't eating. She just shook her head. I asked if she was hungry, if she wanted to eat. She shook her head again. Then, I did, again, what I probably shouldn't have - I asked if she'd like me to feed her. She looked at me, in all her wide-eyed innocence, not protesting... so I did. She took each spoonful willingly and obediently, and emptied the entire bowl quickly enough.
In hindsight, I wasn't so competent a care-giver. The right thing to do was to encourage the child to be independent, and not let her charm me into spoiling and spoon-feeding her. Yet, even then, I knew that part of the reason I did what I did, was that it was the easier path to take.
There have been many, so many, times in the course of my career (thus far) that I was tempted to desert the rightful road, because it is just so much harder. If I were to just give my students what they're after - everything served on a spoon - my work will be much less frustrating... much less work too, in fact. But I just can't bring myself to give in. It is not what I chose this profession for.
I haven't had to deal with unreasonable students regarding my no-spoon-feeding principle (specifically, no softcopy tutorial solutions) for some years now. I am thankful - extremely thankful - that my students understand that this, the harder way, is the right one.
Once, I was asked to attend to the children as they woke from their afternoon nap. The youngest of the group was a 4-year-old girl - an adorable little thing with an angelic face. She burst into tears she moment she was awake, and wouldn't say what was wrong. The older children told me she cried every day after their nap.
Not knowing what to do, and not wanting to call one of the real teachers for help, I did what I probably shouldn't have - I placed the girl on my lap, hugged her, sweet-talked her, and did her hair up with pretty ribbons... basically, I spoiled her until she stopped crying. Then, I took her along with the other children down to the dining room for their afternoon snack.
The kitchen prepared porridge that day. The little girl sat there motionless, looking melancholy, not touching her food. I asked her why she wasn't eating. She just shook her head. I asked if she was hungry, if she wanted to eat. She shook her head again. Then, I did, again, what I probably shouldn't have - I asked if she'd like me to feed her. She looked at me, in all her wide-eyed innocence, not protesting... so I did. She took each spoonful willingly and obediently, and emptied the entire bowl quickly enough.
In hindsight, I wasn't so competent a care-giver. The right thing to do was to encourage the child to be independent, and not let her charm me into spoiling and spoon-feeding her. Yet, even then, I knew that part of the reason I did what I did, was that it was the easier path to take.
There have been many, so many, times in the course of my career (thus far) that I was tempted to desert the rightful road, because it is just so much harder. If I were to just give my students what they're after - everything served on a spoon - my work will be much less frustrating... much less work too, in fact. But I just can't bring myself to give in. It is not what I chose this profession for.
I haven't had to deal with unreasonable students regarding my no-spoon-feeding principle (specifically, no softcopy tutorial solutions) for some years now. I am thankful - extremely thankful - that my students understand that this, the harder way, is the right one.
Friday, July 19, 2013
Temper And Patience
When I was a little girl (and all the way until I was a young adult) I was known for my terrifying temper. It wasn't that I got angry all the time, but whenever I did, my closest friends wouldn't dare to come near me. One once told me that she's scared to talk to me when I'm mad. When I was 16, I took the courage to admit this flaw in an essay I wrote. My teacher - whom I would like to believe had a genuine concern for me - penned a comment at the end of it, encouraging me in my proposed efforts to rein the monster in. That was the point in my life I started consciously refraining from flying into a rage as much as I could.
I've never really asked my friends how I'd fared, but surely I'm no longer the "angry little girl" they used to know? And not an "angry little woman" now, I hope!
I am generally a very patient person. Or maybe I'm generally impatient. Or maybe it's just really difficult to generalize patience. Having, however, been more than a decade in the teaching profession, my patience has been conditioned to reach an almost inhuman level when I'm at work. Sure, the kids push my limits every time, but I've thus far done really well in stopping myself from scolding, insulting and ridiculing anyone. It's hard - I am stupidity-intolerant - but, losing it won't make the stupidity go away, I remind myself. Every time I kept off snapping, my patience ups another notch and stays there.
I'd really like to think that I am right now, with all these conscious efforts to be always calm and reasonable, a person that no one is scared of anymore. In reality though, that's not true. My temper, though most of the time successfully suppressed, is still as fiery as it always has been. So, with improved patience and control, I have not become less scary. I am just scary a lot less frequently.
That means, yea - if you really tick me off.....
I've never really asked my friends how I'd fared, but surely I'm no longer the "angry little girl" they used to know? And not an "angry little woman" now, I hope!
I am generally a very patient person. Or maybe I'm generally impatient. Or maybe it's just really difficult to generalize patience. Having, however, been more than a decade in the teaching profession, my patience has been conditioned to reach an almost inhuman level when I'm at work. Sure, the kids push my limits every time, but I've thus far done really well in stopping myself from scolding, insulting and ridiculing anyone. It's hard - I am stupidity-intolerant - but, losing it won't make the stupidity go away, I remind myself. Every time I kept off snapping, my patience ups another notch and stays there.
I'd really like to think that I am right now, with all these conscious efforts to be always calm and reasonable, a person that no one is scared of anymore. In reality though, that's not true. My temper, though most of the time successfully suppressed, is still as fiery as it always has been. So, with improved patience and control, I have not become less scary. I am just scary a lot less frequently.
That means, yea - if you really tick me off.....
Thursday, June 13, 2013
Saturday, January 19, 2013
Nightmare Come True
I have recurring dreams. I'm sure most people do, and according to a term paper I did in college, a lot of people do believe they might be a glimpse at what may come. Sigmund Freud, the Father of Psychoanalysis, postulated that dreams are the nocturnal "rest state" manifestation of the unconscious mind, including repressed desires and fears.
This post isn't about my subconscious (and unconscious) desires. Obviously. For, if so, the title would say "dream" instead.
One of the most annoying, frequently occurring theme that disturbs my repose is, surprisingly, work-related. I misread my timetable and miss a class; I have a class in ten minutes and I'm still at home, not dressed; I go to class, not properly attired, or completely undressed; I go to class without any teaching materials for the lesson I have to deliver. Just to say a few.
A combination of some of those stuff happened to me last week.
I had a particularly unpleasant drive to work because traffic was heavy and as usual, some road users were inconsiderate and mean. I got to campus a mere half hour before my class and hadn't had my morning coffee nor proper breakfast. I was carrying a lot of stuff with me. Outside my office, I rummaged a good minute for the keys in my bag. It took another minute before I accepted the horrible truth that was that I had misplaced my office keys, and they were not in the bag, no matter how long I continue digging in it. I had never, in my n years of working life, been locked out like that! I had a class in less than half an hour, I had not anything to teach with - not even stationery - and I was in my slippers (yea, the proper shoes were on the other side of the door...) Nightmare? Sort of, and it was happening.
Anyway, after the initial panic and forehead-slapping, all was fine. The biggest issue was footwear because my class was in the lab, and the rules are pretty clear against slippers. I had a pair of sneakers in my car, but I was in a rather formal-looking dress... I know being in Engineering means I can totally get away with fashion illiteracy - in more aspects than one, for, the similarly fashion illiterate around me wouldn't be able tell (like intelligence and maturity, it takes some to know the lack of it) - but formal office-wear and sneakers? One needs nothing short of a celebrity status to get away with that, so nope, not for me. Fortunately, I was supposed to have a fitness class in the evening, so I had my gym bag with me. I changed into my plain black yoga pants with the plain tee I usually wore with it, and ended up going to class looking exactly like how I do going to gym (weird, I know, but no weirder than the alternative!) I also managed to loan a couple of whiteboard markers from a colleague, but in my typical absent-minded style, left them behind as I left his office.
Long story short (I seriously say this way too often without meaning it the slightest... *sorry*) I managed quite well through the "crisis". In hindsight, it wasn't that big a deal. I should stop regarding those recurring dreams as nightmares.
Sleep tight, world!
This post isn't about my subconscious (and unconscious) desires. Obviously. For, if so, the title would say "dream" instead.
One of the most annoying, frequently occurring theme that disturbs my repose is, surprisingly, work-related. I misread my timetable and miss a class; I have a class in ten minutes and I'm still at home, not dressed; I go to class, not properly attired, or completely undressed; I go to class without any teaching materials for the lesson I have to deliver. Just to say a few.
A combination of some of those stuff happened to me last week.
I had a particularly unpleasant drive to work because traffic was heavy and as usual, some road users were inconsiderate and mean. I got to campus a mere half hour before my class and hadn't had my morning coffee nor proper breakfast. I was carrying a lot of stuff with me. Outside my office, I rummaged a good minute for the keys in my bag. It took another minute before I accepted the horrible truth that was that I had misplaced my office keys, and they were not in the bag, no matter how long I continue digging in it. I had never, in my n years of working life, been locked out like that! I had a class in less than half an hour, I had not anything to teach with - not even stationery - and I was in my slippers (yea, the proper shoes were on the other side of the door...) Nightmare? Sort of, and it was happening.
Anyway, after the initial panic and forehead-slapping, all was fine. The biggest issue was footwear because my class was in the lab, and the rules are pretty clear against slippers. I had a pair of sneakers in my car, but I was in a rather formal-looking dress... I know being in Engineering means I can totally get away with fashion illiteracy - in more aspects than one, for, the similarly fashion illiterate around me wouldn't be able tell (like intelligence and maturity, it takes some to know the lack of it) - but formal office-wear and sneakers? One needs nothing short of a celebrity status to get away with that, so nope, not for me. Fortunately, I was supposed to have a fitness class in the evening, so I had my gym bag with me. I changed into my plain black yoga pants with the plain tee I usually wore with it, and ended up going to class looking exactly like how I do going to gym (weird, I know, but no weirder than the alternative!) I also managed to loan a couple of whiteboard markers from a colleague, but in my typical absent-minded style, left them behind as I left his office.
Long story short (I seriously say this way too often without meaning it the slightest... *sorry*) I managed quite well through the "crisis". In hindsight, it wasn't that big a deal. I should stop regarding those recurring dreams as nightmares.
Sleep tight, world!
Tuesday, December 18, 2012
Mid-Term Assessment
It is no secret to anyone who's read a bit of what I write here, that I tend to complain about badly behaving students. I checked my posts - twice I had written about poor attitude regarding/during tests/exams (read about them here and here). Although those posts were written years back when I was teaching at a place different from where I do now, the truth is, I've never really stopped being irritated by similar behaviours I observed... until last week.
I cannot put my finger on what I'm doing differently this term - my teaching style, my interaction with my class, my attitude towards everyone in general - so I'm attributing it all to the students themselves. I have the good fortune of teaching, what I think, must be one of the best-behaved groups I've had in as long as I remember, perhaps, ever! They are attentive, obedient and never unruly. They actively participate in class and answer all the questions I throw at them. To a certain extent, I can tell that they strive to take responsibility for their own learning like I want them to.
On top of that, for their mid-term test which I conducted last week, no one was absent. Not a single person. Reader, if you think I'm being irrationally elated over full attendance for a test, for you think that is how it should be, let me say this - in all my years of teaching, with the exception of very small classes (of less than 5 students), this is the first time I've had no absentees in a test.
Some may shake their heads, thinking that I've simply been so continually disappointed that I should feel such wave of wonder and gladness at what should be normalcy. Perhaps. Nevertheless, I am very happy. =)
I cannot put my finger on what I'm doing differently this term - my teaching style, my interaction with my class, my attitude towards everyone in general - so I'm attributing it all to the students themselves. I have the good fortune of teaching, what I think, must be one of the best-behaved groups I've had in as long as I remember, perhaps, ever! They are attentive, obedient and never unruly. They actively participate in class and answer all the questions I throw at them. To a certain extent, I can tell that they strive to take responsibility for their own learning like I want them to.
On top of that, for their mid-term test which I conducted last week, no one was absent. Not a single person. Reader, if you think I'm being irrationally elated over full attendance for a test, for you think that is how it should be, let me say this - in all my years of teaching, with the exception of very small classes (of less than 5 students), this is the first time I've had no absentees in a test.
Some may shake their heads, thinking that I've simply been so continually disappointed that I should feel such wave of wonder and gladness at what should be normalcy. Perhaps. Nevertheless, I am very happy. =)
Friday, May 18, 2012
Some Tales
Hello there! I'd meant to entertain you - yes, you, Reader, with some silly tales from my past, on the 16th, for Teacher's Day. Procrastination, plus some tricky issues going on at work, got in the way. Better late than never? (Well, this is my blog and what I say, is what is - so yea, better late than never!)
Although I'm not always the elephant, I have in my memory countless bits of scenes from my school days. The happy, the unhappy, the crazy, the weird; the people I liked and disliked, the people I liked then disliked, the teachers I loved and hated... if I compiled all of them into a book, will you read it? (It's OK to answer "Sure, if it's free")
I don't always write about my teachers - in fact, I might never have written about them since I started writing here. I'm not sure why - there were a handful I loved so much, surely they're worth writing about. Like my Science teacher - she was caring and motherly in a non-overbearing manner. Once, something awful (in the world of a 16-year-old) happened at school and I went home extremely unhappy. She called me (yes, my teacher had my number, and I had hers), spoke kindly to me and let me whine and CRY into the phone for half an hour. After the phone call, I felt tonnes better, and when my mom, who obviously saw everything, asked me what was wrong, I told her "nothing". I knew, even then, she was hurt - but how many 16-year-olds of my era (many years ago, yea!) would actually pour their hearts out to their moms? Oh well, I'm making up for that by talking to her so much these days she deems me noisy.
Anyway, back to tales of silliness - or mischief, rather.
When I was in primary school, we had a teacher who never got mad. No matter what. The story was that he once got into a lot of trouble with higher authorities for punishing a pupil, or something like that. So, thereafter, he became mild and indifferent, and although still carried out his teaching duties, he pretty much let the children did whatever they please. And naturally, the children climbed all over him. Literally. I remember I did, once. A few of my friends and I decided to "disturb" him while he was doing some marking at the teacher's desk in our classroom. We swarmed over him, chattered and prattled away at him, pulled his shirt and hands... then, a couple of the girls climbed up the chair he was in, and stood behind his back. Yes, I was one of them. We patted his shoulders and played with his hair, which was a big (and I mean really huge) mass of greying curls. We pulled strands up and were delighted that they remained sticking out. Each time, he quietly smoothed his mane back down and we'd pull some out again. Again and again. He went on his work, casually and gently removing little hands grasping him here and there, and showing an amused smile or a chuckle every now and then. After a while, we little monsters got tired of provoking the un-provoke-able man, and left him alone to find other mischief to indulge in.
Some years later, I was in my final year of secondary education. It was just before our major exam, and classes were no longer conducted. We went to school each day to talk with friends, fool around, mess the classroom up, and in-between, fit in a little studying. One day, the lower form pupils had a sort-of variety show at a hall at the ground floor of the school. We heard the music, the singing, dialog from the sketches, the laughter... and my friend and I just had to go and poke our busy noses in. Now, have I ever mentioned that I'm a seriously vertically-challenged person? Yes, I must have. This friend of mine is about 1cm taller.
So, there we were, sneakily peeking from one of the side-entrances of the hall, enjoying the on-going show. All of a sudden, we heard a very loud "Apa kamu berdua buat kat situ?" (what are the two of you doing there?) It was the discipline teacher, known for being extremely strict and fierce. We were stunned. She glared at us, "Kamu tingkatan berapa? Tingkatan satu atau dua?" (which form are you? first or second?) We ought to have just pretended to be the 13-yr-olds she mistook us to be and escape trouble, but no, we had to be honest. One of us stammered, "Tingkatan lima" (fifth form). She widened her eyes, clenched her fists, inhaled sharply and all but breathed fire with her next words, "TINGKATAN LIMA??!!!"
We did not wait to see what else she would say / do to us. We, simultaneously, turned on our heels and took off. We ran like we've never ran before, for our lives, down the corridor, up two flights of stairs and back into our classroom. As we were running, we were also turning our heads around in fright - as if we were expecting her to be right behind, chasing us. Thank goodness she didn't come after us, we said to each other, panting, as we reached "safety".
I don't always write about my teachers - in fact, I might never have written about them since I started writing here. I'm not sure why - there were a handful I loved so much, surely they're worth writing about. Like my Science teacher - she was caring and motherly in a non-overbearing manner. Once, something awful (in the world of a 16-year-old) happened at school and I went home extremely unhappy. She called me (yes, my teacher had my number, and I had hers), spoke kindly to me and let me whine and CRY into the phone for half an hour. After the phone call, I felt tonnes better, and when my mom, who obviously saw everything, asked me what was wrong, I told her "nothing". I knew, even then, she was hurt - but how many 16-year-olds of my era (many years ago, yea!) would actually pour their hearts out to their moms? Oh well, I'm making up for that by talking to her so much these days she deems me noisy.
Anyway, back to tales of silliness - or mischief, rather.
* * * * *
When I was in primary school, we had a teacher who never got mad. No matter what. The story was that he once got into a lot of trouble with higher authorities for punishing a pupil, or something like that. So, thereafter, he became mild and indifferent, and although still carried out his teaching duties, he pretty much let the children did whatever they please. And naturally, the children climbed all over him. Literally. I remember I did, once. A few of my friends and I decided to "disturb" him while he was doing some marking at the teacher's desk in our classroom. We swarmed over him, chattered and prattled away at him, pulled his shirt and hands... then, a couple of the girls climbed up the chair he was in, and stood behind his back. Yes, I was one of them. We patted his shoulders and played with his hair, which was a big (and I mean really huge) mass of greying curls. We pulled strands up and were delighted that they remained sticking out. Each time, he quietly smoothed his mane back down and we'd pull some out again. Again and again. He went on his work, casually and gently removing little hands grasping him here and there, and showing an amused smile or a chuckle every now and then. After a while, we little monsters got tired of provoking the un-provoke-able man, and left him alone to find other mischief to indulge in.
* * * * *
Some years later, I was in my final year of secondary education. It was just before our major exam, and classes were no longer conducted. We went to school each day to talk with friends, fool around, mess the classroom up, and in-between, fit in a little studying. One day, the lower form pupils had a sort-of variety show at a hall at the ground floor of the school. We heard the music, the singing, dialog from the sketches, the laughter... and my friend and I just had to go and poke our busy noses in. Now, have I ever mentioned that I'm a seriously vertically-challenged person? Yes, I must have. This friend of mine is about 1cm taller.
So, there we were, sneakily peeking from one of the side-entrances of the hall, enjoying the on-going show. All of a sudden, we heard a very loud "Apa kamu berdua buat kat situ?" (what are the two of you doing there?) It was the discipline teacher, known for being extremely strict and fierce. We were stunned. She glared at us, "Kamu tingkatan berapa? Tingkatan satu atau dua?" (which form are you? first or second?) We ought to have just pretended to be the 13-yr-olds she mistook us to be and escape trouble, but no, we had to be honest. One of us stammered, "Tingkatan lima" (fifth form). She widened her eyes, clenched her fists, inhaled sharply and all but breathed fire with her next words, "TINGKATAN LIMA??!!!"
We did not wait to see what else she would say / do to us. We, simultaneously, turned on our heels and took off. We ran like we've never ran before, for our lives, down the corridor, up two flights of stairs and back into our classroom. As we were running, we were also turning our heads around in fright - as if we were expecting her to be right behind, chasing us. Thank goodness she didn't come after us, we said to each other, panting, as we reached "safety".
* * * * *
Good girls sometimes turn bad when they go to college. But not me, I remained good (fine, it's not that I was so good to begin with, but I meant I didn't become worse) in college - I went for my classes, practiced my martial arts and loved my roommates. It was when I went to university that I became bad. Well, not bad bad. Just a little mean. In my time, we had some tutors so fresh out of universities they were all nerves and not much else. I'd observed some with hands shaking while holding their whiteboard markers.
So there was this young man - I don't remember his name - who was so new and so petrified all the time, he appeared cute. Once, during class, while walking about checking the students' work, he came upon my friend and me. He asked to see our work, and we showed him. He noticed that I had one question unsolved. Concerned, he asked, "Why didn't you do this?" I answered with a straight face, "Because I don't know how to do it." He asked, "Why don't you know how to do it?" and I answered, with pretend-sorrow, "Because I'm stupid..." The look on his face - a mix of shock, horror, and guilt - was priceless. Priceless. He, trembling, stammered, "No, no... don't say that.........." while my friend nearly choked herself trying to hold back her laughter.
So there was this young man - I don't remember his name - who was so new and so petrified all the time, he appeared cute. Once, during class, while walking about checking the students' work, he came upon my friend and me. He asked to see our work, and we showed him. He noticed that I had one question unsolved. Concerned, he asked, "Why didn't you do this?" I answered with a straight face, "Because I don't know how to do it." He asked, "Why don't you know how to do it?" and I answered, with pretend-sorrow, "Because I'm stupid..." The look on his face - a mix of shock, horror, and guilt - was priceless. Priceless. He, trembling, stammered, "No, no... don't say that.........." while my friend nearly choked herself trying to hold back her laughter.
* * * * *
So, there you have them - tales of how I've climbed all over, ran away from, and cruelly teased my teachers. I can only conclude that I was a horrible little girl. Maybe I still am (although "little" right now refers only to physical built...)
Happy Teacher's Day to all educators!
Happy Teacher's Day to all educators!
Monday, March 5, 2012
On A Real Positive Note
In all honesty, when I signed up at Blogger.com in 2005 (yikes... 7 years ago?!), I thought blogging was dumb and didn't plan on actually doing it. I only signed up under "peer-pressure" and narcissism - several friends were blogging and they kept telling me to do it because I love to write and I write so well (they said it!). *Ahem*
Then, I started posting pieces mainly as a means to vent the frustration that built inevitably from my 24 weekly contact hours with college kids. I got caught on the very appealing informality and anonymity (I now know many of you Readers actually know who I am, but really, neil used to be completely anonymous!) of blogging and there was no turning back. However, it is also worth noting that one of the other important motivating factors is Bee Ree - there's nothing like an avid blogger roomee to keep me company in this odd virtual world.
I am aware that many of my earliest posts were rants reeking with negativity and sarcasm. Sure, I wrote this post, but I wasn't being positive. I was just being as I always am - sarcastic. And... it's just dawned to me, as recently as a couple of hours ago, that I'd never actually written a sincere post on the bright side of my profession. I imagine I must've given the world the impression that I haven't an ounce of brain, or any backbone, for staying, now past 10 years, in my teaching job, which according to Ahem, is quite possibly the most horrible occupation conceivable.
As much as I can, I want to be positive. I want to see the good in all that life dishes out to me, in everyone I encounter, in everything that goes wrong. I make comedy out of mishaps, I even laugh and invite others to laugh along, at personal "flaws" I cannot rid (like being unbelievably prone to falling down despite having a supposedly low center of gravity from being so short). Therefore, I can't believe I've been so totally negative, blog-wise, all these while in this regard. I blame it on my subconscious mind.
So, here I will write an actual positive post - all the things that keep me going to work willingly, say, every 8 out of 10 working days.
Before I start, let me say this - teaching, in itself, is very rewarding. I love, and I do mean, love the feeling I get when after going through a difficult lesson, I find my class being able to answer my questions. I find it especially rewarding when some students pose questions that indicate that they'd not only understood the subject matter, but had actually been thinking about it. Most, if not all, of my issues with students stem from their attitude, not IQ.
To illustrate, there was a girl who took my course three times before she passed. I'll always remember her for being one of the best-behaved students I've ever taught. She attended every class, paid attention, did her all her work diligently and honestly and approached me often for additional guidance. After the first failure, she went a step further and attempted the problems at the end of every chapter from the textbook. To say I was impressed would be understating it. Yes, she was weak, she was perhaps in the wrong major, but she worked very hard and for that I was more than willing to spare for her whatever little time I had. I would imagine lecturing would be a dream job if the average students all have the attitude of this girl.
Still, I've had my share of good, fun students. I remember those who'd helped liven things up by occasionally cracking jokes, those who'd been happy to participate in my experimental learning methods, and those who'd made my work a breeze by adhering to deadlines and observing the rules. I particularly remember a class which had developed such a strong friendship amongst themselves they had a nickname for every person. Once, they wrote, beside each name in my attendance list, the person's nickname. Seeing the shock on my face as I got the list back, they laughed and told me they'd done it so I would remember them. I still kept that list somewhere, and I do remember them. And I remember a boy who, after being taught three times (different subjects) by me, felt comfortable enough with me to tell me how he's grown through the years, and how he's more mature then compared to when he first started college, and how he felt he was foolish to have not worked harder for his previous subjects with me.
When I moved from a college to a university, I had a pleasant surprise, for at the time, the students were mostly fantastic. A majority of them were sufficiently independent and well-behaved. I remember the time I had my class design and program games for their assignment - it was open-ended, theme-based rather than question-based. I wanted them to explore all that the programming language could offer and get creative. Most of the class came up with projects that blew me away... they had such brilliant ideas, such ingenious manners to work around limitations and obstacles, and shown so much diligence, interest and fervour in their work they delivered more than I'd expected, and from the impression I got, managed to have some fun while doing it too. It was a time when work didn't seem like actual work to me.
It isn't that I want to compare each batch with the previous, but one just can't help notice the declining independence, sense of responsibility and problem-solving abilities. I should wrap this up before I involuntarily slip into the negative... once more, I blame my subconscious mind.
So, there - despite all that I do not enjoy dealing with, I still enjoy teaching because I enjoy imparting knowledge. I am proud when my students learn what they have to learn, and learn to love learning. I am proud that some of them are alert and knowledgeable enough to point out mistakes that I make and am definitely proud of those with enough sense of humour to laugh (very loudly) with me when I wrote C++ code in a Java lecture. This is the real positive note of this aspect of my career.
Reader, if you were once in my class; if you enjoyed my lectures and felt they made a difference in your education; if are wondering if your teacher is proud of you... yes, she is. =)
Then, I started posting pieces mainly as a means to vent the frustration that built inevitably from my 24 weekly contact hours with college kids. I got caught on the very appealing informality and anonymity (I now know many of you Readers actually know who I am, but really, neil used to be completely anonymous!) of blogging and there was no turning back. However, it is also worth noting that one of the other important motivating factors is Bee Ree - there's nothing like an avid blogger roomee to keep me company in this odd virtual world.
I am aware that many of my earliest posts were rants reeking with negativity and sarcasm. Sure, I wrote this post, but I wasn't being positive. I was just being as I always am - sarcastic. And... it's just dawned to me, as recently as a couple of hours ago, that I'd never actually written a sincere post on the bright side of my profession. I imagine I must've given the world the impression that I haven't an ounce of brain, or any backbone, for staying, now past 10 years, in my teaching job, which according to Ahem, is quite possibly the most horrible occupation conceivable.
As much as I can, I want to be positive. I want to see the good in all that life dishes out to me, in everyone I encounter, in everything that goes wrong. I make comedy out of mishaps, I even laugh and invite others to laugh along, at personal "flaws" I cannot rid (like being unbelievably prone to falling down despite having a supposedly low center of gravity from being so short). Therefore, I can't believe I've been so totally negative, blog-wise, all these while in this regard. I blame it on my subconscious mind.
So, here I will write an actual positive post - all the things that keep me going to work willingly, say, every 8 out of 10 working days.
Before I start, let me say this - teaching, in itself, is very rewarding. I love, and I do mean, love the feeling I get when after going through a difficult lesson, I find my class being able to answer my questions. I find it especially rewarding when some students pose questions that indicate that they'd not only understood the subject matter, but had actually been thinking about it. Most, if not all, of my issues with students stem from their attitude, not IQ.
To illustrate, there was a girl who took my course three times before she passed. I'll always remember her for being one of the best-behaved students I've ever taught. She attended every class, paid attention, did her all her work diligently and honestly and approached me often for additional guidance. After the first failure, she went a step further and attempted the problems at the end of every chapter from the textbook. To say I was impressed would be understating it. Yes, she was weak, she was perhaps in the wrong major, but she worked very hard and for that I was more than willing to spare for her whatever little time I had. I would imagine lecturing would be a dream job if the average students all have the attitude of this girl.
Still, I've had my share of good, fun students. I remember those who'd helped liven things up by occasionally cracking jokes, those who'd been happy to participate in my experimental learning methods, and those who'd made my work a breeze by adhering to deadlines and observing the rules. I particularly remember a class which had developed such a strong friendship amongst themselves they had a nickname for every person. Once, they wrote, beside each name in my attendance list, the person's nickname. Seeing the shock on my face as I got the list back, they laughed and told me they'd done it so I would remember them. I still kept that list somewhere, and I do remember them. And I remember a boy who, after being taught three times (different subjects) by me, felt comfortable enough with me to tell me how he's grown through the years, and how he's more mature then compared to when he first started college, and how he felt he was foolish to have not worked harder for his previous subjects with me.
When I moved from a college to a university, I had a pleasant surprise, for at the time, the students were mostly fantastic. A majority of them were sufficiently independent and well-behaved. I remember the time I had my class design and program games for their assignment - it was open-ended, theme-based rather than question-based. I wanted them to explore all that the programming language could offer and get creative. Most of the class came up with projects that blew me away... they had such brilliant ideas, such ingenious manners to work around limitations and obstacles, and shown so much diligence, interest and fervour in their work they delivered more than I'd expected, and from the impression I got, managed to have some fun while doing it too. It was a time when work didn't seem like actual work to me.
It isn't that I want to compare each batch with the previous, but one just can't help notice the declining independence, sense of responsibility and problem-solving abilities. I should wrap this up before I involuntarily slip into the negative... once more, I blame my subconscious mind.
So, there - despite all that I do not enjoy dealing with, I still enjoy teaching because I enjoy imparting knowledge. I am proud when my students learn what they have to learn, and learn to love learning. I am proud that some of them are alert and knowledgeable enough to point out mistakes that I make and am definitely proud of those with enough sense of humour to laugh (very loudly) with me when I wrote C++ code in a Java lecture. This is the real positive note of this aspect of my career.
Reader, if you were once in my class; if you enjoyed my lectures and felt they made a difference in your education; if are wondering if your teacher is proud of you... yes, she is. =)
Friday, February 24, 2012
Contemplation and Comedy
I started my teaching career way back in August 2001. I was very young (and looked even younger) and inexperienced, and the students knew it. In fact, quite a number of them were the same age as me, and some others older than me. I remember how nervous I was the morning of the very first lecture - such that I had my colleague, Mr Kopi, accompany me to class. He stayed with me until the first students started walking in (for which I will be forever grateful!).
That class, I remember, had some nasty troublemakers. There was this boy who sat at the back of the class and deliberately disturbed the lectures by chatting away, yawning very audibly, and on several occasions, announcing loudly "This is so boring! So boring!" The last time he did, I chided him. The discourse went more or less like this:
"This is the syllabus that I have to teach."
"It's SO BORING!"
"What do you expect me to do? Sing and dance?"
"Yeah! That's good, do that!"
"If you really like that, you're in the wrong major. You should go and do Performing Arts instead."
He had no witty comeback (not that any of his antics and rebuttals were witty in the first place) so he was silenced. He did not give me any more trouble for the rest of the semester, but he did lead a group of the naughtiest in the class to bully one of my other colleagues (who was also a first-time lecturer) into tears. There was also this girl who loved to ask questions and/or request that I repeat certain parts of the lecture, but when I gave her answers or repeated stuff as per her request, she would be busy playing with her phone and not listening. Every single time. No, I'm not joking.
In those early days, I often thought of my favourite teachers and lecturers, and thought about the qualities in them that made me love them so much. Dedication. Passion. Genuine concern for their students. Teaching with the earnest aim to educate would, usually, result in developing a good teaching style. That much, I believe. I tried, so very hard, all through the years, to continuously improve my style. I figured out the best way to deliver difficult lessons, the best way to explain difficult concepts, the best way to illustrate the abstract. Above all, I tried to instill the love of learning in my students - I tried to encourage them to be inquisitive. I often asked them to ask questions. I often said, upon having presented a point or a solution, "Don't you want to know why?" Asking "why" is important. I tried so very hard to teach that. So very hard.
Reader, you could perhaps have sense the heavy tone of resignation by now.
For, an education isn't what they really want. They don't care that I put so much effort and energy into delivering the lessons in ways best suited for their level of understanding. They don't like it when I criticize their shoddy work, and they don't like it when I refuse to waste my time listening to excuses. They say that I'm harsh, that I don't give them the chance to "explain", that I set the standards too high, and that I shouldn't even be a lecturer. They don't like it when I check their bad manners, and they don't like it that I don't spoon-feed them and expect them to take some responsibility in their own learning. They say that I should calm myself down, that I should understand that the subject is "very difficult", and even that I have failed in my attempt to "teach" them self-learning.
Maybe it is true that I have failed, or that I am indeed not suited for this lowly-paid (but highly-intellectually-demanding) occupation. Don't get me wrong - I am way past the era of being hurt at ridiculous comments thrown at me. At first, I was just really sad that this generation has degraded to such new lows - the mentality they showcased is beyond shameful. At first. After seconds and thirds... I got used to it. I constantly remind myself that no matter how the majority wouldn't know good teaching if it came up to them and spat them in the face, there are always a few who would truly appreciate the way I put my heart into their education. Even if there is ONE, out of a hundred, my efforts would not be in vain.
I don't know where the comedy is in all of these... perhaps it is in reading a report and finding this statement: "The best way to make full step is to make two half steps."
Or getting the answer, "Lagrangian tree is a tree", for a question asking the definition of the said term.
Or looking at a program for controlling traffic lights at a cross junction that is written such that all the lights will turn green at the same time.
Or getting a signal-to-noise-ratio with the unit of Hz in an exam script.
Or this:
Ahhh, how I love Academia! Truly!
That class, I remember, had some nasty troublemakers. There was this boy who sat at the back of the class and deliberately disturbed the lectures by chatting away, yawning very audibly, and on several occasions, announcing loudly "This is so boring! So boring!" The last time he did, I chided him. The discourse went more or less like this:
"This is the syllabus that I have to teach."
"It's SO BORING!"
"What do you expect me to do? Sing and dance?"
"Yeah! That's good, do that!"
"If you really like that, you're in the wrong major. You should go and do Performing Arts instead."
He had no witty comeback (not that any of his antics and rebuttals were witty in the first place) so he was silenced. He did not give me any more trouble for the rest of the semester, but he did lead a group of the naughtiest in the class to bully one of my other colleagues (who was also a first-time lecturer) into tears. There was also this girl who loved to ask questions and/or request that I repeat certain parts of the lecture, but when I gave her answers or repeated stuff as per her request, she would be busy playing with her phone and not listening. Every single time. No, I'm not joking.
In those early days, I often thought of my favourite teachers and lecturers, and thought about the qualities in them that made me love them so much. Dedication. Passion. Genuine concern for their students. Teaching with the earnest aim to educate would, usually, result in developing a good teaching style. That much, I believe. I tried, so very hard, all through the years, to continuously improve my style. I figured out the best way to deliver difficult lessons, the best way to explain difficult concepts, the best way to illustrate the abstract. Above all, I tried to instill the love of learning in my students - I tried to encourage them to be inquisitive. I often asked them to ask questions. I often said, upon having presented a point or a solution, "Don't you want to know why?" Asking "why" is important. I tried so very hard to teach that. So very hard.
Reader, you could perhaps have sense the heavy tone of resignation by now.
For, an education isn't what they really want. They don't care that I put so much effort and energy into delivering the lessons in ways best suited for their level of understanding. They don't like it when I criticize their shoddy work, and they don't like it when I refuse to waste my time listening to excuses. They say that I'm harsh, that I don't give them the chance to "explain", that I set the standards too high, and that I shouldn't even be a lecturer. They don't like it when I check their bad manners, and they don't like it that I don't spoon-feed them and expect them to take some responsibility in their own learning. They say that I should calm myself down, that I should understand that the subject is "very difficult", and even that I have failed in my attempt to "teach" them self-learning.
Maybe it is true that I have failed, or that I am indeed not suited for this lowly-paid (but highly-intellectually-demanding) occupation. Don't get me wrong - I am way past the era of being hurt at ridiculous comments thrown at me. At first, I was just really sad that this generation has degraded to such new lows - the mentality they showcased is beyond shameful. At first. After seconds and thirds... I got used to it. I constantly remind myself that no matter how the majority wouldn't know good teaching if it came up to them and spat them in the face, there are always a few who would truly appreciate the way I put my heart into their education. Even if there is ONE, out of a hundred, my efforts would not be in vain.
I don't know where the comedy is in all of these... perhaps it is in reading a report and finding this statement: "The best way to make full step is to make two half steps."
Or getting the answer, "Lagrangian tree is a tree", for a question asking the definition of the said term.
Or looking at a program for controlling traffic lights at a cross junction that is written such that all the lights will turn green at the same time.
Or getting a signal-to-noise-ratio with the unit of Hz in an exam script.
Or this:
Ahhh, how I love Academia! Truly!
Tuesday, January 10, 2012
BUSY
This is absolutely the first time, ever, that I use CAPS for a post title. Seriously. I've been in a daze for the most of the past three months or so - constantly occupied from morning till evening on weekdays and working through quite a few weekends and public holidays. I'm not a workaholic - far from it - I don't enjoy work any more than the average working person, but if I have something I must do, I must do. Like, I must prepare my own lecture slides, although I have "inherited" a set from lecturers who taught the subjects in the past, because those are... what's a better word for 'crap'? Oh, wait.
So, I've been busy. Extremely busy. I'm not about to make lists, so it suffices to say I've taken up way more than I ever had, since I started my current position.
However, I still found the time to write the occasional (although mostly short) posts. I found the time to indulge in little things I enjoy every now and then - a friend observed that while I whined about being so busy, I managed to complete my baby blanket project, bake gingerbread cookies (complete with royal icing decoration!) for family, friends and colleagues, and take half a day off my (very precious) weekend to meet and spend time with friends. I said those are precisely the reasons I've been so occupied that I didn't have a spare minute to sit back, relax and do "nothing". For, in addition to her list, I also allocated time to be with my family, do some yoga, climbing and guitar practice.
Granted, I had to give some activities a miss when work overwhelmed; I had to decline some invitations I would otherwise had accepted. Choir, for example. Every ex-choirmate I met and spoke to asked me to go back for their 2012 production - it's going to be a grand affair for it's also going to be their 10th anniversary concert. They're doing pop, jazz and musical pieces... and it's almost painful to think that I will not be a part of that. But I know I will not be able to cope with the demanding rehearsal schedule and everything else I've currently undertaken - I mean, it takes, literally, two persons to tell me that my hair has grown long and unruly for me to realize the last haircut I got was nearly 6 months ago. So, either way I decide, I know I will have regrets.
I don't know where this post is heading. Being so thoroughly exhausted does that to my brain - I spent almost 14 hours on campus today.
So, to conclude - in some weird way, it feels great to be busy. Simply busy - not stressed out, driven to the brink of insanity or anything along those lines. My BP is consistently low (though I'm not sure if that is because I'm anaemic). Right. Good night, Reader!
So, I've been busy. Extremely busy. I'm not about to make lists, so it suffices to say I've taken up way more than I ever had, since I started my current position.
However, I still found the time to write the occasional (although mostly short) posts. I found the time to indulge in little things I enjoy every now and then - a friend observed that while I whined about being so busy, I managed to complete my baby blanket project, bake gingerbread cookies (complete with royal icing decoration!) for family, friends and colleagues, and take half a day off my (very precious) weekend to meet and spend time with friends. I said those are precisely the reasons I've been so occupied that I didn't have a spare minute to sit back, relax and do "nothing". For, in addition to her list, I also allocated time to be with my family, do some yoga, climbing and guitar practice.
Granted, I had to give some activities a miss when work overwhelmed; I had to decline some invitations I would otherwise had accepted. Choir, for example. Every ex-choirmate I met and spoke to asked me to go back for their 2012 production - it's going to be a grand affair for it's also going to be their 10th anniversary concert. They're doing pop, jazz and musical pieces... and it's almost painful to think that I will not be a part of that. But I know I will not be able to cope with the demanding rehearsal schedule and everything else I've currently undertaken - I mean, it takes, literally, two persons to tell me that my hair has grown long and unruly for me to realize the last haircut I got was nearly 6 months ago. So, either way I decide, I know I will have regrets.
I don't know where this post is heading. Being so thoroughly exhausted does that to my brain - I spent almost 14 hours on campus today.
So, to conclude - in some weird way, it feels great to be busy. Simply busy - not stressed out, driven to the brink of insanity or anything along those lines. My BP is consistently low (though I'm not sure if that is because I'm anaemic). Right. Good night, Reader!
Saturday, December 31, 2011
The Last Day
Reader, do you sense the heavy air of finality? Well, of course not! We're all happy we're gonna have a NEW year... though, I'm not exactly thrilled right now. Or, at all. I should be in bed, catching up on sleep, having joyful dreams, but instead...
About 12 months ago, I made a list of lessons I've learned, in the place of resolutions, which people in general love to make and then break. I just don't see the point in publicly announcing "new year" resolutions - I mean, if I resolve to do something, or to *not* do something, I don't need to shout it out. In that way, if I'm obliged to break it, or feel like breaking it, or forgot I ever thought it in the first place, no one has to know. I digress - I'd meant to share more lessons:
1. How to survive on the *same* food (that which you get on campus) 5 days a week, 17 weeks a trimester, 3 trimesters a year, year after year: go for lunch only when extremely hungry, such that you can think of nothing, but how grateful you are that something (no matter how far from palatable it is) is going down your throat.
2. How to avoid Monday blues: work through the weekend, of course. No weekend, no dreading the impending gloom of Monday!
3. How to minimize time spent marking: set either super easy questions (everyone gets everything right - a tick and full marks) or super tough ones (everyone gets everything wrong - a cross and a zero)
Oh, it's a short list alright. Now, I shall surrender to my beckoning bed and try to lose this obstinate consciousness.
Happy New Year, Reader!
About 12 months ago, I made a list of lessons I've learned, in the place of resolutions, which people in general love to make and then break. I just don't see the point in publicly announcing "new year" resolutions - I mean, if I resolve to do something, or to *not* do something, I don't need to shout it out. In that way, if I'm obliged to break it, or feel like breaking it, or forgot I ever thought it in the first place, no one has to know. I digress - I'd meant to share more lessons:
1. How to survive on the *same* food (that which you get on campus) 5 days a week, 17 weeks a trimester, 3 trimesters a year, year after year: go for lunch only when extremely hungry, such that you can think of nothing, but how grateful you are that something (no matter how far from palatable it is) is going down your throat.
2. How to avoid Monday blues: work through the weekend, of course. No weekend, no dreading the impending gloom of Monday!
3. How to minimize time spent marking: set either super easy questions (everyone gets everything right - a tick and full marks) or super tough ones (everyone gets everything wrong - a cross and a zero)
Oh, it's a short list alright. Now, I shall surrender to my beckoning bed and try to lose this obstinate consciousness.
Happy New Year, Reader!
Wednesday, October 19, 2011
Occupational Hazard
Reader, have I ever told you the extent of my clumsiness (and absent-mindedness, thoughtlessness, silliness, forgetfulness etc...)? Long story short (I'm tired and I want to go to sleep) - I knocked over a bottle of ink while I was refilling my markers. It fell over the edge of my table, onto - well, me. In addition to splatters on my printer, chest of drawers and floor, I got splashed all over my pants, slippers, feet and right hand. There was a spot on my cushioned chair too. I was literally stunned for several seconds, as my mind struggled to accept the nasty reality.
The mess! The horrible, horrible mess! The ink! The bottle was 2/3 full and would have lasted a long time still! I let out a long, tortured, silent scream. I had a class a couple of hours later and I really didn't need a mess to deal with then!
I took a deep breath, and with my unstained left hand, I took my phone and took the shot. Seriously, no point crying over spilt ink.
First things first - I went to the washroom and washed the ink off my hand. Back in my office, I wiped as much as could be wiped from my printer and chest of drawers, and then "borrowed" the mop from the janitor's closet and cleaned the floor. It wasn't easy - it took a lot of strength to get the stains out. As for my pants, slippers and feet, there wasn't much I could do. The pants were positively ruined - from past experiences, I know marker ink stains simply don't come out. They just don't. I don't know about the slippers... perhaps I could think of something tomorrow. My feet - well, I'd just have to put up with the stains for the rest of the evening, I figured.
Later, I went to lecture in my pants adorned with black patches, and after that, to yoga with my feet sporting black spots.
All these should be upsetting, but I'm not much upset. I keep thinking it was quite fortunate that I spilled black ink, instead of red ink, which will probably make my office look like a scene from CSI, and me the murderer, or victim. I mean that whole-heartedly - I was refilling my red marker pen just prior to the black one. It could so have been red! *shudders*
It was also fortunate that I wasn't wearing my new sandals, which I had actually put on in the morning, and then changed my mind. It would have been catastrophic if they got stained and the stains won't come out! Lastly, I'm grateful my pants were grey, though not dark enough to render the stains invisible. Imagine if I wore white - like, white with black blotches? I'd totally look like a COW!
Say, this positive thinking thing is quite becoming of me. Oh, and I just thought of one more - if I ever need a reason to buy a new pair of pants... well, one pair was ruined today!
Thursday, September 15, 2011
Random Kindness
This year marks the tenth from when I first started teaching. I remember then - when my passion to teach was the only reason I taught and when I expected similar passion for learning from those I taught. I was very young and inexperienced; I would get angry easily and would give the students (many of whom were almost the same age as me) a good scolding for the littlest offence, I would raise my voice at them when they dared present nonsensical arguments to me, give me crap or raise their voices at me (yup, happened before). I remember the time I discovered that 3 students had copied from each other during their test (a few identical ridiculously wrong answers were the dead giveaway) - I failed them for that test, then went straight to the Head of Programme to report their "crime". The HOP waited patiently for me to finish my very serious complaint, then said it wasn't really a big deal and after all, I did not catch them red-handed. I was indignant beyond belief - I showed her the scripts, pointed out the offending spots and reiterated that those kids were indeed guilty. She smiled, leaned back on her chair, and asked me, "They have all failed this test, anyway. What else do you want?"
I admit I didn't have an answer to her question. I didn't know exactly what I wanted, except that I expected her, as the Head, to do something to those kids. They should not be getting away cheating in my test. Furthermore, I couldn't have failed them if they did not also answer all the other questions wrongly, could I? I was very dissatisfied. I told her so. She said, "My dear, you are very young, and very rash. You get worked up too easily, and I understand that. You will see, next time, that matters like this are common, and there is no need to over-react."
The HOP was an old Indian lady with a very slight frame, who smiled a lot and was friendly and soft-spoken. I could not believe she would say that to me. I resented her passiveness then, but it didn't take more than a couple of years for me to realise she wasn't all that wrong. It was a long and hard journey, learning to handle students, and there was no shortcut to it. There was a time a boy rebuked me with "What is your problem?!" openly, during a lecture, when I reprimanded him for having not done a task assigned to him the previous week. There was a time another boy retorted with "If you want me to stay till the end of the week, why don't you buy me another air-ticket?" when I didn't want to entertain his excuse of having bought the ticket (to return to his hometown earlier for festivities) for missing some classes. There was a time a known troublemaker spent a good half an hour, during a lab tutorial, verbally harassing me to give him softcopy source codes for their programming exercises, and upon me repeatedly refusing, threatened outright to lodge a complaint against me to the faculty. I could go on and on.
For the sake of my own mental health, I'd learned not to let students get to me. I'd learned not to raise my voice at them, whatever they may do. I'd learned to be patient when dealing with the most arrogant, the most stubborn, the most aggressive, the most unreasonable, the most obnoxious, the worst of the worst... I'd learned even to put up with the most ridiculous arguments, desperately hoping that logic and reason can overcome selfish irrationality. Unfortunately, I'm afraid it will never happen, and honestly, I think I have had enough. I feel nauseous just listening to "We can't get this done due to time constraint!" Time constraint! When I have given them 10 weeks to do their project, it isn't my problem that they choose to start working on it a week before the due date. I gave them 10 weeks, out of a 14-week semester, for heaven's sake! We all have procrastinated in our lives, tarried till the last minute - I understand, but please take responsibility for having done it!
The truth is, I've had an awful day today. I'd gone out of my way to give an extra class, to give what I thought should be very valuable lessons in facing the coming final exams and for more effective learning in general. I was so ready to answer any questions regarding the subject matter, but all they wanted to know was why they got "low" marks for their assignment. Why, indeed. After the two-hour class, I had to face several more in my office, loudly in my face. Enough is enough.
I left work mentally drained and quite distressed. I couldn't decide if I love or hate teaching. I couldn't think straight and I couldn't stop thinking. I was angry, disappointed and fed up. I would've continued in my sourness and bad mood till the end of the day if it were not for what took place on my way to yoga class.
I was so caught up in my negative emotions I didn't care that it was raining. I walked right out without an umbrella but just before I stepped into the rain, a fitness instructor (who recognizes me as one of the members at the gym), coming from the opposite direction, saw me. He greeted me, and showed concern that I had to walk in the rain to get to the gym. I said I didn't think it was heavy. He said, no, it was rather. Why don't I just take his umbrella, and leave it at the counter when I got there? I hesitated. Just take it, he said, and gently pushed it into my hand. A totally random act kindness. I don't even know his name, and he definitely doesn't know mine.
An unexpected random kindness, and it turned my day around. I know not where my foul mood went - I enjoyed my yoga class, despite all the arms-cramping handstands; I enjoyed the cool, rainy evening; I even enjoyed listening to my mother scolding the evil characters in the Taiwanese drama she was watching.
Now, I shall enjoy my much-needed night's rest. Tomorrow is another day. And here we'll go again...
I admit I didn't have an answer to her question. I didn't know exactly what I wanted, except that I expected her, as the Head, to do something to those kids. They should not be getting away cheating in my test. Furthermore, I couldn't have failed them if they did not also answer all the other questions wrongly, could I? I was very dissatisfied. I told her so. She said, "My dear, you are very young, and very rash. You get worked up too easily, and I understand that. You will see, next time, that matters like this are common, and there is no need to over-react."
The HOP was an old Indian lady with a very slight frame, who smiled a lot and was friendly and soft-spoken. I could not believe she would say that to me. I resented her passiveness then, but it didn't take more than a couple of years for me to realise she wasn't all that wrong. It was a long and hard journey, learning to handle students, and there was no shortcut to it. There was a time a boy rebuked me with "What is your problem?!" openly, during a lecture, when I reprimanded him for having not done a task assigned to him the previous week. There was a time another boy retorted with "If you want me to stay till the end of the week, why don't you buy me another air-ticket?" when I didn't want to entertain his excuse of having bought the ticket (to return to his hometown earlier for festivities) for missing some classes. There was a time a known troublemaker spent a good half an hour, during a lab tutorial, verbally harassing me to give him softcopy source codes for their programming exercises, and upon me repeatedly refusing, threatened outright to lodge a complaint against me to the faculty. I could go on and on.
For the sake of my own mental health, I'd learned not to let students get to me. I'd learned not to raise my voice at them, whatever they may do. I'd learned to be patient when dealing with the most arrogant, the most stubborn, the most aggressive, the most unreasonable, the most obnoxious, the worst of the worst... I'd learned even to put up with the most ridiculous arguments, desperately hoping that logic and reason can overcome selfish irrationality. Unfortunately, I'm afraid it will never happen, and honestly, I think I have had enough. I feel nauseous just listening to "We can't get this done due to time constraint!" Time constraint! When I have given them 10 weeks to do their project, it isn't my problem that they choose to start working on it a week before the due date. I gave them 10 weeks, out of a 14-week semester, for heaven's sake! We all have procrastinated in our lives, tarried till the last minute - I understand, but please take responsibility for having done it!
The truth is, I've had an awful day today. I'd gone out of my way to give an extra class, to give what I thought should be very valuable lessons in facing the coming final exams and for more effective learning in general. I was so ready to answer any questions regarding the subject matter, but all they wanted to know was why they got "low" marks for their assignment. Why, indeed. After the two-hour class, I had to face several more in my office, loudly in my face. Enough is enough.
I left work mentally drained and quite distressed. I couldn't decide if I love or hate teaching. I couldn't think straight and I couldn't stop thinking. I was angry, disappointed and fed up. I would've continued in my sourness and bad mood till the end of the day if it were not for what took place on my way to yoga class.
I was so caught up in my negative emotions I didn't care that it was raining. I walked right out without an umbrella but just before I stepped into the rain, a fitness instructor (who recognizes me as one of the members at the gym), coming from the opposite direction, saw me. He greeted me, and showed concern that I had to walk in the rain to get to the gym. I said I didn't think it was heavy. He said, no, it was rather. Why don't I just take his umbrella, and leave it at the counter when I got there? I hesitated. Just take it, he said, and gently pushed it into my hand. A totally random act kindness. I don't even know his name, and he definitely doesn't know mine.
An unexpected random kindness, and it turned my day around. I know not where my foul mood went - I enjoyed my yoga class, despite all the arms-cramping handstands; I enjoyed the cool, rainy evening; I even enjoyed listening to my mother scolding the evil characters in the Taiwanese drama she was watching.
Now, I shall enjoy my much-needed night's rest. Tomorrow is another day. And here we'll go again...
Tuesday, January 4, 2011
New Year
Hello, readers! Instead of resolutions (which I seriously despise), I shall share a list of lessons I've learned in the past year:
1. If you eat a tiny fish at lunch, you will be hungry before it's time for yoga.
2. If you ate a stale fish at lunch, you will have an upset tummy and irritable bowels the next day.
3. If while you're not yet completely recovered from having eaten a stale fish you ate more fish (even if they're non-stale), you will have an upset tummy for the rest of the week.
4. If you boycott all the stalls serving oily fried rice and stale fish, you will have nothing else to eat.
5. If you talk to your roomees about roast pork and assam fish 10 minutes before you go to class, you will be hungry until the end of it.
6. If you let your fringe grow long and unruly enough, you will get ink stains on your face at the end of the class.
7. If you wear baju kurung / kebaya to work, people will ask you if you have official functions or meetings - no matter how many times you've done so previously, and explained that they were for no particular reason.
8. If you noticed someone has put on a little weight and you ask her if she is pregnant, the answer is most certainly NO, even if she actually is (therefore, NEVER EVER ask!)
9. If you look up and say hi to someone while halfway down the stairs, you will fall the rest of the way.
10. If you do a dynamic move (on the climbing wall) with your left arm, you will injure your left shoulder.
11. If you attempt a bouldering problem before the aforementioned injured left shoulder is healed, you will hurt it even more.
12. If while belaying you keep the rope slack because the climber insisted it, you will be lifted off your feet and hurled towards the wall when he falls unexpectedly (but it's fun!)
13. If you do not want to run to faculty office 3 times in 2 days only to be told the refill ink you wanted isn't available, buy your own.
14. If you're by nature clumsy and you keep cacti, you will get thorns in your fingers every now and then.
15. If your roomee complains that eclairs are too troublesome to make and you disagree, you will be tasked to make them instead (OK roomee, I will, but yikes...)
Fine - not very useful, I'll admit.
Let's hope we'll all have love, laughter and good health in great abundance always! Happy new year =)
1. If you eat a tiny fish at lunch, you will be hungry before it's time for yoga.
2. If you ate a stale fish at lunch, you will have an upset tummy and irritable bowels the next day.
3. If while you're not yet completely recovered from having eaten a stale fish you ate more fish (even if they're non-stale), you will have an upset tummy for the rest of the week.
4. If you boycott all the stalls serving oily fried rice and stale fish, you will have nothing else to eat.
5. If you talk to your roomees about roast pork and assam fish 10 minutes before you go to class, you will be hungry until the end of it.
6. If you let your fringe grow long and unruly enough, you will get ink stains on your face at the end of the class.
7. If you wear baju kurung / kebaya to work, people will ask you if you have official functions or meetings - no matter how many times you've done so previously, and explained that they were for no particular reason.
8. If you noticed someone has put on a little weight and you ask her if she is pregnant, the answer is most certainly NO, even if she actually is (therefore, NEVER EVER ask!)
9. If you look up and say hi to someone while halfway down the stairs, you will fall the rest of the way.
10. If you do a dynamic move (on the climbing wall) with your left arm, you will injure your left shoulder.
11. If you attempt a bouldering problem before the aforementioned injured left shoulder is healed, you will hurt it even more.
12. If while belaying you keep the rope slack because the climber insisted it, you will be lifted off your feet and hurled towards the wall when he falls unexpectedly (but it's fun!)
13. If you do not want to run to faculty office 3 times in 2 days only to be told the refill ink you wanted isn't available, buy your own.
14. If you're by nature clumsy and you keep cacti, you will get thorns in your fingers every now and then.
15. If your roomee complains that eclairs are too troublesome to make and you disagree, you will be tasked to make them instead (OK roomee, I will, but yikes...)
Fine - not very useful, I'll admit.
Let's hope we'll all have love, laughter and good health in great abundance always! Happy new year =)
Thursday, November 25, 2010
Ghost Pen
Some months ago, we ran into a time where we resorted to buying our own ink refills because they were almost never available amongst the stationery supply. At the shop in town I usually visit, there was an entire shelf of them, though looking a little different from those I'm accustomed to using. I checked to make sure they're for whiteboard markers and grabbed a couple without giving any further thoughts to the differently-coloured packaging.
When I started using my newly-purchased refill, I noticed that my marker's ink started fading - and I mean, the more ink I put into it, the more faded the writing appeared! It made no sense at all. Eventually, it was rendered totally useless, for the ink then appeared so light it was ghostly. I called it my Ghost Pen, and stopped using it.
It was then that I took some time to really look at the refill ink I bought. I noticed they were indeed meant for a different range of markers than those we've always used.
So, the difference is the ink being "alcohol-based" whereas my markers were simply... well, regular whiteboard markers, I suppose. I don't know what could be so disagreeable about alcohol-based ink with my markers, but somehow, when used together, they turn translucent. So, I was back to the running-out-of-ink predicament, plus I have bottles of ink I then had no use for.
I went to the shop again, and this time, made sure I got the right kind of ink. I also got a couple of alcohol-based markers, since, I figured, I already have the refill ink for them.
The cashier, scanning the bar codes of the items, gave me an odd look. "These refills are wrong for the pens," she told me, meaning to be helpful, I'm sure. I started saying, yes, I realise, but... and it dawned to me I really didn't want to have to tell her that the current purchase was to right a wrong I made the last time. I didn't think she'd be interested. Actually, I'm not sure you, Reader, are interested either.
And now I wonder what I should do with the one which has already turned into ghost...
When I started using my newly-purchased refill, I noticed that my marker's ink started fading - and I mean, the more ink I put into it, the more faded the writing appeared! It made no sense at all. Eventually, it was rendered totally useless, for the ink then appeared so light it was ghostly. I called it my Ghost Pen, and stopped using it.
It was then that I took some time to really look at the refill ink I bought. I noticed they were indeed meant for a different range of markers than those we've always used.
So, the difference is the ink being "alcohol-based" whereas my markers were simply... well, regular whiteboard markers, I suppose. I don't know what could be so disagreeable about alcohol-based ink with my markers, but somehow, when used together, they turn translucent. So, I was back to the running-out-of-ink predicament, plus I have bottles of ink I then had no use for.
I went to the shop again, and this time, made sure I got the right kind of ink. I also got a couple of alcohol-based markers, since, I figured, I already have the refill ink for them.
The cashier, scanning the bar codes of the items, gave me an odd look. "These refills are wrong for the pens," she told me, meaning to be helpful, I'm sure. I started saying, yes, I realise, but... and it dawned to me I really didn't want to have to tell her that the current purchase was to right a wrong I made the last time. I didn't think she'd be interested. Actually, I'm not sure you, Reader, are interested either.
And now I wonder what I should do with the one which has already turned into ghost...
Saturday, November 20, 2010
One Of Those Moments
I dragged myself out of bed much earlier than I would have liked, hurried through the daily grooming just to try to avoid the usual morning congestion. I took the simplest unhealthy breakfast of coffee and crackers, and I made it on time. It would be the fourth time I deliver the lesson. The very same lesson - the fourth time. The room was big and mostly unoccupied, for attendance was only about a third of the official number. Some of the lights wouldn't turn on and that had the room in a darkened bluish hue, coloured so by weak rays of the sun coming through the rather heavily-tinted windows.
The audience were quiet, perhaps intimidated, and not desirably responsive. I lifted my voice in a poor attempt to lift their moods and the general somberness. It didn't work. It was still too early and there were really far too few of them. I pressed on and persisted. The projector cast onto the screen a blank square of blue because the visualizer wouldn't turn on. The power button wouldn't work, the lights button wouldn't work. I fumbled with every button I could get my fingers on but it just wouldn't turn on. They were watching me like one would watch a TV programme.
In the instance I knew it wasn't ever going to work, it all came crashing in. The senseless frustration, exasperation, gloom, despair, resignation - the combination rushed over me like a wave, so overwhelming, in that moment, all I wanted to do was fling my pens away, strike a hard surface and utter profanities. I wanted, so much, to take the easy way out, get it done and over with! I simply couldn't go on anymore.
But I could. I shut my eyes, cleared my mind, and took several deep breaths. I opened my eyes, forced my hands to uncap a pen and started writing. It took a lot of effort. It took a lot, a lot more effort to speak and made sure it was in a cheerful, inviting tone. I was in a trance, mechanically obeying the instructions of the conscious mind. I could do it. So I could.
I have moments like that. I believe we all do. I am grateful I did not give in to emotional urges and ruin the session for myself and those who depended on me, for it didn't take too long thereafter for some to warm up, and thus, paid adequately off my perseverance. I am glad. Things are usually not so bad once you've gotten past the worst.
Now, I must rest, for I am unwell.
The audience were quiet, perhaps intimidated, and not desirably responsive. I lifted my voice in a poor attempt to lift their moods and the general somberness. It didn't work. It was still too early and there were really far too few of them. I pressed on and persisted. The projector cast onto the screen a blank square of blue because the visualizer wouldn't turn on. The power button wouldn't work, the lights button wouldn't work. I fumbled with every button I could get my fingers on but it just wouldn't turn on. They were watching me like one would watch a TV programme.
In the instance I knew it wasn't ever going to work, it all came crashing in. The senseless frustration, exasperation, gloom, despair, resignation - the combination rushed over me like a wave, so overwhelming, in that moment, all I wanted to do was fling my pens away, strike a hard surface and utter profanities. I wanted, so much, to take the easy way out, get it done and over with! I simply couldn't go on anymore.
But I could. I shut my eyes, cleared my mind, and took several deep breaths. I opened my eyes, forced my hands to uncap a pen and started writing. It took a lot of effort. It took a lot, a lot more effort to speak and made sure it was in a cheerful, inviting tone. I was in a trance, mechanically obeying the instructions of the conscious mind. I could do it. So I could.
I have moments like that. I believe we all do. I am grateful I did not give in to emotional urges and ruin the session for myself and those who depended on me, for it didn't take too long thereafter for some to warm up, and thus, paid adequately off my perseverance. I am glad. Things are usually not so bad once you've gotten past the worst.
Now, I must rest, for I am unwell.
Friday, August 20, 2010
Long Day Ahead
It was yet early. It was cool, the air was fresh, the sun's rays warm. Balancing folder, book and materials on my arm, I stepped out. The corridor was bright and bare. The walls, though not much past a decade old, looked wan and worn. There were scattered pools of water on the floor below where the ceiling leaked. At the part of a pillar where ran a constant trickle of water from one of the many leaks, green moss grew. Occasionally, the drip of droplets broke the morning stillness.
The journey down two flights of stairs was without encounters. The steps, perhaps not quite wide enough, perhaps sometimes slippery, proved a precarious path for someone like me. Spots of discolouration and permanent stains visible here and there on them. The pale beige railing, scratched and chipped in places, showed patches of the darker shade of the layer of paint beneath. Out of the corner of my eyes, I caught a glimpse of a friendly face at a distance. He saw me too. I was thankful for the sweet, dazzling smile he gave, for it somewhat lifted a little off the impending gloom of that day.
Stepping into the corridor of the other wing, I felt intensely the stark difference in temperature. In that early hour, there were few about; the fully-blasting air-conditioner combined with low lighting made a very bleak picture, tinged in a bluish hue. Apart from the low hum of cold air blowing out of the vents, it was hushed; my heels made distinct clacks with each step I took. The first room I passed, I saw just one person - the one who would be teaching. There, in the semi-darkness, he sat - how forlorn and pitiful, I thought. How deplorable times have become, that he who made it on time sat alone in an empty room, accompanied only by the unoccupied chairs, waiting for those upon whom he would impart knowledge.
I passed two more rooms to mine - it's just as empty. I stepped in, and hoped the wait would not drain too much of my patience, for the longest day of my week had just started.
Stepping into the corridor of the other wing, I felt intensely the stark difference in temperature. In that early hour, there were few about; the fully-blasting air-conditioner combined with low lighting made a very bleak picture, tinged in a bluish hue. Apart from the low hum of cold air blowing out of the vents, it was hushed; my heels made distinct clacks with each step I took. The first room I passed, I saw just one person - the one who would be teaching. There, in the semi-darkness, he sat - how forlorn and pitiful, I thought. How deplorable times have become, that he who made it on time sat alone in an empty room, accompanied only by the unoccupied chairs, waiting for those upon whom he would impart knowledge.
I passed two more rooms to mine - it's just as empty. I stepped in, and hoped the wait would not drain too much of my patience, for the longest day of my week had just started.
Friday, May 7, 2010
Invigilation
It is probably universally known and acknowledged that invigilating an exam is very boring. Therefore, perhaps, certain very empathetic individuals took care to provide some form of distraction, of visual delights, for the rest of us. I am talking about the fully made-up faces complete with perfectly-lined eyes and fake eyelashes, the blouses so form-fitting and low-cut cleavages can be seen from 10 tables away, the pants so low-cut all can tell the wearers' favourite branded undergarments, and well, the occasional mini-skirts.
I am also talking about a certain individual who wore elegant make-up, a cute little black dress which reached waaay down to perhaps 3 inches above the knees, with sheer material covering the chest, shoulders and back showing off the sexy black straps underneath, and a pair of glossy black 4-inch heels. For a two-hour invigilation - three, if you take into consideration the reporting for duty 40 minutes before the exam, and the 20 minutes of scripts-counting and tallying after the exam. Fantastic.
Thank you, all of you, for providing such pleasing sights for us!
I am also talking about a certain individual who wore elegant make-up, a cute little black dress which reached waaay down to perhaps 3 inches above the knees, with sheer material covering the chest, shoulders and back showing off the sexy black straps underneath, and a pair of glossy black 4-inch heels. For a two-hour invigilation - three, if you take into consideration the reporting for duty 40 minutes before the exam, and the 20 minutes of scripts-counting and tallying after the exam. Fantastic.
Thank you, all of you, for providing such pleasing sights for us!
Friday, July 3, 2009
Another Post for a Friday
Over lunch, my pretty friend and I talked about the horrid thing that is the Friday afternoon class.
Well, I said, I'd prefer it if I didn't have to do anything (work-related) at all on Friday!
That isn't unreasonable, she said, because I am busy all the other days of the week.
Truth be told, my schedule is sort of packed from Mondays to Thursdays, but I won't say it is reasonable to use that as justification for "not doing anything" on Fridays. Still, it was so sweet of her to think it :)
Furthermore, she continued, I have to blog on Fridays (and she LAUGHED!)
!!!
I don't blog on Fridays! Perhaps I should though...
* * * * *
It was like two minutes after stepping into my office, after lunch, that my phone rang. It was a really cute fella. He asked,
"May I know where you are now, Miss?"
I answered,
"You called my office phone and I answered, so obviously I am in my office."
See what I mean when I called the fella a cute fella?
The whole episode reminded me of the time, a long time ago, my Mom called my Papa.
"Where are you now?!"
"(With a smile in his voice, I'm sure) Which number did you call?"
"Your office number."
"So that's where I am now."
* * * * *
I was looking at Snoflek's blog a little while ago, and she'd written a very nice post about someone else's blog. I visited that, and found that I like it very much as well! Take a look, if you will, at this very creative person's very pretty creations: http://verypurplestuffs.blogspot.com/
5th July edit:
Since I was on the (sort of) topic of interesting blogs, here another: http://www.playalittleguitar.com/
Most people I know don't know I have a guitar. Yes, I own a guitar I can't play, and I've owned it since almost a decade ago. I bought it with money I earned from writing fairy-tales, and I bought it because my Mom sold my piano though I didn't want her to. Yes, she sold the piano I can't play. So, in retaliation, I bought a guitar I can't play...
Well, I said, I'd prefer it if I didn't have to do anything (work-related) at all on Friday!
That isn't unreasonable, she said, because I am busy all the other days of the week.
Truth be told, my schedule is sort of packed from Mondays to Thursdays, but I won't say it is reasonable to use that as justification for "not doing anything" on Fridays. Still, it was so sweet of her to think it :)
Furthermore, she continued, I have to blog on Fridays (and she LAUGHED!)
!!!
I don't blog on Fridays! Perhaps I should though...
* * * * *
It was like two minutes after stepping into my office, after lunch, that my phone rang. It was a really cute fella. He asked,
"May I know where you are now, Miss?"
I answered,
"You called my office phone and I answered, so obviously I am in my office."
See what I mean when I called the fella a cute fella?
The whole episode reminded me of the time, a long time ago, my Mom called my Papa.
"Where are you now?!"
"(With a smile in his voice, I'm sure) Which number did you call?"
"Your office number."
"So that's where I am now."
* * * * *
I was looking at Snoflek's blog a little while ago, and she'd written a very nice post about someone else's blog. I visited that, and found that I like it very much as well! Take a look, if you will, at this very creative person's very pretty creations: http://verypurplestuffs.blogspot.com/
5th July edit:
Since I was on the (sort of) topic of interesting blogs, here another: http://www.playalittleguitar.com/
Most people I know don't know I have a guitar. Yes, I own a guitar I can't play, and I've owned it since almost a decade ago. I bought it with money I earned from writing fairy-tales, and I bought it because my Mom sold my piano though I didn't want her to. Yes, she sold the piano I can't play. So, in retaliation, I bought a guitar I can't play...
Wednesday, June 24, 2009
Smartest Guy in Class
He deserves a little publicity, for displaying his superior cognitive abilities, twice in two weeks!
First time: c. Last Week
The lesson was about differentiating two methods used to display output, namely println and print. The former includes a newline character at the end of the output so subsequent output would appear on the next line, while the latter doesn't. To demonstrate, an example with 4 statements using print method (each displaying a single word) were used to print a single line of text, consisting the 4 words. Another 2 statements using println were then used to show subsequent output texts in separate lines.
He asked - with regards to the first 4 statements using print - why should he use 4 statements to output a single line of text, when he can very well use just a single statement?
For the benefit of those not familiar with programming, here's an analogy to illustrate:
The Lesson: I am going to show you how to use this knife. To cut a fruit, say an apple, I hold the knife like this, and I cut like this, like this, like that, and there - I have slices of apples to eat!
The Question: Why can't I just take the whole apple and bite into it?
Second time: c. This Week
The lesson was about the dangers of integer division resulting in zero. For an easy example, say one has 2 floating-point variables, x and y. The value of y, is a tenth multipled by x. If the statement is written as y = (1/10)*x, the right-hand side expression will always be zero, because integer division of 1 by 10 always results in zero.
He asked - why can't he just divide x by 10 directly?
Again, for the benefit of those not familiar with programming, here's the analogy:
The Lesson: Here's an important precaution when using the juicer. It is important to cut the fruit, say an orange, into small chunks before putting them in. If the pieces are too big, the juicer can't juice them properly.
The Question: Can't I just squeeze the orange juice out with my hands?
Why, yes you can! Bravo, kid.
First time: c. Last Week
The lesson was about differentiating two methods used to display output, namely println and print. The former includes a newline character at the end of the output so subsequent output would appear on the next line, while the latter doesn't. To demonstrate, an example with 4 statements using print method (each displaying a single word) were used to print a single line of text, consisting the 4 words. Another 2 statements using println were then used to show subsequent output texts in separate lines.
He asked - with regards to the first 4 statements using print - why should he use 4 statements to output a single line of text, when he can very well use just a single statement?
For the benefit of those not familiar with programming, here's an analogy to illustrate:
The Lesson: I am going to show you how to use this knife. To cut a fruit, say an apple, I hold the knife like this, and I cut like this, like this, like that, and there - I have slices of apples to eat!
The Question: Why can't I just take the whole apple and bite into it?
Second time: c. This Week
The lesson was about the dangers of integer division resulting in zero. For an easy example, say one has 2 floating-point variables, x and y. The value of y, is a tenth multipled by x. If the statement is written as y = (1/10)*x, the right-hand side expression will always be zero, because integer division of 1 by 10 always results in zero.
He asked - why can't he just divide x by 10 directly?
Again, for the benefit of those not familiar with programming, here's the analogy:
The Lesson: Here's an important precaution when using the juicer. It is important to cut the fruit, say an orange, into small chunks before putting them in. If the pieces are too big, the juicer can't juice them properly.
The Question: Can't I just squeeze the orange juice out with my hands?
Why, yes you can! Bravo, kid.
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