Wednesday, May 31, 2006
Out of practice
I read somewhere that you don’t necessarily notice the benefits of yoga while you do it; the benefits are more noticeable when you don’t do it. I’ve found that it’s true. Or rather, I’ve found that you notice the benefits once you’ve stopped doing it and then pick it up again.
I went from a daily practice of thirty to ninety minutes to about one half-hour practice per week. It happened because I started spending weekends away and then got too lazy to start practicing again. Spending fun weekends away also made me perhaps more resentful of my work, and I’ve gotten extremely lazy at school. This meant that I stopped getting up early to do yoga; instead, I was getting up early just to get my lesson plans done for the day. I got used to this, and then I stopped getting up early at all. These days I sometimes get up at 8 to scramble something together for my first classes of the day, which start at 9, and then I use my breakfast break at school to plan my later classes.
Since Monday I have been doing a practice every day. That makes only three days in a row, but that is a big deal for me right now. I can’t make myself get up early anymore, but I make time in the afternoon after the adult classes (and before my telenovela) to do a practice.
This is what I have noticed: that while I don’t practice, I don’t really pay much attention to what I do. For instance, I don’t eat very healthily, or I waste lots of time playing solitaire or minesweeper on the computer while watching telenovelas all afternoon. Of course, I don’t do my work on time. I get tired easily. Also, my body becomes much more tense. This seems obvious, but I didn’t notice it until I started doing yoga again. Putting your body in all those different positions simply must be good for it. Imagine your body only in the positions of sitting in a chair or standing up or lying down to sleep; it seems you really should get the juices flowing making your body do other things, because they must get stagnant in only those few positions.
This week I started going to classes for Hawaiian dance. The fourth-grade teacher is giving cheap classes three days a week. I went yesterday for the first time, not realizing that it would be more like aerobics than anything—aerobics for the hips, that is. I got tired after the first ten minutes. I plan to keep going, though, because I need some exercise!
I’m also going to find out about memberships to the acuaclub where I take swimming classes on Saturday mornings, so that I can use the pool to practice during the week. I hope to bring Rocio with me, because the doctor told her that she should swim to help her scoliosis.
This past weekend we went to Atotonilco, which is about a half-hour away, for the 15th birthday party (quinceanera) of the niece of a few of the teachers. Rocio and I took the bus after my swimming class. Sandra (the 2nd-grade teacher) had invited us to her house for lunch saying, “You’d better not leave me with all the food I’m going to prepare, so you’d better come!” Well, we arrived at her house and she had not prepared a thing; she seemed to have forgotten all about the invitation. We sat around talking for a while, and then we watched the Mexico-France game. Then at half-time, Adriana (the 3rd-grade teacher) finally said, “Let’s go eat pozole at my house.” Sandra said, “What do you guys want to do? I have some chicken here that we could make for lunch, or you can go with Ady to eat pozole.” What a dilemma. Rocio and I said one of us would go with Adriana and the other would stay with Sandra. So I went with Adriana, because I like her better, and we bought pozole from a señora near her house and ate while watching the end of the game, which Mexico lost. Then I said I would go take a nap, but instead I ended up watching cooking shows on cable in the guest room. We got ready for the party and went to mass.
When girls reach 15 years of age, they have a mass that is like being baptized again or something. Then some have a big party afterwards. This mass we went to Saturday was the worst one I have been to in Mexico so far. The priest was really old and confused. Every few minutes he would have to consult someone to make sure what came next, so it went on for a really long time. Then at the end he spent a while scolding everyone—once for wishing others peace as if they were engaged in a “social act” and another time for clapping at the end of the service.
At the fiesta, the band was terrible, the singers were pretty out of tune, and the food was several hours late (and they also didn’t have any salsa to go with the meat—can you believe it?), but we had fun nevertheless. Rocio and I danced a lot, because the band played cumbia a good deal. The tequila with Squirt may have helped. Later, the birthday girl (in her big puffy pink dress) and her friends put on a cheesy show, and then we ate meat, beans, rice, and cake. Rocio and I continued to dance together, until near the end two boys came up to ask us to dance. I think they were about 17 years old. The one who danced with me didn’t dance very well, and he kept asking me if I was going to keep coming to Atotonilco to visit. He started annoying me because he wanted to keep talking with me and then he came over asking me to dance again. I tried to refuse as politely as possible, but being polite doesn’t often work. In the end he finally left, and Sandra laughed and said, “You made him go all red!”
Rocio and I went home with Sandra and stayed in her extra room. The next morning, we had menudo for breakfast. I had never had menudo before, but I knew that it had stomach and other bits that I don’t normally eat. I approached the soup with a positive attitude, but I didn’t really enjoy it. I got a piece that I thought was meat, but it was more the consistency of coagulated blood (which I have had in Taiwan). It was a really big piece, and I didn’t like it. I ate everything in my bowl, though—stomach pieces and all.
We decided to go for a walk and thus missed our 2:30 bus. We had to wait until 5:40, so we went to a park and played with the kids until we had to leave.
I learned a lot chatting with the teachers that weekend. I had already been disillusioned about our principal, but I had not known what a terrible gossip she is. Apparently she had told other teachers about personal problems I had previously confided in her. She also said to Rocio after I had cried in her office about the visa, “Tell Jeanne that she needs to provide some more papers, and don’t let her get all sentimental like she always does, because I won’t believe it anymore.”
What a ^#*#$%*!!!!
I don’t think I’ll go to the stupid cursos diplomados this weekend.
I went from a daily practice of thirty to ninety minutes to about one half-hour practice per week. It happened because I started spending weekends away and then got too lazy to start practicing again. Spending fun weekends away also made me perhaps more resentful of my work, and I’ve gotten extremely lazy at school. This meant that I stopped getting up early to do yoga; instead, I was getting up early just to get my lesson plans done for the day. I got used to this, and then I stopped getting up early at all. These days I sometimes get up at 8 to scramble something together for my first classes of the day, which start at 9, and then I use my breakfast break at school to plan my later classes.
Since Monday I have been doing a practice every day. That makes only three days in a row, but that is a big deal for me right now. I can’t make myself get up early anymore, but I make time in the afternoon after the adult classes (and before my telenovela) to do a practice.
This is what I have noticed: that while I don’t practice, I don’t really pay much attention to what I do. For instance, I don’t eat very healthily, or I waste lots of time playing solitaire or minesweeper on the computer while watching telenovelas all afternoon. Of course, I don’t do my work on time. I get tired easily. Also, my body becomes much more tense. This seems obvious, but I didn’t notice it until I started doing yoga again. Putting your body in all those different positions simply must be good for it. Imagine your body only in the positions of sitting in a chair or standing up or lying down to sleep; it seems you really should get the juices flowing making your body do other things, because they must get stagnant in only those few positions.
This week I started going to classes for Hawaiian dance. The fourth-grade teacher is giving cheap classes three days a week. I went yesterday for the first time, not realizing that it would be more like aerobics than anything—aerobics for the hips, that is. I got tired after the first ten minutes. I plan to keep going, though, because I need some exercise!
I’m also going to find out about memberships to the acuaclub where I take swimming classes on Saturday mornings, so that I can use the pool to practice during the week. I hope to bring Rocio with me, because the doctor told her that she should swim to help her scoliosis.
This past weekend we went to Atotonilco, which is about a half-hour away, for the 15th birthday party (quinceanera) of the niece of a few of the teachers. Rocio and I took the bus after my swimming class. Sandra (the 2nd-grade teacher) had invited us to her house for lunch saying, “You’d better not leave me with all the food I’m going to prepare, so you’d better come!” Well, we arrived at her house and she had not prepared a thing; she seemed to have forgotten all about the invitation. We sat around talking for a while, and then we watched the Mexico-France game. Then at half-time, Adriana (the 3rd-grade teacher) finally said, “Let’s go eat pozole at my house.” Sandra said, “What do you guys want to do? I have some chicken here that we could make for lunch, or you can go with Ady to eat pozole.” What a dilemma. Rocio and I said one of us would go with Adriana and the other would stay with Sandra. So I went with Adriana, because I like her better, and we bought pozole from a señora near her house and ate while watching the end of the game, which Mexico lost. Then I said I would go take a nap, but instead I ended up watching cooking shows on cable in the guest room. We got ready for the party and went to mass.
When girls reach 15 years of age, they have a mass that is like being baptized again or something. Then some have a big party afterwards. This mass we went to Saturday was the worst one I have been to in Mexico so far. The priest was really old and confused. Every few minutes he would have to consult someone to make sure what came next, so it went on for a really long time. Then at the end he spent a while scolding everyone—once for wishing others peace as if they were engaged in a “social act” and another time for clapping at the end of the service.
At the fiesta, the band was terrible, the singers were pretty out of tune, and the food was several hours late (and they also didn’t have any salsa to go with the meat—can you believe it?), but we had fun nevertheless. Rocio and I danced a lot, because the band played cumbia a good deal. The tequila with Squirt may have helped. Later, the birthday girl (in her big puffy pink dress) and her friends put on a cheesy show, and then we ate meat, beans, rice, and cake. Rocio and I continued to dance together, until near the end two boys came up to ask us to dance. I think they were about 17 years old. The one who danced with me didn’t dance very well, and he kept asking me if I was going to keep coming to Atotonilco to visit. He started annoying me because he wanted to keep talking with me and then he came over asking me to dance again. I tried to refuse as politely as possible, but being polite doesn’t often work. In the end he finally left, and Sandra laughed and said, “You made him go all red!”
Rocio and I went home with Sandra and stayed in her extra room. The next morning, we had menudo for breakfast. I had never had menudo before, but I knew that it had stomach and other bits that I don’t normally eat. I approached the soup with a positive attitude, but I didn’t really enjoy it. I got a piece that I thought was meat, but it was more the consistency of coagulated blood (which I have had in Taiwan). It was a really big piece, and I didn’t like it. I ate everything in my bowl, though—stomach pieces and all.
We decided to go for a walk and thus missed our 2:30 bus. We had to wait until 5:40, so we went to a park and played with the kids until we had to leave.
I learned a lot chatting with the teachers that weekend. I had already been disillusioned about our principal, but I had not known what a terrible gossip she is. Apparently she had told other teachers about personal problems I had previously confided in her. She also said to Rocio after I had cried in her office about the visa, “Tell Jeanne that she needs to provide some more papers, and don’t let her get all sentimental like she always does, because I won’t believe it anymore.”
What a ^#*#$%*!!!!
I don’t think I’ll go to the stupid cursos diplomados this weekend.
Friday, May 26, 2006
Six more weeks of school
It’s raining again. It has been raining quite a bit here lately; apparently these are the May showers, essential for the crops. These are thunderstorms, with lightning sometimes striking frighteningly close.
They’re not like the storms in Tucson, though. Nothing are like the late summer monsoons in Tucson, with the stark lightning you can see in every detail because of the dryness of the atmosphere, and the torrents of rain that last at most for five minutes, if there is any rain at all.
When it rains here, the streets become rivers. It rains in my bathroom because the ventilation system is merely a hole in the roof covered by some plastic boards. The wind blows so strong that my bathroom door slams shut, and then it moves noisily with the wind.
And even though it rains, the high school students still hang out in front of the downstairs shop, shouting at each other with obscenities and sneaking gulps of their caguamas (liter bottles) of beer, showing off the stereo equipment in their cars by blasting banda.
I think the rains and the warmth have brought the mosquitoes, too. The other morning, I awoke at 4 a.m., scratching at bites on my arms. I was unable to fall back asleep because I could hear the high-pitched buzzing of the mosquito around my head, even through the sheets.
That was Wednesday, the day we had to go to Tepatitlán, the nearest large city, for the national anthem competition. I had to play the keyboard with the kids, but fortunately for me we also used the CD accompaniment. I had improved a great deal and was able to play long stretches with both hands, but during the performance I was too nervous to do it consistently. I made lots of mistakes, as is always the case when I perform, but I felt proud of myself for doing an adequate enough job (not getting too lost) and getting over my stage fright and usual lack of confidence. It was a huge step for me. During my senior recital at college, I had completely forgotten how to play my easiest piece, and at Bill Jordan’s senior recital I had to accompany on the piano and it was kind of disastrous. Not to mention the horror of playing a movement of a Mozart piano concerto in high school with the orchestra, when the only thing I could eke out was the cadenza because I didn’t have to follow anyone else.
I knew we wouldn’t win. I had been surprised that we had won the competition in Arandas, even though it had turned out that all the schools performed badly. This time there were several schools who had students who could actually sing in tune, so I was not surprised when other schools won, for a chance to compete for a state title in Guadalajara. What was really funny was that some of the students and teachers of our school were disappointed. The only reason for this, I guess, is that they couldn’t hear how out of tune we were.
I didn’t have a great time that day, because of lack of sleep (damned mosquitoes!), the long bus ride to Tepa in a crappy old bus that seemed like it would break down any minute, the kids shouting all the way there and back, me forgetting to bring water, and the fact that we didn’t get our second breakfast.
Second breakfast has become an incredibly important meal for me. I suppose it’s only second breakfast for some, but I have to eat something, cereal or fruit, before going to school (first breakfast). Then we have desayuno at 10:30 in the school, and desayuno translates as breakfast, so it’s my second breakfast. We usually have tacos or quesadillas or hot cakes or chicken salad on crackers. I eat several servings, because of my famously hearty appetite and high metabolism. We get out of school at 2, and everyone goes home to eat comida, or a big lunch, at around 3 or 4. If Rocio makes lunch with me, we usually make alambres or carne con salsa or milanesas (breaded fried filets of chicken, pork, or beef). Dinner is thus a small affair, if it occurs at all. Quesadillas or grilled cheese sandwiches or hot dogs at around 9 p.m. are standard for me.
What am I going to do when I go back to the States? I’ll be hungry for lunch at 10:30 and then want to eat again at 3!
Anyway, back to the national anthem competition—I had a huge headache by the time we got back to Arandas at about 2:45. I hadn’t eaten or drunk anything since 8 that morning. The headache lasted all day. I remember times when I used to go without eating or drinking anything for hours on end and never having any problems, but I can’t do that anymore. I think it’s a sign that I am aging, but also that I’m living a much healthier lifestyle now, with regular meals and sleeping patterns. When these patterns are interrupted, my whole system is thrown off.
Today the kids got out of school early because the teachers had a meeting in the afternoon. I only had to teach one class before second breakfast. I wish I knew ahead of time what the schedule would be. Do the other teachers know ahead of time when we get out early or have rehearsals for some performance or other? Is it just because I don’t understand Spanish well enough, or because the principal doesn’t bother to tell me, that I never have any idea until I get to school or someone comes to my classroom to inform me of some special event?
I’m happy we didn’t have to attend the cursos diplomados this weekend. They have been postponed to next weekend. There are two more 18-hour weekend sessions before school is out, and I am deliberating on whether I will have the nerve not to show up. I was so angry at the last one, in March, that I had decided in the immediate aftermath never to go again. After all, what could they do to me? I’m not going to get any special certification for going, so why should I attend? They can’t fire me, because I’m on a contract, and nowhere on the contract does it say that I have to give up an entire weekend every two months for a dumb course that doesn’t benefit me in any way. I realized that many of the EFL teachers I know from my course who are now teaching in Mexico hardly ever even attend “mandatory” teachers’ meetings or events at their schools, and they would never even think of attending something as stupid as all-weekend courses for a license that they cannot receive. So why am I sitting here still feeling guilty and thinking that I should really go? I mean, it won’t hurt to go; it’ll just be deathly boring, and I won’t be able to do my laundry or shopping—but nobody dies of boredom or not being able to wash their clothes for one weekend. Why am I such a responsible worker? Is it because I like to avoid confrontation and to please everyone at all times (a libra, of course)? Is it because I’m simply a goodie-goodie conditioned to obey orders from superiors?
But no! I like to rebel; ask my parents and they will tell you that I have been doing it all my life! Avoid confrontation? Certainly not Jeanne! “Clean your room!” they say. “No way!” I say. And if I’m really angry, I’ll throw in lots of bad words, too.
And at OSU I did some work with the organization trying to unionize the graduate student workers. I spoke out occasionally at student government meetings. I also helped create the grad student organization in my department, and I was certainly one of the loudest voices of dissent there, vowing to fight stupid decisions by the administration that worsened our work conditions (and consequently, of course, rubbing the administration the wrong way). So how come I am dreading the fallout of not going to these dumb weekend courses?
I suppose it’s because I don’t really know what will happen if I refuse to go. What can the principal do to me if I don’t show up? She can walk over to my apartment, which is only a block away from the school, and lecture me unpleasantly. I can retort that I don’t want to go, that I am not required by contract to go, and that I will not go, but she can still stand there and say something about responsibility to the school or touch on how much the school has done for me, in order to get the last word. And she will have the last word. Last time she had the last word right in front of all the teachers in the school.
I can see her point of view. If I refuse to show up, then other teachers will see that it’ll be OK not to go, too, since nothing really terrible will happen to me if I don’t go. Of course, if they are concerned about keeping their jobs (and the peace) there, then they’ll attend the courses. But I’m leaving in a little over a month, and it’s not easy to replace a native-speaking English teacher in a place like Arandas, so I shouldn’t go, right?
Anyway, perhaps I will discuss this with Rocio and weigh the consequences carefully when we are on the bus to Atotonilco tomorrow. The second- and third-grade teachers live in Atotonilco, a nearby town, and they have invited Rocio and me to their niece’s quinceanera (15th birthday party). We will go have lunch with them, go to the fiesta that night, and then stay over at their house till Sunday. I’m excited to get all dressed up for another party, but I’m hoping it won’t turn out like most of the other fiestas I’ve been going to lately. Maybe I have a bad attitude? After all, nothing is so bad except that thinking makes it so (or something like that). Perhaps some tequila will help….
They’re not like the storms in Tucson, though. Nothing are like the late summer monsoons in Tucson, with the stark lightning you can see in every detail because of the dryness of the atmosphere, and the torrents of rain that last at most for five minutes, if there is any rain at all.
When it rains here, the streets become rivers. It rains in my bathroom because the ventilation system is merely a hole in the roof covered by some plastic boards. The wind blows so strong that my bathroom door slams shut, and then it moves noisily with the wind.
And even though it rains, the high school students still hang out in front of the downstairs shop, shouting at each other with obscenities and sneaking gulps of their caguamas (liter bottles) of beer, showing off the stereo equipment in their cars by blasting banda.
I think the rains and the warmth have brought the mosquitoes, too. The other morning, I awoke at 4 a.m., scratching at bites on my arms. I was unable to fall back asleep because I could hear the high-pitched buzzing of the mosquito around my head, even through the sheets.
That was Wednesday, the day we had to go to Tepatitlán, the nearest large city, for the national anthem competition. I had to play the keyboard with the kids, but fortunately for me we also used the CD accompaniment. I had improved a great deal and was able to play long stretches with both hands, but during the performance I was too nervous to do it consistently. I made lots of mistakes, as is always the case when I perform, but I felt proud of myself for doing an adequate enough job (not getting too lost) and getting over my stage fright and usual lack of confidence. It was a huge step for me. During my senior recital at college, I had completely forgotten how to play my easiest piece, and at Bill Jordan’s senior recital I had to accompany on the piano and it was kind of disastrous. Not to mention the horror of playing a movement of a Mozart piano concerto in high school with the orchestra, when the only thing I could eke out was the cadenza because I didn’t have to follow anyone else.
I knew we wouldn’t win. I had been surprised that we had won the competition in Arandas, even though it had turned out that all the schools performed badly. This time there were several schools who had students who could actually sing in tune, so I was not surprised when other schools won, for a chance to compete for a state title in Guadalajara. What was really funny was that some of the students and teachers of our school were disappointed. The only reason for this, I guess, is that they couldn’t hear how out of tune we were.
I didn’t have a great time that day, because of lack of sleep (damned mosquitoes!), the long bus ride to Tepa in a crappy old bus that seemed like it would break down any minute, the kids shouting all the way there and back, me forgetting to bring water, and the fact that we didn’t get our second breakfast.
Second breakfast has become an incredibly important meal for me. I suppose it’s only second breakfast for some, but I have to eat something, cereal or fruit, before going to school (first breakfast). Then we have desayuno at 10:30 in the school, and desayuno translates as breakfast, so it’s my second breakfast. We usually have tacos or quesadillas or hot cakes or chicken salad on crackers. I eat several servings, because of my famously hearty appetite and high metabolism. We get out of school at 2, and everyone goes home to eat comida, or a big lunch, at around 3 or 4. If Rocio makes lunch with me, we usually make alambres or carne con salsa or milanesas (breaded fried filets of chicken, pork, or beef). Dinner is thus a small affair, if it occurs at all. Quesadillas or grilled cheese sandwiches or hot dogs at around 9 p.m. are standard for me.
What am I going to do when I go back to the States? I’ll be hungry for lunch at 10:30 and then want to eat again at 3!
Anyway, back to the national anthem competition—I had a huge headache by the time we got back to Arandas at about 2:45. I hadn’t eaten or drunk anything since 8 that morning. The headache lasted all day. I remember times when I used to go without eating or drinking anything for hours on end and never having any problems, but I can’t do that anymore. I think it’s a sign that I am aging, but also that I’m living a much healthier lifestyle now, with regular meals and sleeping patterns. When these patterns are interrupted, my whole system is thrown off.
Today the kids got out of school early because the teachers had a meeting in the afternoon. I only had to teach one class before second breakfast. I wish I knew ahead of time what the schedule would be. Do the other teachers know ahead of time when we get out early or have rehearsals for some performance or other? Is it just because I don’t understand Spanish well enough, or because the principal doesn’t bother to tell me, that I never have any idea until I get to school or someone comes to my classroom to inform me of some special event?
I’m happy we didn’t have to attend the cursos diplomados this weekend. They have been postponed to next weekend. There are two more 18-hour weekend sessions before school is out, and I am deliberating on whether I will have the nerve not to show up. I was so angry at the last one, in March, that I had decided in the immediate aftermath never to go again. After all, what could they do to me? I’m not going to get any special certification for going, so why should I attend? They can’t fire me, because I’m on a contract, and nowhere on the contract does it say that I have to give up an entire weekend every two months for a dumb course that doesn’t benefit me in any way. I realized that many of the EFL teachers I know from my course who are now teaching in Mexico hardly ever even attend “mandatory” teachers’ meetings or events at their schools, and they would never even think of attending something as stupid as all-weekend courses for a license that they cannot receive. So why am I sitting here still feeling guilty and thinking that I should really go? I mean, it won’t hurt to go; it’ll just be deathly boring, and I won’t be able to do my laundry or shopping—but nobody dies of boredom or not being able to wash their clothes for one weekend. Why am I such a responsible worker? Is it because I like to avoid confrontation and to please everyone at all times (a libra, of course)? Is it because I’m simply a goodie-goodie conditioned to obey orders from superiors?
But no! I like to rebel; ask my parents and they will tell you that I have been doing it all my life! Avoid confrontation? Certainly not Jeanne! “Clean your room!” they say. “No way!” I say. And if I’m really angry, I’ll throw in lots of bad words, too.
And at OSU I did some work with the organization trying to unionize the graduate student workers. I spoke out occasionally at student government meetings. I also helped create the grad student organization in my department, and I was certainly one of the loudest voices of dissent there, vowing to fight stupid decisions by the administration that worsened our work conditions (and consequently, of course, rubbing the administration the wrong way). So how come I am dreading the fallout of not going to these dumb weekend courses?
I suppose it’s because I don’t really know what will happen if I refuse to go. What can the principal do to me if I don’t show up? She can walk over to my apartment, which is only a block away from the school, and lecture me unpleasantly. I can retort that I don’t want to go, that I am not required by contract to go, and that I will not go, but she can still stand there and say something about responsibility to the school or touch on how much the school has done for me, in order to get the last word. And she will have the last word. Last time she had the last word right in front of all the teachers in the school.
I can see her point of view. If I refuse to show up, then other teachers will see that it’ll be OK not to go, too, since nothing really terrible will happen to me if I don’t go. Of course, if they are concerned about keeping their jobs (and the peace) there, then they’ll attend the courses. But I’m leaving in a little over a month, and it’s not easy to replace a native-speaking English teacher in a place like Arandas, so I shouldn’t go, right?
Anyway, perhaps I will discuss this with Rocio and weigh the consequences carefully when we are on the bus to Atotonilco tomorrow. The second- and third-grade teachers live in Atotonilco, a nearby town, and they have invited Rocio and me to their niece’s quinceanera (15th birthday party). We will go have lunch with them, go to the fiesta that night, and then stay over at their house till Sunday. I’m excited to get all dressed up for another party, but I’m hoping it won’t turn out like most of the other fiestas I’ve been going to lately. Maybe I have a bad attitude? After all, nothing is so bad except that thinking makes it so (or something like that). Perhaps some tequila will help….
Saturday, May 20, 2006
Día de los maestros
Monday was Teachers’ Day, so last night (Friday) there was a dance for all the teachers in Arandas. It was held at the fairgrounds, and there was a band playing cheesy cumbia and banda. They had a raffle and were giving away lots of prizes, like computers and bicycles and sofa sets and silver coins and a TV. The fourth-grade teacher won a portfolio, the least exciting of all the prizes. I thought there would be dinner, but there were only snacks, so I ate about a kilo of potato chips with chili sauce. I also drank tequila with Squirt. Of course by the time I was in bed at 2 a.m. my stomach wasn’t feeling so great.
The dance wasn’t all that fun for me. I hardly danced at all and started to feel sleepy pretty early. What had been fun, however, was shopping with Rocio before the dance. After school, we went out to eat lunch at the Pastelero, our favorite cheap restaurant, and then we went shopping for clothes for the dance. I was feeling bored with my wardrobe, wearing all the same shirts for going out, and we had just gotten paid. We spent the entire afternoon running around town to several shops. Rocio got an entire outfit, and I got a pink top and silver heels.
Thursday we had eaten lunch with the school’s Mesa Directiva, which I assume translates to Board of Directors. We ate at the beautiful house of one of the members of the board (also the mother of two students at the school and my student in afternoon English classes). It turned out to be great fun. They were grilling hamburgers on the patio, and who knew that fresh pineapple would taste so great on a hamburger? Then we each got a gift (shirts or ties) and played lots of games to win prizes. Cristina and I won the first one and got towels. Then I won a colander in the next game (while others got more exciting things, but I needed a colander). In the last game I won a nice necklace, but I didn’t really like it, so I gave it to Rocio since she really wanted it.
Aracely actually spoke to me that day, too, and she gave me a ride home as well. Though things aren’t exactly back to normal with her, they are definitely improving.
Some of my students gave me presents for Teachers’ Day. I have now eaten about a hundred Hershey’s kisses and still have one huge one left. I also own a little statue of the Virgin Mary and a big colorful wallet that I’m not sure I’ll ever use.
The school decided to give gifts to the teachers who didn’t go on the trip last Friday. I got a rather ugly purse. I hadn’t been expecting a gift, but the principal gave an elaborate explanation about it, mentioning that she knew several teachers weren’t happy with something that had happened, and I didn’t understand what was going on. Later I discovered that on the trip, the teachers who went got to split a large sum of money. As there were only about eight of them, they each went away with 1500 pesos (a little under $150).
Well, if I had known we’d be getting money on the trip, I would’ve gotten over my dislike of the school’s indecisiveness about where to take us, and I would’ve gone, with my cold and everything! I would much rather have gotten money than an ugly purse, but it’s not that big a deal.
Today I went to the swimming class again. I didn’t go last Saturday because of my cold. I think I am improving. I can sort of do the crawl now, though I still end up drinking or inhaling pool water at times. I have trouble with the breathing, of course. I am also incredibly out of shape and get tired quickly. There was only one moment of distress, when I got water up my nose and into my sinuses, which felt like they were burning. As I waited for it to pass at the side of the pool, Felipe the P.E. teacher came over to see if I was all right, and I felt like crying. It’s weird how easily I cry in swimming class—I’m not sure why. I feel like it must have something to do with traumatizing childhood experiences in the water, though I don’t remember anything really very terrible happening. All that ever happened was I’d get lots of water up my nose, but I’ve survived so it can’t be all that bad…. Anyway, I got over it quickly and went on trying to do the crawl, and I stayed in the water much longer than I had during my first class. Felipe says next week I am going to learn the stroke on my back—I wonder what that’s called. I was surprised; shouldn’t I actually get the crawl down before I start another stroke?
I’m sleepy from going to bed late and then getting up early for my swim class, so I’ll probably go read and take a nap. It’s SO nice to have the weekend off…. Next weekend I think we have the cursos diplomados again, and while I swore to myself that I would never go again to those dumb classes, I might out of guilty feelings.
The dance wasn’t all that fun for me. I hardly danced at all and started to feel sleepy pretty early. What had been fun, however, was shopping with Rocio before the dance. After school, we went out to eat lunch at the Pastelero, our favorite cheap restaurant, and then we went shopping for clothes for the dance. I was feeling bored with my wardrobe, wearing all the same shirts for going out, and we had just gotten paid. We spent the entire afternoon running around town to several shops. Rocio got an entire outfit, and I got a pink top and silver heels.
Thursday we had eaten lunch with the school’s Mesa Directiva, which I assume translates to Board of Directors. We ate at the beautiful house of one of the members of the board (also the mother of two students at the school and my student in afternoon English classes). It turned out to be great fun. They were grilling hamburgers on the patio, and who knew that fresh pineapple would taste so great on a hamburger? Then we each got a gift (shirts or ties) and played lots of games to win prizes. Cristina and I won the first one and got towels. Then I won a colander in the next game (while others got more exciting things, but I needed a colander). In the last game I won a nice necklace, but I didn’t really like it, so I gave it to Rocio since she really wanted it.
Aracely actually spoke to me that day, too, and she gave me a ride home as well. Though things aren’t exactly back to normal with her, they are definitely improving.
Some of my students gave me presents for Teachers’ Day. I have now eaten about a hundred Hershey’s kisses and still have one huge one left. I also own a little statue of the Virgin Mary and a big colorful wallet that I’m not sure I’ll ever use.
The school decided to give gifts to the teachers who didn’t go on the trip last Friday. I got a rather ugly purse. I hadn’t been expecting a gift, but the principal gave an elaborate explanation about it, mentioning that she knew several teachers weren’t happy with something that had happened, and I didn’t understand what was going on. Later I discovered that on the trip, the teachers who went got to split a large sum of money. As there were only about eight of them, they each went away with 1500 pesos (a little under $150).
Well, if I had known we’d be getting money on the trip, I would’ve gotten over my dislike of the school’s indecisiveness about where to take us, and I would’ve gone, with my cold and everything! I would much rather have gotten money than an ugly purse, but it’s not that big a deal.
Today I went to the swimming class again. I didn’t go last Saturday because of my cold. I think I am improving. I can sort of do the crawl now, though I still end up drinking or inhaling pool water at times. I have trouble with the breathing, of course. I am also incredibly out of shape and get tired quickly. There was only one moment of distress, when I got water up my nose and into my sinuses, which felt like they were burning. As I waited for it to pass at the side of the pool, Felipe the P.E. teacher came over to see if I was all right, and I felt like crying. It’s weird how easily I cry in swimming class—I’m not sure why. I feel like it must have something to do with traumatizing childhood experiences in the water, though I don’t remember anything really very terrible happening. All that ever happened was I’d get lots of water up my nose, but I’ve survived so it can’t be all that bad…. Anyway, I got over it quickly and went on trying to do the crawl, and I stayed in the water much longer than I had during my first class. Felipe says next week I am going to learn the stroke on my back—I wonder what that’s called. I was surprised; shouldn’t I actually get the crawl down before I start another stroke?
I’m sleepy from going to bed late and then getting up early for my swim class, so I’ll probably go read and take a nap. It’s SO nice to have the weekend off…. Next weekend I think we have the cursos diplomados again, and while I swore to myself that I would never go again to those dumb classes, I might out of guilty feelings.
Friday, May 12, 2006
At home recuperating in my apartment all weekend
It’s a four-day weekend. Monday, May 15 is Teachers Day, and today (Friday) was the trip to celebrate Teachers Day. I didn’t go today because of my cold, but also, we weren’t going anywhere exciting.
The school had originally planned to take us to Zacatecas, which is a beautiful colonial town with old silver mines, about four hours to the north. Several of us teachers have never been, so we were excited about it. It was going to be tomorrow, Saturday, so that everyone could go and arrange for babysitters if needed.
But then a week before the trip, the principal informs us that the board of directors thinks it would be easier for us to go to Guadalajara. We wouldn’t lose much time traveling, and they wouldn’t have to charter a bus for us, which costs a good deal. When we are asked for our opinions, many people say that anywhere would be fine, because this trip is a gift from the school. We are obviously embarrassed to ask for something that the school cannot afford. Many of us say, however, that we’ve been to Guadalajara and would prefer to go somewhere more exciting. Others say they won’t go anywhere, because they can’t leave their families for that long.
The next meeting we have, the principal tells us that the board of directors wants to take us wherever we want to go. Some of the teachers who won’t go to Zacatecas will consider going to Guadalajara, throwing a wrench in the plans of those who want to see Zacatecas. No consensus is reached.
The next day, the principal decides she wants to go to a spa near Lake Chapala, so that’s where we’re going. In addition, she changes the date to Friday instead of Saturday, preventing several people with other engagements that day from being able to attend.
And then the next day, the principal decides the teachers should have a secret vote. Zacatecas wins.
The next day is already Thursday, one day before the trip, and she says we are not going to Zacatecas because it’s too far, and we are instead going to a ranch near Lagos, a big town to the east of Arandas.
I wonder how many people have actually gone on the trip today. I for one could not be bothered. If it was Zacatecas, I’d have made the effort. But for a ranch during crummy, rainy weather? No, thanks.
I suppose it could’ve been fun. Maybe this place is actually really nice. But I think it was the principle of the thing that bothered me the most, and I stayed home partly in personal protest of the school’s shenanigans.
Mother’s Day was Wednesday here. We didn’t have to teach classes but we had this huge breakfast affair with dance performances by the students. My favorite was the Hawaiian dance. The fourth-grade teacher has taken Hawaiian dance classes, so she taught some of the girls to do it, too. They had the grass skirts and the whole shebang. It was pretty spectacular.
It wasn’t a great day for me, however, because there was a lot of drama between me and Aracely, one of the kindergarten teachers I hang out with. Two days before the event, the teachers had to start making presents for the mothers of all their students. It was just like the Christmas bolas that we had to make in a frenzy, sewing and sewing for days. This time we had to make frames with photos of the kids, and the frames had borders of aluminum with designs in relief. The process included making the designs on the aluminum sheets, cutting and gluing the aluminum borders onto a board, and then gluing the photo on the board. It doesn’t sound like a lot of work, but it was a pain in the ass. There was a little piece of plastic that had a design mold and which you placed under the aluminum, and you had to pass a paper instrument over the aluminum to make the design. Then gluing the aluminum was difficult because not just any glue will work. This was a lot of tiring work, especially for the teachers who have a lot of students. Aracely was stressing out a lot because she has 29 students. (Compare this with the primary grade teachers who only have five to eleven students each.) Rocio and I decided to help Aracely with the portraits.
We spent Monday and Tuesday evening working on them. Monday night we were at her house till 11 p.m., and we had only finished about half. Tuesday evening, I was tired from my cold, so when Aracely’s two-year-old daughter Ashley kept hitting me, as she always does, I became extremely irritated. I started yelling, “No! No me pegas!” (Don’t hit me!), but this only served to provoke her further. Rocio would laugh, and Aracely would tell me not to speak to her children that way. I felt desperate. “Why is she hitting me then?” I asked.
Finally, we finished the portraits, and I was relaxing on the couch watching my favorite soap opera, when Ashley came up behind me and pulled my ponytail very hard. I yelled at her and turned around again. This time she pulled my hair at the scalp, again using as much force possible, and it hurt. I jumped up shouting that I was leaving and that I couldn’t stand her daughter anymore. I grabbed my things without saying another thing and stormed out of the house.
I felt absolutely furious with Aracely for not controlling her daughter. I thought about it in terms of a dog, because that’s all the experience I have to go on—I yelled at Ashley like I would yell at a dog, because I don’t know how to deal with kids that young. I thought, if I had a dog and the dog was harassing one of my guests, I would discipline the dog or put it in another room. Aracely was expecting me to just put up with it or discipline her myself, but how was I going to do that? What’s more, I had gone to her house to help with her work, not to be abused by a two-year-old!
At home, I got online and saw Rocio on messenger. I asked her what she thought, if she thought what I did was wrong. All she said to me, whatever question I asked her, was, “I don’t want to give an opinion because both of you are my friends.” This made me feel worse. I ended up chatting with Luis online, interrupting his work on his candidacy exam, but without that comfort I don’t know what I would’ve done. It killed me not to be able to discuss it with Rocio.
In the end, despite my belief that Aracely was the one who should apologize to me, I sent her a text message apologizing for shouting at Ashley and for leaving in that way. I did honestly feel that I could have handled the situation differently, so I was apologetic. But I also explained that I didn’t know how to handle kids of that young age, and that I was angry because I felt nobody was helping me with her. I also said that I knew she didn’t have credit on her cell phone anymore, so we could talk the next day at the Mother’s Day event.
When I saw her at mass the next morning, I walked towards her and got her attention by saying her name and smiling. She looked at me, smiled, and then walked away.
The whole morning, she didn’t speak to me or even look at me. Rocio hardly spoke to me either. This was actually what hurt my feelings the most, because Rocio is truly a friend of mine, while Aracely I know to be rather immature and whose friendship with me is merely a matter of convenience. Aracely and I cannot hang out alone or we both die of boredom; we have nothing to say to each other. She has little patience with talking to me, since my Spanish is not good, and so we just don’t talk about anything. But I felt like Rocio thought I had done something wrong; why else wouldn’t she speak to me?
I went home early from the event because I was tired from my cold but also because I couldn’t stand the awkwardness of hanging out with the other teachers.
That night I chatted online with Rocio and asked if Aracely was mad at me, and she said she didn’t think so, but that she hadn’t had time to talk to her about it. I also apologized for getting irritated that night when she wouldn’t talk to me about Aracely, and she said not to worry about it. We have been chatting a little again, so I think things are OK between me and Rocio. At least I hope so.
I hope also that Aracely and I get over this thing. Maybe time will help. We won’t have to see each other again until Tuesday, so perhaps we’ll both have forgotten all about it. It doesn’t seem like such a big deal, when I think about it, but I was very upset by the whole thing, because these are the only friends I have in Arandas. It was terrible at the Mother’s Day event, because I had no one to hang out with; I just stood by myself helping some of the primary grade teachers with their students. At least Cristina was friendly with me, because she didn’t know what had happened. I didn’t say anything to her about it, so she thought it was strange that I wouldn’t sit and hang out with them, but I didn’t want to go and sit with Aracely. I suppose I was acting immature, too, but I just didn’t know what to do. I had already apologized and tried to speak to her, and she didn’t seem to want to speak to me, so I didn’t know what else to do. Maybe she just didn’t know what to say, either. I hope that is the case. I hope she doesn’t think that I was wrong somehow for getting irritated at her two-year-old.
Age 2 is not the age group of the kids I plan to deal with in my career. I am not interested in teaching nor fit to teach early childhood education. I would like my students to already be potty-trained and with some sense of what is socially appropriate, like not to hit me.
Anyway, I have decided to attend Teachers College at Columbia University in New York for their M.A. program with teacher certification in bilingual childhood (elementary) education, with a possible certification in middle school as well. I am really excited about going to school for something I feel strongly about and that may finally lead to a professional career that I want. It’s also exciting that I will be in New York City, where I have always wanted to live for a while. I’m still waiting to deliver the news to the school here, however, just to stay on the principal’s good side for as long as possible.
The school had originally planned to take us to Zacatecas, which is a beautiful colonial town with old silver mines, about four hours to the north. Several of us teachers have never been, so we were excited about it. It was going to be tomorrow, Saturday, so that everyone could go and arrange for babysitters if needed.
But then a week before the trip, the principal informs us that the board of directors thinks it would be easier for us to go to Guadalajara. We wouldn’t lose much time traveling, and they wouldn’t have to charter a bus for us, which costs a good deal. When we are asked for our opinions, many people say that anywhere would be fine, because this trip is a gift from the school. We are obviously embarrassed to ask for something that the school cannot afford. Many of us say, however, that we’ve been to Guadalajara and would prefer to go somewhere more exciting. Others say they won’t go anywhere, because they can’t leave their families for that long.
The next meeting we have, the principal tells us that the board of directors wants to take us wherever we want to go. Some of the teachers who won’t go to Zacatecas will consider going to Guadalajara, throwing a wrench in the plans of those who want to see Zacatecas. No consensus is reached.
The next day, the principal decides she wants to go to a spa near Lake Chapala, so that’s where we’re going. In addition, she changes the date to Friday instead of Saturday, preventing several people with other engagements that day from being able to attend.
And then the next day, the principal decides the teachers should have a secret vote. Zacatecas wins.
The next day is already Thursday, one day before the trip, and she says we are not going to Zacatecas because it’s too far, and we are instead going to a ranch near Lagos, a big town to the east of Arandas.
I wonder how many people have actually gone on the trip today. I for one could not be bothered. If it was Zacatecas, I’d have made the effort. But for a ranch during crummy, rainy weather? No, thanks.
I suppose it could’ve been fun. Maybe this place is actually really nice. But I think it was the principle of the thing that bothered me the most, and I stayed home partly in personal protest of the school’s shenanigans.
Mother’s Day was Wednesday here. We didn’t have to teach classes but we had this huge breakfast affair with dance performances by the students. My favorite was the Hawaiian dance. The fourth-grade teacher has taken Hawaiian dance classes, so she taught some of the girls to do it, too. They had the grass skirts and the whole shebang. It was pretty spectacular.
It wasn’t a great day for me, however, because there was a lot of drama between me and Aracely, one of the kindergarten teachers I hang out with. Two days before the event, the teachers had to start making presents for the mothers of all their students. It was just like the Christmas bolas that we had to make in a frenzy, sewing and sewing for days. This time we had to make frames with photos of the kids, and the frames had borders of aluminum with designs in relief. The process included making the designs on the aluminum sheets, cutting and gluing the aluminum borders onto a board, and then gluing the photo on the board. It doesn’t sound like a lot of work, but it was a pain in the ass. There was a little piece of plastic that had a design mold and which you placed under the aluminum, and you had to pass a paper instrument over the aluminum to make the design. Then gluing the aluminum was difficult because not just any glue will work. This was a lot of tiring work, especially for the teachers who have a lot of students. Aracely was stressing out a lot because she has 29 students. (Compare this with the primary grade teachers who only have five to eleven students each.) Rocio and I decided to help Aracely with the portraits.
We spent Monday and Tuesday evening working on them. Monday night we were at her house till 11 p.m., and we had only finished about half. Tuesday evening, I was tired from my cold, so when Aracely’s two-year-old daughter Ashley kept hitting me, as she always does, I became extremely irritated. I started yelling, “No! No me pegas!” (Don’t hit me!), but this only served to provoke her further. Rocio would laugh, and Aracely would tell me not to speak to her children that way. I felt desperate. “Why is she hitting me then?” I asked.
Finally, we finished the portraits, and I was relaxing on the couch watching my favorite soap opera, when Ashley came up behind me and pulled my ponytail very hard. I yelled at her and turned around again. This time she pulled my hair at the scalp, again using as much force possible, and it hurt. I jumped up shouting that I was leaving and that I couldn’t stand her daughter anymore. I grabbed my things without saying another thing and stormed out of the house.
I felt absolutely furious with Aracely for not controlling her daughter. I thought about it in terms of a dog, because that’s all the experience I have to go on—I yelled at Ashley like I would yell at a dog, because I don’t know how to deal with kids that young. I thought, if I had a dog and the dog was harassing one of my guests, I would discipline the dog or put it in another room. Aracely was expecting me to just put up with it or discipline her myself, but how was I going to do that? What’s more, I had gone to her house to help with her work, not to be abused by a two-year-old!
At home, I got online and saw Rocio on messenger. I asked her what she thought, if she thought what I did was wrong. All she said to me, whatever question I asked her, was, “I don’t want to give an opinion because both of you are my friends.” This made me feel worse. I ended up chatting with Luis online, interrupting his work on his candidacy exam, but without that comfort I don’t know what I would’ve done. It killed me not to be able to discuss it with Rocio.
In the end, despite my belief that Aracely was the one who should apologize to me, I sent her a text message apologizing for shouting at Ashley and for leaving in that way. I did honestly feel that I could have handled the situation differently, so I was apologetic. But I also explained that I didn’t know how to handle kids of that young age, and that I was angry because I felt nobody was helping me with her. I also said that I knew she didn’t have credit on her cell phone anymore, so we could talk the next day at the Mother’s Day event.
When I saw her at mass the next morning, I walked towards her and got her attention by saying her name and smiling. She looked at me, smiled, and then walked away.
The whole morning, she didn’t speak to me or even look at me. Rocio hardly spoke to me either. This was actually what hurt my feelings the most, because Rocio is truly a friend of mine, while Aracely I know to be rather immature and whose friendship with me is merely a matter of convenience. Aracely and I cannot hang out alone or we both die of boredom; we have nothing to say to each other. She has little patience with talking to me, since my Spanish is not good, and so we just don’t talk about anything. But I felt like Rocio thought I had done something wrong; why else wouldn’t she speak to me?
I went home early from the event because I was tired from my cold but also because I couldn’t stand the awkwardness of hanging out with the other teachers.
That night I chatted online with Rocio and asked if Aracely was mad at me, and she said she didn’t think so, but that she hadn’t had time to talk to her about it. I also apologized for getting irritated that night when she wouldn’t talk to me about Aracely, and she said not to worry about it. We have been chatting a little again, so I think things are OK between me and Rocio. At least I hope so.
I hope also that Aracely and I get over this thing. Maybe time will help. We won’t have to see each other again until Tuesday, so perhaps we’ll both have forgotten all about it. It doesn’t seem like such a big deal, when I think about it, but I was very upset by the whole thing, because these are the only friends I have in Arandas. It was terrible at the Mother’s Day event, because I had no one to hang out with; I just stood by myself helping some of the primary grade teachers with their students. At least Cristina was friendly with me, because she didn’t know what had happened. I didn’t say anything to her about it, so she thought it was strange that I wouldn’t sit and hang out with them, but I didn’t want to go and sit with Aracely. I suppose I was acting immature, too, but I just didn’t know what to do. I had already apologized and tried to speak to her, and she didn’t seem to want to speak to me, so I didn’t know what else to do. Maybe she just didn’t know what to say, either. I hope that is the case. I hope she doesn’t think that I was wrong somehow for getting irritated at her two-year-old.
Age 2 is not the age group of the kids I plan to deal with in my career. I am not interested in teaching nor fit to teach early childhood education. I would like my students to already be potty-trained and with some sense of what is socially appropriate, like not to hit me.
Anyway, I have decided to attend Teachers College at Columbia University in New York for their M.A. program with teacher certification in bilingual childhood (elementary) education, with a possible certification in middle school as well. I am really excited about going to school for something I feel strongly about and that may finally lead to a professional career that I want. It’s also exciting that I will be in New York City, where I have always wanted to live for a while. I’m still waiting to deliver the news to the school here, however, just to stay on the principal’s good side for as long as possible.
Saturday, May 06, 2006
Clase de natacion
Part of the reason I came to Mexico for the year was to challenge myself. I have lived abroad by myself before—junior year abroad in England and then four years in Taiwan. While they were both worthwhile experiences and I learned a great deal, they were not exactly the most fun years of my life. I think I keep going abroad because I want to get it right.
I’m thinking about this today because I had a mini-drama this morning in swimming class. I keep having to face challenges and to learn to keep going despite feeling bad, and every time is like the first time all over again—it doesn’t feel like it’s getting any easier, though I know that I must be handling it better now than ever. Feeling frustrated with myself this morning, I have been reflecting all day.
Certain things come easily to me. For example, school has always been my area of greatest confidence, because it’s not difficult for me to get As and Bs—even if I am struggling in a field I no longer care for. I have a good memory, so I am a good test-taker. I write passably. I can find joy in learning so I have the motivation to do the work. I’m the kind of person who excels academically.
But ask me to do anything athletic and watch me cringe. As I child I always hated P.E. If we had to play dodgeball, I would fake getting hit to avoid actually getting hit and so that I could sit in the grass and talk with my friends. (What a traumatizing game for children!) I was always one of the last to be picked to be on a team for any game. I walked most of the way when we were supposed to run. It was not easy to play any sport or to run or to catch or hit a ball or to exercise in any way, so I usually gave up before we even began.
When I began going to aikido class in college, I realized I could probably learn to do it, but that it would take a lot of work—more work than I was used to putting into anything. I didn’t learn much aikido; all I have retained from aikido practice is how to fall and the knowledge that my blood pressure is on the low end of the normal range. But I fell in love with martial arts and decided to go to Taiwan to learn some Chinese kung fu. It’s embarrassing to admit, but I had this fantasy of becoming a kung fu master, like the characters that Michelle Yeoh plays in Hong Kong action movies.
I did not progress rapidly in any of my martial arts endeavors, and my dream of literally being able to kick ass faded as reality hit me harder and harder. I spent over a year in Wing Chun kung fu training, but I don’t have much to show for it. Then I tried karate and gave up after a couple months. Then I tried tai chi and gave that up after a few months, too. At OSU, I went back to aikido and then tried another type of karate, but I only lasted a few classes in each. I gave up. I was never going to be like Wing Chun or any of Michelle Yeoh’s action-movie characters.
Swimming classes at the YMCA had ended much the same way. I was probably about 7 or 8, and I never learned to swim. I hated my teacher, who was pretty mean. I inhaled a lot of water. Once at a very young age, I was sitting in an inflatable boat in our little backyard pool and was tipped over as a joke, only it wasn’t funny to me at all. That memory is pretty clear—that’s what comes to mind whenever I think about being underwater. Ever since then I have always held my nose with my hand in order to submerge my head, or else I swim like a dog and keep my head above water. This becomes more and more embarrassing the older I get, but my fear of inhaling water and drowning has been too strong to stop doing it. Especially if I am at a beach in Mexico and a big wave is coming my way and I have to dive under it to avoid being pummeled.
So when the P.E. teacher at the school invited me to a swimming class he gives on Saturday mornings, I said yes, because I know I have to get over my fear of being underwater. I thought about not going, but I forced myself to the class. At first, I was getting water up my nose a lot and scared and feeling hopeless. But after a while, I was actually able to put my head underwater easily without plugging my nose, because the P.E. teacher kept telling me to do it, and because I was embarrassed in front of all those people to be so scared.
Next came exercises with the floaty board, with breathing and putting my head underwater. Though I don’t kick my feet correctly and tire myself out quickly as a result, it was not hard to do; I only swallowed a few gulps of pool water. Finally he took away my floaty board and told me to try the crawl. This did not go well. I couldn’t coordinate my arms and my feet and the breathing, so of course I ended up coughing and trying to clear my nostrils of water at the side of the pool halfway across. I tried a couple more times but every time was worse. I was crying before I even realized it, because my face was wet anyway and my eyes irritated from the chlorine. I think the teachers and the other students realized it even before I did, because they were telling me it was enough for today, that I had learned a lot and that I was doing fine. I got out and went to shower, and I cried in the shower, without really understanding why.
Frustration with myself always makes me upset, and even after having come this far, it still happens. I’m still a little kid in that way. So I will have to keep going to the class and make myself learn to swim, to get over this fear and to stop having these too-high expectations of myself.
I do have something to brag about this week, however small it is. On Thursday, the students participated in a competition for singing the Mexican national anthem, and they won first place. There were about six or seven other schools in the contest, but none of them (including our school) were very good. The ones who had CD accompaniment often got off tempo and sang faster than the recording. The ones who didn’t have CD accompaniment couldn’t stay on key. We were the only ones with keyboard accompaniment as well as a CD, so the kids stayed pretty much in tempo and, well, those who can sing on key stayed on key. “Keyboard accompaniment” here means that I played the melody with one hand on the keyboard. I had been practicing and trying to learn to play both hands together, but I only had one week to prepare, and I haven’t played the piano in years. I still have high expectations of myself, but I did well just playing one-handed, and it helped the school. Now we will have to go perform again in Tepatitlán, the large town nearby. I don’t know when it is, so I’m not practicing much, which I’ll probably regret later. But I have an excuse! I left the piano music somewhere and I think the music teacher took it with him, so I have to get it back from him somehow.
Other news: I finally got my FM3 (my work visa)! It’s a little green book with my picture and signature and specs.
Friday was Cinco de Mayo. I finally learned the story of the Battle of Puebla, which this day commemorates. (I got the story in Spanish, however, so I might have understood it wrong.) Apparently, during the administration of the illustrious president Benito Juarez (sometime in the 1800s), he announced that Mexico would not be able to pay its debts to the U.S. and some other countries, for financial difficulties. (Sounds like the economic hardship deferments I’ve been requesting for my student loans.) All the countries but France were OK with this. France sent its army to Mexico and they fought in the town of Puebla. Mexico won. Who knew that this day on which OSU students all gather in Mexican restaurants to get wasted on margaritas commemorates the day the Mexicans beat the French?
My celebration here to commemorate the Battle of Puebla began impromptu in my afternoon English class the day before Cinco de Mayo. Only Aracely and Cristina showed up, so instead of having English class we just chatted, in Spanish of course. Then when Rocio got off work (because she was held after as she often is), we went to my house to eat snacks and drink tequila and chat some more. Aracely was a bit depressed and went home early. Cristina and Rocio and I started dancing around like the madwomen that we are. Cristina put on the big yellow skirt I bought in Oaxaca and showed us how to dance baile folklórico to the famous song, El Sinaloense. She taught me a few steps. I taught Rocio the basic bachata steps. We all cracked ourselves up dancing like Lety la fea from our favorite telenovela.
The next day, Cinco de Mayo, we met up early for breakfast at Aracely’s house. She made these wonderful chilaquiles, and I am convinced I should buy a blender so that I can learn how to make some essential sauces for Mexican dishes like chilaquiles before I leave. Then we were hoping to go swimming at the club campestre, which has an awesome pool. We had heard that it only costs 20 pesos per person, so we went over there hoping to be able to get in. It ended up being 40 pesos per person (about US$4), and since there were four of las locas and four kids, it would’ve been 320 pesos for all of us! Instead we just had the kids play on the playground equipment while we chatted and did a bit of yoga, and then we went back to Aracely’s and filled up the kiddie pool with water for the kids while we cooked lunch. I was so tired after all that that I went home to watch La Fea and do email and sleep. Cinco de Mayo isn’t really celebrated much except in Puebla, I think. Here some of us just get the day off and laze around, no fiestas or anything. How funny how different it is here in Mexico. Back in Columbus, I probably would’ve had a huge party at my house, like I did last year. Well, back in Columbus at that house, we would’ve had parties for just about any occasion….
I’m thinking about this today because I had a mini-drama this morning in swimming class. I keep having to face challenges and to learn to keep going despite feeling bad, and every time is like the first time all over again—it doesn’t feel like it’s getting any easier, though I know that I must be handling it better now than ever. Feeling frustrated with myself this morning, I have been reflecting all day.
Certain things come easily to me. For example, school has always been my area of greatest confidence, because it’s not difficult for me to get As and Bs—even if I am struggling in a field I no longer care for. I have a good memory, so I am a good test-taker. I write passably. I can find joy in learning so I have the motivation to do the work. I’m the kind of person who excels academically.
But ask me to do anything athletic and watch me cringe. As I child I always hated P.E. If we had to play dodgeball, I would fake getting hit to avoid actually getting hit and so that I could sit in the grass and talk with my friends. (What a traumatizing game for children!) I was always one of the last to be picked to be on a team for any game. I walked most of the way when we were supposed to run. It was not easy to play any sport or to run or to catch or hit a ball or to exercise in any way, so I usually gave up before we even began.
When I began going to aikido class in college, I realized I could probably learn to do it, but that it would take a lot of work—more work than I was used to putting into anything. I didn’t learn much aikido; all I have retained from aikido practice is how to fall and the knowledge that my blood pressure is on the low end of the normal range. But I fell in love with martial arts and decided to go to Taiwan to learn some Chinese kung fu. It’s embarrassing to admit, but I had this fantasy of becoming a kung fu master, like the characters that Michelle Yeoh plays in Hong Kong action movies.
I did not progress rapidly in any of my martial arts endeavors, and my dream of literally being able to kick ass faded as reality hit me harder and harder. I spent over a year in Wing Chun kung fu training, but I don’t have much to show for it. Then I tried karate and gave up after a couple months. Then I tried tai chi and gave that up after a few months, too. At OSU, I went back to aikido and then tried another type of karate, but I only lasted a few classes in each. I gave up. I was never going to be like Wing Chun or any of Michelle Yeoh’s action-movie characters.
Swimming classes at the YMCA had ended much the same way. I was probably about 7 or 8, and I never learned to swim. I hated my teacher, who was pretty mean. I inhaled a lot of water. Once at a very young age, I was sitting in an inflatable boat in our little backyard pool and was tipped over as a joke, only it wasn’t funny to me at all. That memory is pretty clear—that’s what comes to mind whenever I think about being underwater. Ever since then I have always held my nose with my hand in order to submerge my head, or else I swim like a dog and keep my head above water. This becomes more and more embarrassing the older I get, but my fear of inhaling water and drowning has been too strong to stop doing it. Especially if I am at a beach in Mexico and a big wave is coming my way and I have to dive under it to avoid being pummeled.
So when the P.E. teacher at the school invited me to a swimming class he gives on Saturday mornings, I said yes, because I know I have to get over my fear of being underwater. I thought about not going, but I forced myself to the class. At first, I was getting water up my nose a lot and scared and feeling hopeless. But after a while, I was actually able to put my head underwater easily without plugging my nose, because the P.E. teacher kept telling me to do it, and because I was embarrassed in front of all those people to be so scared.
Next came exercises with the floaty board, with breathing and putting my head underwater. Though I don’t kick my feet correctly and tire myself out quickly as a result, it was not hard to do; I only swallowed a few gulps of pool water. Finally he took away my floaty board and told me to try the crawl. This did not go well. I couldn’t coordinate my arms and my feet and the breathing, so of course I ended up coughing and trying to clear my nostrils of water at the side of the pool halfway across. I tried a couple more times but every time was worse. I was crying before I even realized it, because my face was wet anyway and my eyes irritated from the chlorine. I think the teachers and the other students realized it even before I did, because they were telling me it was enough for today, that I had learned a lot and that I was doing fine. I got out and went to shower, and I cried in the shower, without really understanding why.
Frustration with myself always makes me upset, and even after having come this far, it still happens. I’m still a little kid in that way. So I will have to keep going to the class and make myself learn to swim, to get over this fear and to stop having these too-high expectations of myself.
I do have something to brag about this week, however small it is. On Thursday, the students participated in a competition for singing the Mexican national anthem, and they won first place. There were about six or seven other schools in the contest, but none of them (including our school) were very good. The ones who had CD accompaniment often got off tempo and sang faster than the recording. The ones who didn’t have CD accompaniment couldn’t stay on key. We were the only ones with keyboard accompaniment as well as a CD, so the kids stayed pretty much in tempo and, well, those who can sing on key stayed on key. “Keyboard accompaniment” here means that I played the melody with one hand on the keyboard. I had been practicing and trying to learn to play both hands together, but I only had one week to prepare, and I haven’t played the piano in years. I still have high expectations of myself, but I did well just playing one-handed, and it helped the school. Now we will have to go perform again in Tepatitlán, the large town nearby. I don’t know when it is, so I’m not practicing much, which I’ll probably regret later. But I have an excuse! I left the piano music somewhere and I think the music teacher took it with him, so I have to get it back from him somehow.
Other news: I finally got my FM3 (my work visa)! It’s a little green book with my picture and signature and specs.
Friday was Cinco de Mayo. I finally learned the story of the Battle of Puebla, which this day commemorates. (I got the story in Spanish, however, so I might have understood it wrong.) Apparently, during the administration of the illustrious president Benito Juarez (sometime in the 1800s), he announced that Mexico would not be able to pay its debts to the U.S. and some other countries, for financial difficulties. (Sounds like the economic hardship deferments I’ve been requesting for my student loans.) All the countries but France were OK with this. France sent its army to Mexico and they fought in the town of Puebla. Mexico won. Who knew that this day on which OSU students all gather in Mexican restaurants to get wasted on margaritas commemorates the day the Mexicans beat the French?
My celebration here to commemorate the Battle of Puebla began impromptu in my afternoon English class the day before Cinco de Mayo. Only Aracely and Cristina showed up, so instead of having English class we just chatted, in Spanish of course. Then when Rocio got off work (because she was held after as she often is), we went to my house to eat snacks and drink tequila and chat some more. Aracely was a bit depressed and went home early. Cristina and Rocio and I started dancing around like the madwomen that we are. Cristina put on the big yellow skirt I bought in Oaxaca and showed us how to dance baile folklórico to the famous song, El Sinaloense. She taught me a few steps. I taught Rocio the basic bachata steps. We all cracked ourselves up dancing like Lety la fea from our favorite telenovela.
The next day, Cinco de Mayo, we met up early for breakfast at Aracely’s house. She made these wonderful chilaquiles, and I am convinced I should buy a blender so that I can learn how to make some essential sauces for Mexican dishes like chilaquiles before I leave. Then we were hoping to go swimming at the club campestre, which has an awesome pool. We had heard that it only costs 20 pesos per person, so we went over there hoping to be able to get in. It ended up being 40 pesos per person (about US$4), and since there were four of las locas and four kids, it would’ve been 320 pesos for all of us! Instead we just had the kids play on the playground equipment while we chatted and did a bit of yoga, and then we went back to Aracely’s and filled up the kiddie pool with water for the kids while we cooked lunch. I was so tired after all that that I went home to watch La Fea and do email and sleep. Cinco de Mayo isn’t really celebrated much except in Puebla, I think. Here some of us just get the day off and laze around, no fiestas or anything. How funny how different it is here in Mexico. Back in Columbus, I probably would’ve had a huge party at my house, like I did last year. Well, back in Columbus at that house, we would’ve had parties for just about any occasion….
