Inadequate

There are days when you turn off your computer, lock the door at your job and feel as if you have accomplished a full day of hard work. You are for sure capable and competent.

Although praise has been distributed among my colleagues, worthlessness cannot help but stare back at me. The doubt I set onto myself tips heavy on the side of under qualification. This is projected onto my position. I struggle with leading workshops for my students. Engaging young people is one of the most difficult endeavors for an aspiring teacher. I was once in their shoes yet I roll in a puddle of frustration to keep their attention. Insecurity wraps my ego among my high school students when I stumble upon my words or jumble papers in disarray. My self conscious and introverted 15 year old self appears in front of all the seated desks.

The kids in my workshop inquire about my SAT score or my salary, and shame flush my cheeks and ears. My armpits perspire onto the inside of my shirt. I cannot gloat. I did not receiv the highest standardized score, instead I poke fun that even with my low number I am able to get by in life. I second guess the knowledge I have come to believe in and the skills I was hired for. Paranoia takes over when I suspect a student drifting into boredom or question the reason they chose to attend the day's lesson when they could have been doing something "better." Unpreparedness for a lesson can be to blame. Also not taking into account how to make a lesson fun can lead to side conversations. No matter how excited I get for the next lesson, they never seem to go the way I imagine. The way I convey what I want to teach is muddled with stutters. Nothing I say seems to hold any value. My wish is to inspire and to teach them things they never saw before. Today two boys were riled up about Economics. This is due to their new passion ignited by their AP Economics class. Although I am appalled by their one-sided opinions and should be pretentious with their views. One of the boys said he has much respect for his teacher.

A student walks into my classroom and leaves with the same half empty brain tank. I am sure they are questioning my abilities too. Often students squint back with confusion because I did not quite explain something clear. There was a boy who said I did not tell him something as well as my co-worker. That furthered my anxiety.

College apps are all the craze among my high seniors. I offered my assistance with their college essays. Mentioning I was a journalism major caught their attention. I do have a smidgen of pride in my writing despite it possibly being terrible. There have been about five students with which I have shed my opinions with about their essays. To say the least I have learned a lot about my students and they are bright individuals. However, as I was figuring actions to improve their essays I began to question if I was adequate enough to be correcting their writing. The kids gazed back at me with a blank. The information they received did not seem to click with any understanding. Plus I repeatedly dispensed the same suggestions, "Show, Don't Tell...You may want to use specific examples" I said. Teenagers hardly reveal gratitude so I have no clue if I was of any help.

Lack of training or expertise in education may be holding me back from holding an informative class. Or the fact that I am comparing myself to teenagers. Or my worry could be attributed to plain old over-thinking. My co-worker expressed no matter what I say to put down myself I still have something to share with them. By almost a decade I have attained years of life experience. Already this should be a leg up on my students. Wisdom alone can go a long way. Despite all this I cannot crack the hard mold of inadequacy.

Tonight as I turned off my computer, locked the door behind me, and I did not feel accomplished a full day of what seemed to be stinking hard work.

Impressed

There is much freedom in my job to teach whatever I want to the group of kids I work with. The Museum of Chinese in America (MOCA) recently had a grand opening in September. This place is pretty sick. It's dope and I am glad I can have some sort of inadvertent tie to this space.

To take the place of one of my workshops I set up a field trip to MOCA. There are a few gallery workshops MOCA offers to schools and students. I decided to take my class to the Where do Stereotypes Come From? In a city and a borough where Chinese makes up a large part of the population, sometimes the Chinese born and immigrant kids are oblivious or indifferent to the racism or the social difficulties the ones before them endures/d. When I advertised this upcoming event to my kids, many were disinterested. Many found excuses to not attend. I am not their mother. I can not force them to do something they are adverse to doing.

Apologies filled up my inbox with I am Sorry's and Something Really Important Came Up

e-mails. I was beginning to get discouraged. Issues that are important to me seemed to roll off my kid's shoulders like these things do not affect them in the slightest. Terror filled my stomach, how many kids would actually attend. I told MOCA I would bring 20, what if I walked in with 2 students? Failure!

So, I had to resort to the forcing tactic. I pushed several kids to attend. Confusion and "O, god she's crazy," showed in their body language. Do not get me wrong there were a few students genuinely enthusiastic for the field trip. They gave me hope. Most though did not see the relevance the workshop had to the program they are in. Yes, my non-profit hosts a program that provides work readiness training and basic skills tutoring, but I am convinced as seniors in high school it is more imperative to be exposed to the wonders the world has to offer. Showing my students the possibilities and equipping them with the tools to question their immediate and extended environment is how they will succeed beyond high shcool.

An immigrant senior told me she was going to decline the trip because she was just not interested. I handed the permission slip to her. She received my explanation to attend with reservation. Her and her friend showed up on the day of the MOCA workshop. I was pleased. Another student expressed every inclination to not go. "Sorry Jess, I don't think I can make it." "Why?" "Cuz, I can't. I have to go now" "Wait, wait. You are going to go!! You have to!" I chased this boy to the elevator as he was running away from my antics. I followed him all the way down to the exit. Without shame I repeated and pressed that he must attend. "It will be fun!" I exclaimed. This student returned a couple hours later to the office. He hung out for a bit before abruptly departing. He thought he was slick, before he slipped into the elevator he said, "Jess, yeah, I really don't think I'll show up next Thursday." Boy thought he could get away with his sly plan. I sprinted like a madwoman to the elevator, slammed my hand in between the door before it slid to a close. "No you are going. Got it!" half serious, half playfully threatening him. He nervously laughed and gave me a confirmation he would attend.

I instructed all the kids to give me a rsvp the night before the field trip in email. There was no email from the student I scared into saying yes to me. This past Thursday, he showed up. To my surprise he brought his friend who had been coming to my workshops voluntarily. His friend was part of the program from the year before. He has no obligation to come to my workshops, but he does.

As we were getting into the topic of stereotypes I saw the student that refused to visit MOCA take out a notebook. He was taking down notes on terms and new information he had not previously known about stereotypes and Chinese American history. This kid who adamantly said he had better things to on Thursday was immersed in the discussion. I was impressed. I was impressed by his eagerness to learn and participate. I was impressed I changed his mind. I was impressed he was engaged in his learning.

After the session I confronted him. He initially thought I was about to reprimand him for doing homework. On the contrary, I wanted to praise him for allowing himself to open his eyes to his history and to his future.

A total of 10 kids showed up. A little less than half the class came. Not a great number, but still a success.

Let A Girl Work Out in Peace

Since moving to New York I have been trying real hard to keep up with staying in shape. Before leaving Boston I knew not having a gym membership would be inevitable. Sports clubs in New York are expensive. I am living on a non-profit salary, so any high rolling extras are nixed out. Also finding gyms near me in Brooklyn are quite difficult. Yelp was my search engine to a fitness center, but can it really be trusted? I am not willing to shell out some of my paycheck to be let down.

So yes, I have resorted to push-ups and sit-ups on the little slither of hardwood floor in my room. Though after dealing with high school students from 2-6, which is not much but the bulk of my work happens in those four hours, wears me out. Getting my almost quarter century body onto the stiff ground is a task. I have partaken to running outside. With the cold weather ensuing it will be hard to get my lazy ass to prance around in the frigid air. I don't have to get to work till 10 in the morning. You guessed it , getting up two hours early to work out is a monumental labor of pain.

These past four months I have been doing what I can to not gain the sequel to the much loathed Freshmen 15. My co-worker told me it's important to keep active especially with the way I eat. She is correct. She also introduced me to the neighborhood recreation center near our place of work. I only had to pay $25 for six months. It's not much, a stuffy room with a handful of cardio machines and a hodgepodge of weights and machines. Think hotel gym, but imagine it about to fall apart. But for a Lincoln and a Jackson I should not have the audacity to complain. The bonus is there are yoga classes every Tuesday and Thursday. Yes!!!! Where has this place been? This will do until I make my thousands.

In the morning it is filled with Chinese Grandmas who are two strides from hurting themselves and beefy meat heads who are two lifts from bursting out of their muscles. So I sought to work out in the evening. Long and behold the small weight room was packed. Not packed with Chinese Grandmas. They were home. The square room was filled with only guys (ranging in young to old age) pumping iron. I was the only woman in sight walking towards the treadmill. Fuck! Undeniably, I was scrutinized with curiosity and intrigue. Who is this girl? She works out? Does she know what she is doing? Where did she come from? O, look at those tights! I really wish I did not wear tights in a highly uncomfortable situation where my ass was put on a platter for display. Bad choice. Lately though I enjoy wearing tights with no shorts it makes working out more mobile.

I thought I was in the clear from the gawking and the pointless small talk. Damn, why did I not keep my Ipod headphones stuffed in my ear? As I was lifting free weights over my head on a bench press bench a hefty man looms over me. "How many more sets do you have left?" I was surprised. I did not need the bench, so I got up and relinquished the bench over to him. Of course when I got up a big sweat print of my ass laid on the bench's leather covering. I return with a paper towel to wipe my already dissipated perspiration. Without fail Mr. Carlos attempts to talk to me,"You just started coming here?...Hi my name is Carlos. Nice to meet you." I went through the motions to be polite. Maybe the kid truly was welcoming me into their club of healthy living. Doubt it. Later I was fixing the setting on a leg press machine. It may have looked as if I was having trouble. The knobs were tight. "Do you need some help," offered Carlos. No I am fine. I am not some weak girl who needs help from guys constantly. My internal flattery does not shoot off the charts when I am approached while working out.

Can't a girl work out in peace. Perhaps I am use to Marino, I miss that place dearly. Rarely did guys bother me. Well they did, but I brushed them off and ran away (literally) to another floor or to the opposite end of the room. The rec center is 13 X 13, where the hell am I going to run to, the corner? Okay, some of you will say I am being harsh or jumping to conclusions. There are still nice people out there some may protest.

Doubtful. People are nice because they are expecting or looking to fulfill their own needs.

Don't Leave

Leave Me from Daros Films on Vimeo.

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