Author Archives: M.A.D. LIGAYA
The Jokers In The Academe
I have been a teacher since 1988. It has been a long journey full of ups and downs and filled with joys and sorrows. I don’t regret anything that I have undergone as a teacher and proudly I could l say that I triumphed over all the difficulties and pains because I wouldn’t last this long in the academe if not.
I worked in eight different schools in the Philippines, in six as a full-timer and in two as a part-timer. Here in South Korea, where I am teaching now is my second university. I stayed a year in the first one and now I’m on my way to completing my fifth year where I transferred.
Go back to the previous paragraph and count the number of academic institutions where I worked.
How many?
Two short of a dozen.
In those schools, I met different kinds of students, administrators, and – teachers, the best and the worst.
This essay deals with teachers I refer to as “jokers in the academe.” The experience I had with them taught me to have a great deal of patience. There were times though that I lost that patience and locked horns with them. Actually, I wrote this essay right after a verbal tussle with one of them.
Yes, you need to be patient when you encounter the jokers among your colleagues. These jokers aren’t funny at all. They are annoying.
I am not saying that I am a perfect teacher. I still have lots to improve. At least I have been trying my best to conform with the existing and evolving professional standards set for teachers.
Most importantly, I am not a joker. I would never be.
Who might these jokers be?
One of those that I classify as jokers are the “super dependents.”
The “super dependents” are teachers who will not solve their own problems. They expect their colleagues to do that for them. They are the ones who hate exerting extra effort to find a solution to whatever bugs them. Their sense of entitlement is so strong that they think that it is the duty of people around them to help them get out of a difficult situation.
What these jokers consider as problems are not problems to begin with.
For example – the school requiring teachers to apply a new technology in the classroom. That for them is a contentious issue. They would try to dip their hands deep into their bag of reasons to justify their non-compliance.
You would hear the lamest of excuses like “My training as an educator did not include applying those technology.”
Really!?
Another excuse, lame also, “It’s labor-intensive.”
They want things to be given to them on a silver platter. They would never go the extra mile.
They are like square pegs in round holes. No amount of explanation would make them buy the idea that being a 21st century teacher teaching 21st century learners would require the learning of 21st century skills.
These jokers don’t understand that part of their responsibility as educators – if they really consider themselves as educators – is to retool and retrain if necessary in order to cope with the demands of what has become a technology-driven pedagogy used by 21st century teachers.
They should not subscribe to the idea that “old dogs can’t learn new tricks” because they are not dogs. They’re human beings who are supposed to be rational.
Are they?
Anyway, let’s talk about dogs.
They bark, right?
Some of the jokers in the academe are like dogs. They bark a lot.
I call them the “barkers.”
These jokers bark about their disagreement with school policies and what they perceive as incompetence among the “people upstairs.” They are the eternal fault-finders who see nothing but negative in the organization. They live to seek the “tiny black in an ocean of white.” For them nothing is right, everything is wrong.
They complain day and night, except when they go to the ATM machine during payday.
Do they deserve their pay? Are they doing their job? Only them and their students could tell.
Yes, there are times that they have valid reasons to disagree. But what is frustrating is that they bark up the wrong tree. They don’t address their concerns to the right people at the right place and at the right time. They grandstand during meetings wasting their colleagues’ precious time. They force them to listen to their misguided eloquence. Sometimes they also write long unsolicited e-mails where they express their grievances. They don’t understand that not everybody in the organization share their opinion about the policies and their school administrators.
The funny thing is these jokers just bark but they don’t bite.
They do nothing about their complaints except bark about them. But when the administrators responsible in implementing the policies they disagree with are present in meetings, they are very quiet, silent in one corner of the room wagging their tails.
These jokers curse the school and their administrators at every opportunity they have. They tell everybody that the school where they work is the worst place to be. Yet at the end of the school year they (let me use these words again) wag their tails as they sign their names on the dotted lines for a contract extension.
Dogs bark. They also eat their own vomits.
The last category of jokers in my list are those who applied (and luckily got hired) as teachers even if they are not qualified and trained for the profession.
They are the ones I call the “pretenders.”
Yeah, they pretend to be teachers.
These jokers applied as teachers because there are no other jobs available. They are very fortunate (and the students unfortunate) that there are schools willing to hire them even if they are not qualified to be teachers.
Among these jokers are English teachers who thought that they could be English teachers because they can speak the language. I have emphasized in one of my essays that it doesn’t mean that when you know something you can already teach it. “If you know it, you can teach it” is a fallacy.
Knowing a subject matter is different from knowing how to teach it. The former is only one of the many requirements for the latter.
“Real teachers,” those not pretending to be, know what it takes to be a teacher. Teaching is not parroting the contents of the book. It’s not delivering a monologue in front of the students.
Teachers need to choose the best strategy to use in the class from a variety of strategies available. They have to set objectives and test if those objectives are met. They need to differentiate the levels of their students and identify the corresponding techniques and activities suitable for those levels.
“Real teachers” know what philosophy would inform whatever they do and say in the class. They know which sociological, psychological, historical and legal foundations upon which they would base all their decisions as teachers.
It means that the job of a teacher is so complicated that not just anybody should be allowed to teach. And when a school commits the mistake of hiring applicants who are not trained to be teachers, expect them to become the jokers in the academe.
In the academe, most of those who complain a lot – those who create a lot of troubles – are the ones who are not really trained to become teachers. These jokers are the ones who seemed to be lost in the wilderness not knowing what to do and how to do things related to the job of a teacher. They are the ones who would blame others when they encounter difficulties and can’t figure out how to deal with them.
The common trait among these jokers is that they want everything given to them in a silver platter. You need to explain to them in detail (and repetitively) how to perform tasks that teachers are supposedly trained to do. Sometimes they would even require their colleagues to do things for them. They would not bother learning how to do it themselves.
Beware of the jokers in the academe. They’re not funny.
These jokers could be many or but a few in schools everywhere.
There was a voice within that kept telling me not to mind the jokers in the academe. I did so, but not for long. It became too difficult for me to hold my horses when I heard the “non-performing” barkers whined and whinged so persistently. It’s so difficult to just turn a blind eye (and a deaf ear) to the things they are doing (and saying) all the time. I had to say my piece – through this essay.
What’s dangerous is that they are contagious. They contaminate the working environment. They have the ability to flip the organizational climate, from positive to negative.
So, beware of the jokers. Avoid them like a plague.
These whining and crying babies are not cute. Don’t babysit them.
Puti at De-kolor
“Ihiwalay mo ang mga puti sa de-kolor.”
Ako’y isang batang musmos pa lamang noong marinig ko ang mga salitang iyon sa unang pagkakaton. Iyon ang mahigpit na bilin ng lola sa aming kasambahay tuwing ito’y maglalaba.
“Brasin mo ang mga puti. Tiyakin mong mawawala lahat ng mantsa.” Dagdag pa ng medyo may pagka-istriktang nanay ng nanay ko. “Huwag mong kalimutang ikula.”
Ganun ka-espesyal ang atensyong ibinibigay sa mga puting damit.
Heto pa ang pahabol ng lola ko noon, “Ihuli mo ang mga kulay itim. Huwag na huwag mong isasama sa mga puti yan. Naku, malilintikan ka sa akin.”
Tumimo iyon sa aking isipan. Kaylangang pag-ingatan ang mga damit na puti ang kulay. Huwag na huwag silang ihahalo sa mga de-kolor kapag naglalaba upang huwag silang mamantyahan. At ang mga itim na damit ay kaylangang ihuli sa lahat – huwag na huwag isasama sa mga puti at kahit anong de-kolor na damit. Kapag nagbanlaw man ay ihuli raw rin ang mga de-kolor at itim at ang gamiting tubig ay iyong pinagbanlawan na lang ng mga puti.
Kaawa-awang de-kolor, lalo na ang mga itim.
Naugnay ito sa isang bagay na nagdulot sa akin ng kalituhan noong ako’y mura pa ang gulang. Ito ay nang tanungin ko ang aking ina tungkol sa isang larawan sa pahina ng librong binabasa niya na ang pamagat ay “Land of the Free.” Ipanagpatuloy kasi ni mama ang pag-aaral sa kolehiyo noong kaming magkakapatid ay hindi na alagain. Madalas eh buklatin ko’t basahin ang mga librong iniuuwi n’ya galing sa kanilang library. Ipinapakita sa larawan iyon ang salitang “rest room” at may nakalagay sa ilalim nito sa magkabilang bahagi na “white” at “colored.”
“Colored” daw ang tawag ng mga Amerikanong puti sa mga kababayang nilang itim ang balat.
Hindi ko alam kung bakit natawa ang aking ina nang sabihin kong kulay din naman ang puti. Mali ba ako? Bakit ang mga maiitim eh “colored” kung tawagin at ang mga puti eh hindi? Colorless ba ang puti.
Pilosopo daw ako sabi ni mama. Tama daw akong kulay din ang puti pero napakabata ko pa daw para maiintindihan ang konseptong “colored.”
Para bang gusto akong batukan ni mama ng sabihin ko sa kanya na siya ang nagturo sa akin na ang English sa kulay ay color at tanging ang tubig alang masasabing walang kulay.
Natingin ako noon sa aking balat. Ito’y kayumanggi. Kaunti na lang eh itim na rin. Basta hindi ako maputi. At kapag natapos akong maglalaro ako ng matagal sa labas tuwing walang pasok eh sasabihin ng nanay kong, “Ayan kakabilad mo sa araw nangitim ka na.” Kung ang mundo’y isang malaking batya at ako’y damit na lalabhan eh masasama ako sa de-kolor at hindi sa puti. Kaunti na lang ang diperensya ng balat ko sa itim kaya kapag binanlawan ako eh malamang sa bandang huli na rin.
Ipinaliwanag ni mama na may panahon daw sa bansang Amerika na hindi pwedeng makihalubilo ang mga Negro sa mga puti sa mga pampublikong lugar katulad ng restaurant, sinehan, mga sasakyan at maging nga sa mga palikuran.
Eh bakit?
Tinignan ko ang iba pang mga larawan sa mga sumunod na pahina ng libro. Maging sa isang drinking fountain eh ganoon nga. Hindi pwedeng uminom ang mga de-kolor ang kutis sa iniinuman ng mga puti.
Bakit ganun?
“Baka ba mamantsahan ang mga puti kaya’t bawal na makihalubilo sila sa mga hindi nila kakulay ng balat?”
Iyon syempre ang uri ng tanong na pwedeng manggaling sa isang batang paslit na katulad ko.
Parang nagulat si mama. Hindi kaagad siya nakasagot. Naningkit ang mata’t pagkatapos eh biglang kumunot ang noo. Ganun din ang itsura ng mga kaklase ko kapag sila’y biglang tinawag ng titser namin upang sumagot sa isang tanong at hindi nila masagot.
Tila nahirapan si mama na sagutin ang tanong ko. Tumango’t ngumiti na lamang siya. Hindi ko masasabing “oo” ang sagot ni mama sa aking tanong. Sa tango niya’t ngiti kasi ay parang sinasabi niyang, “Sorry hind ko alam ang sagot.” Parang ako lang kapag hindi ko kayang sagutin ang tanong ng aming guro. Titingin na lang ako sa kanya at ngingiti sabay kamot sa aking batok.
Kabisado ako ng aking ina. Alam n’yang unang tanong ko pa lamang iyon, marami pang susunod. Subalit bago ko pa man buksan ang bibig ko upang muling magtanong ay inunahan na niya ako.
“Balang araw eh maiintindihan mo din kung bakit. Sige na anak, maglaro ka na muna sa labas. Akin na muna ang librong iyan at magre-review pa ako.”
*****
Pagsampa ko ng high school eh naririnig ko pa rin ang bilin ni lola na dapat hiwalay ang mga puti sa de-kolor. At tulad pa rin ng dati, ang mga itim na damit ay parang ketongin na nakahiwalay sa lahat nang huwag makahawa ng kulay. Sa panahong iyon si mama naman ang nagbibilin sa bunso naming kapatid na babae bago sila maglaba. Wala na kasi kaming kasambahay noon. Nagsimula ng magtipid ang mga magulang ko. Hindi na rin namin kapiling si lola kaya’t siya at ang bunso namin ang naglalaba.
Minsan tumutulong akong paghiwalayin ang mga puti sa de-kolor bago maglaba ang aking ina’t kapatid. At habang ginagawa ko ‘yon ay bumabalik sa aking ala-ala ang mga larawang nakita ko noon sa librong binabasa ni mama – mga larawang nagpapakita na sa Amerika ay pinagbabawalang makihalubilo ang mga de-kolor ang kutis sa mga puti. Akala ko pa naman na mababait ang mga Amerikano dalhin madalas magkwento ang lola ko noon na iniligtas daw tayo ng mga puting dayuhan laban sa mga mapang-aping mga Hapones noong panahon ng ikalawang-digmaang pandaigdig.
Kaya nga’t kahit first year pa lang ako noon eh nagbabasa na ako ng libro ng World History. Sa fourth year pa namin pag-aaralan dapat iyon subalit nabitin kasi ako sa sagot noon ni mama kung bakit ganun – kung bakit sa bansang Amerika ay parang pinandidirihan ang mga maitim ang kutis. Naisip ko din kung ganun din ba ang turing sa mga Negro sa iba pang bahagi ng mundo. Eh bakit ba kasi ganun? May ginawa bang masama ang mga taong maiitim ang balat kaya ganun sila kung tratuhin? Kasalanan ba ang maging maitim?
Akala ko na sa pagbabasa eh mauunawaan ko kung bakit may ganoong patakaran sa Amerika noon. Hindi pala. Marami pa akong nalaman at habang ang isip ko ay nadadagdagan ng impormasyon eh lalo lamang akong nalilito. Lalong dumadami ang aking mga tanong.
Gusto ko noong tanungin ang aking ina kung bakit hindi n’ya sa akin kaagad ipinaliwanag na dati pala’y alipin ng mga puti ang mga taong itim ang balat kaya’t mababa ang pagtingin nila sa mga ito.
Ang pinagmulan pala ng lahi ng mga Amerikano ay ang Inglatera. Dati pala silang mga Briton. Ang mga Briton ang nagdala noon sa Amerika ng mga Negro galing sa kontinente ng Africa upang gawing mga alipin – tagapagsilbi nila at mga taga-tanim.
Ang dami ko palang hindi alam tungkol sa kasaysayan ng mundo. Kaya’t pinagbuti ko pa ang pagbabasa. Noon ko naunawaan na sa pagbabasa ay hindi ka lang makakahanap ng sagot sa mga katanungan mo kundi mula sa mga sagot ay dadami lalo ang iyong mga tanong. Sa mga malalaman mo ay maaring ikaw ay magtaka, matawa, magalit, mainis o mandiri. Maari din namang maawaka ka.
Ako’y naawang lalo sa mga taong itim ang kulay ng balat.
Ang mga larawang nakita ko kasi sa patuloy kong pagbabasa eh hindi lamang inihihiwalay ang mga taong maitim sa mga mapupusyaw ang balat. Merong mga larawang nakakadena sila sa leeg, nakatali ang kamay at hinihila ng mga puti na parang mga hayop. May mga tinatadyakan, sinasampal at sinusuntok
Ang iba’y may tali sa leeg, hindi hinihila kundi nakasabit sa puno. Labas ang dila. Patay. Nakapaligid ang mga mapuputi’t matatangkad na tao. May hawak na pamalo at baril. Ang ila’y nakapamaywang pa at parang tumatawa. Ang hirap unawain na kung bakit sa mga larawang iyon ay nakuha pa nilang ngumiti habang sa likuran nila’y may mga bangkay ng mga taong itim ang balat na nakalambitin.
Bakit ganun?
Nabasa ko rin na ang mga kababaihan ay ginagahasa. Ganun kabrutal ang mga puti. Minaltrato’t inaabuso nila ang mga de-kolor. Sana eh hindi totoo ang mga nabasa ko. Sana inimbento lang iyon ng mga sumulat ng kasaysayan. San lang eh ang mga larawang nakita ko ay mga drawing na masyado magaling lang ang gumuhit kaya’t nagmukhang totoo.
Sana man lang eh binigyan ako ni mama ng babala noon na magugulantang ako sa iba pang mga bagay na malalaman ko kapag ako’y nagpumilit na ungkatin ang isyu tungkol sa mga de-kolor ang kutis at mga puti. Naisip ko na lamang na kaya hindi sinagot ni mama kung bakit ganun ay maging siya man ay nahirapang unawain ang bagay na iyon. At kung siya nga ay nahirapan eh ako pa kaya na noo’y batang uhugin lang.
Tama naman si mama. Mahihirapan talaga akong unawain kung bakit hinakot ng mga ninuno ng mga puti sa Amerika ang mga tinatawag nilang “colored” mula sa Africa upang sila’y gawing alipin at pagkatapos ay parang hayop kung ituring, parang baka o kabayong pwedeng ibenta, sasaktan kung magkakamali, gagahasain ang mga kababaihan kung sila’y lukuban ng makamundong pagnanasa, at papatayin kung magtatankang lumaban.
Mahirap pa ring unawain na porke de-kolor ang kutis ng tao ay may karapatan na ang mga puti na sila’y maltratuhin. O dahil maputi ba sila eh pwede na nilang gawin ang ano mang gusto nilang gawin?
Bakit? Nabili na ba ng mga taong maputi ang balat ang mundo?
Natanong ko sa sarili iyan nang sabihin ng guro namin sa Philippine History na minsa’y hinati ng Espanya at Portugal ang lahat ng lupain sa mundo na nasa labas ng Europa. Kaya hayun, bukod sa kasaysayan ng mundo eh nagbasa na rin ako ng tungkol sa kasaysayan naman ng Pilipinas.
Hindi ko maintindihan. Lalo akong nalito. Pinaghati-hatian daw ng mga Ingles, Pranses, Espanyol, Portuges, at Aleman ang lahat ng lugar na kayang marating ng kanilang mga dambuhalang sasakyang-pandagat. Silang mga mapuputi ang siyang naghari.
Bakit ganun?
Nabasa ko na ng pahanong iyon ay na sinakop pala tayo ng mga Kastila, mga puting galing sa Europa sa loob ng mahigit tatlong daang taon. Tapos nagtangkang agawin ng mga Ingles ang Pilipinas mula sa kanila. Ngunit ang nagtagumpay na umagaw ng bayang sinilangan ko mula sa Espanya ay ang Amerika. Ang katwiran pa ng mga Amerikano ay kung hindi daw nila sinakop ang bansa natin ay ang mga Aleman daw ang gagawa nito. Ganun? Parang laruan lang ang mga bansa ng mga taong de-kolor kung pagpasapasaan ng mga puti.
Ang mga lahing de-kolor, mga itim at kayumanggi, tayo’y parang mga hayop na itinuring ng mga puting galing sa kanluran. Ang mga lupain nati’y kanilang kinamkam at ang ating mga likas na yaman ay kanilang ninakaw.
*****
Pagtungtong ko sa kolehiyo, ako na naglalaba ng sarili kong damit. Sinunod ko pa rin ang mahigpit na bilin ng aking lola – inihihiwalay ko ang mga puti sa de-kolor at ang itim ay laging huli.
Patuloy pa rin ang pagbabasa ko ng kasaysayan ng mundo at ng Pilipinas. Marami pa akong nalaman tungkol sa pilit na ginagawang paghahari-harian ng mga puti at kung papaanong hindi nila ituring na kapantay ang mga de-kolor.
Noon ko mas naintindihan ang tinatawag na “holocaust” na kung saan ay pinatay ng mga Nazi ang milyong-milyong Hudyo na ang intension ay burahin sa mundo ang lahi ng mga ito. Kay hirap unawain kung bakit ganun na lamang ang galit ng mga Aleman sa mga Hudyo. Marami ang naniniwala na nang gawin ng mga Aleman ang karumal-dumal na krimeng iyon ay sinunod nila ang sistema ng “racial segregation” na ipinatupad ng mga Amerikano sa mga kababayan nilang itim ang kulay ng balat.
Pinilit kong saliksikin iyon dahil sa isa ding larawang nakita ko sa isang encyclopedia sa high school library namin noon. Larawan iyon ng isang malaking hukay na may lamang maraming bangkay at may mga nakapaligid na sundalong mga puti’t matatangkad, mga Aleman, na parang mga nakangisi pa habang nakamasid sa mga kahabag-habag na mga kapwa nila taong patay na.
Bakit ganun?
Bakit tinangkang lipulin ng mga Aleman ang lahing galing sa binhi ni Abraham? Kasalanan ba ang maging Hudyo.
Hindi ko maintindihan na kung bakit sa paniniwalang sila’y ang superiyor na lahing puti ay nagkaroon na sila ng karapatang ubusin ang mga Hudyo. Dahil ang mga Hudyo daw ay hindi maituturing na puti. Ang mga Hudyo daw ay isang mantsa sa lahing puti kaya’t dapat burahin.
Gusto ko na sanang tigilan na ang pagbabasa dahil habang patuloy kong binabaybay ang mga pahina ng kasaysayang ng bansa ko’t ng mundo eh paulit-ulit kong nasasabi ang “Bakit ganun?”
Bakit tuwing may larawang pupukaw ng aking atensyon ay laging may mga mapuputi’t matatangkad na kung hindi nakatingala ay nakayapak sa mga bangkay ng mga taong de-kolor ang kutis?
Bakit kasi kinunan pa ng larawan ang mga sundalong Amerikano na mga nakangiti’t nakapamaywang habang nasa paanan nila ang isang malaking hukay na puno ng dang-daang bangkay ng mga kayumangging Pilipinong Muslim.
Ke puputi’t ke yayabang ng mga kriminal. Di bale sana kung mga mandirigma lang ang mga napatay nila. Bakit pati mga sibilyan, mga babae at mga bata eh kanilang idinamay? Dahil ba sa sila’y de-kolor kaya’t wala silang karapatang mabuhay.
Wala akong makitang pagkakaiba sa larawan ng Holocaust at sa larawan ng Bud Dajo massacre. Pareho lamang silang nagpapakita ng kalupitan na kayang gawin ng tao sa kanilang kapwan. At di ko alam kung bakit nagkataong parehong puti ang kulay ng kutis ng mga taong may kagagawan ng mga iyon.
Bakit ganun?
Ang mga sundalong Nazi sa Alemanya ay kinasuhan ng “genocide.” Eh ano naman ang tawag sa ginawa ng mga Amerikano sa Jolo, sa Samar at sa ilang lugar pa sa Pillipinas? Ano ba ang tawag sa ginawang pamamaslang ng mga kapwa nila puting Kastila, Pranses, Ingles, Portuges at Aleman sa mga bansang sinakop nila noong “colonial period?”
Ah, may teknikalidad pala sa batas na dapat ikonsidera. Krimen lamang na maituturing ang genocide kung ginawa ito matapos ang “Genocide Convention” noong 1948. Kaya sorry na lang sa mga de-kolor na nabiktima ng mga puti noong panahong inari nila’t pinaghahatian ang mundo.
Kung hindi man magbayad ng danyos perwisyo eh humingi man lang sana ng paumanhin ang mga puti sa mga pagpatay, pag-aabuso’t pangangamkam na ginawa nila sa mga bansang kanilang sinakop.
Pero imposibleng gawin nila iyon. Hindi kaylanman yuyuko ang mga puti sa mga taong ang balat ay de-kolor.
Nangangatwiran pa nga ang mga taong mapuputi ang kutis na kaya nila pinatay ang mga taong hindi nila kakulay sa mga bansang sinakop nila noon eh dahil sa ang mga ito’y lumaban. Aba eh natural na sila’y lumaban. Alangan namang inaalipin ka na’t ninanakawan at sinaktan pa’y hindi ka na lamang kikibo. At kung panangutin daw ang mga gobyernong kolonyal ng mga puting mananakop sa kung ano mang krimeng ginawa nila sa mga bansang sinakop nila eh hindi daw ba dapat ring bayaran naman sila sa mga ipinagawa nilang mga gusali, tulay at mga daan at sa pagbibigay ng edukasyon sa kanilang mga sinakop. Bakit? Wala ba silang naging pakinabang sa mga bansang sinakop nila? Hindi ba’t sapilitan naman nilang pinagtrabaho ang mga sinakop nilang taong itim o kayumanggi ang balat? Hindi ba’t ang mga likas na kayamanan ng mga bansang sinakop nila eh kinankam nila. Kulang na kulang pa na kabayaran kung tutuusin ang ano man ang mga ipinagawa nila.
Hindi kayang ibalik ng mga puti o walang halaga ng salapi na makakasapat upang kanilang ipambayad sa dignidad ng mga taong de-kolor ang balat na kanilang sinira’t niyurakan ng ang mga ito’y kanilang sakupin.
*****
Bakit ganun?
Sabi ng aking ina noong bata ako na balang araw ay maiintindihan ko din kung bakit hindi pwedeng umihi ang mga de-kolor sa ihian ng mga puti. Pero heto ako’t tumanda na at sobrang dami na mga nabasa ko sa libro… sa internet… eh hindi ko pa rin maintindihan.
Ano kaya ang isasagot ko sa aking anak halimbawa’t isang araw eh makita rin niya ang alin man sa mga larawang nakita ko? May paliwanag kaya akong maibibigay kung tatanungin niya ako kung bakit ang “drinking fountain” ng mga “white” ay hindi pwedeng gamitin ng mga “colored.”
Paano kaya kung sa Facebook o sa YouTube eh makita ng anak ko ang pamamaril ng mga puting pulis sa mga hindi armado at walang kalabang-labang mga taong kulay itim ang balat?
Pwede kayang sabihin ko na lang kapag nagtanong siya na ang mundo’y parang batyang gustong solohin ng mga puti. Ayaw nilang makasama ang mga de-kolor, lalo na ang mga itim ang balat at baka sila ay mamantyahan.
Tutularan ko na lang siguro ang aking ina. Tatango na lamang ako’t ngingiti at sasabihin kong, “Balang araw anak eh maiintindihan mo kung bakit.”
Teaching in South Korea
(My Journey as a Teacher – 4)
I decided to try ESL teaching here in South Korea not because there were no teaching jobs available in the Philippines for me then. As a matter of fact, I had to cut short my employment back home in 2013 to come here. That time I was employed as Principal of a basic education institution. To earn extra, I also worked as a part-time instructor in a college and academic consultant in another school .
I had no problem finding jobs in the Philippines.
So, what made me decide to teach here?
Firstly, I suffered from a severe “job burnout”. I got so tired being a school administrator and a teacher at the same time. There was no sense of fulfillment. I desired to go back to full-time teaching and try to discover what I was missing.
I started doing supervisory works in 1994 in a technical-vocational institution. I resigned in 2002 then moved to another school, a Catholic tertiary institution, where I was offered a supervisory position – head of the Education program. From there I became a college dean in another school then principal in a basic education institution. From 1994 to early 2013 I was a school administrator and a teacher at the same time.
I really got tired supervising people and doing administrative works. I felt sick about it. I wanted to go back to just being a teacher. That’s the reason I applied for a teaching job in South Korea. Luckily, I was hired.
It was that “job burnout” that got me seeking for a job opportunity overseas. Not that I wanted a greener pasture. I would be branded a hypocrite if I say I don’t need a higher pay. But I was really satisfied with the salary I was receiving at that time. It was good enough that it enabled me to buy a small parcel of land and had a house built.
Of course I am happier and more satisfied with my monthly pay in this country. Who wouldn’t be. It’s roughly 75% higher than what my Pakistani employers paid me in the Philippines and with me having to work 60% less in terms of hours. That basic (K to 12) education school where I was Principal is owned by Pakistanis operating a vast network of schools (The City School) in Pakistan and some parts of Asia.
At that time I felt that I was at the crossroads of my career. I have to admit that there was some kind of dissatisfaction within me. Burnout torched my soul and I was really unhappy.
Then came the opportunity to teach here.
When I got settled, I figured out what was missing. Because I was so busy with my administrative functions and was teaching at the same time, I was not able to attend to my other passion…WRITING.
In the Philippines, being a school administrator and teacher at the same time require that you stay in the workplace, officially, for 8 hours a day. But most of the time, I would stay way beyond that, even if I wasn’t required to. It was just something that felt I ought to do. Sometimes I would even go to my office on Saturdays. With that hectic schedule, I could hardly find time to write poems, essays and stories… much less do research.
That’s what makes teaching in South Korea different for me. It afforded me a lot of spare time which I could use to write. I was even able to write papers for presentations in international conferences and for publication in international journals. Something that, unfortunately, I couldn’t do in the Philippines. Back then I would be lucky if in a month I could write even just a poem.
ESL teaching is part of the career-path I paved for myself. I really trained and prepared for this. As early as 2009, I was already thinking of coming to this country to become an English teacher. I applied also in schools in the Middle East but it was my hope that I would be given the opportunity to do ESL teaching here.
I did not become an English teacher overnight. I am a licensed English teacher in the Philippines. I passed the Licensure Examination for Teachers 2003. Then in 2010, notwithstanding my busy schedule, I enrolled for a certification class in TESOL (Teaching English to Speakers of Other Languages).
My second (and last) reason for deciding to try teaching here (South Korea) has nothing to do with my career. At that time I was journeying to midlife. There were some personal demons that I OUGHT to slay. It’s too personal to share. Suffice it to say that I needed space. I needed that entire space between the Philippines and South Korea to really get my bearings back.
Then my efforts paid off and my prayers answered. I was hired by a South Korean university in 2013.
God is really good. I got what I wanted… just teach and no more supervisory works. That gave a lot of time to write. I was also able to squeeze myself out of a personal crisis. I wouldn’t have not done so had I opted to just stay in that principal’s office.
My journey as a teacher continues. I don’t know for how long it would last.
As I said in another essay, “Nobody knows if where I am teaching now is the final leg of my journey…my final destination. I’d love to if given the chance.”
Stopovers and “Multiple Hats”
(My Journey as a Teacher – 2)
When I thought of a title for the series of essays I intend to write to mark my 30th year in the academe, I initially thought of “My Teaching Career.” But I know there is a title more appropriate for my experience of having taught in 8 different schools. It’s like moving from one place to another until I reach a final destination. So I ended with “My Journey as a Teacher.”
A journey has a final destination and the places where you stayed along the way are the stopovers.
I consider the schools where I worked in the past as the stopovers in my journey as a teacher. Not that my stay in those institutions were brief and meaningless but that I was not meant to stay there longer than I did. I moved out and continued with my career as a teacher. I did not stop teaching after leaving thus I consider them as stopovers.
Nobody knows if where I am teaching now is the final leg of my journey…my final destination. I’d love to if given the chance.
I worked full-time in 6 different schools in the Philippines before a South Korean university hired me as ESL teacher in 2013. I stayed in the said institution for only a year and decided to apply in the university where I am currently teaching both undergraduate and graduate students. I am on my 6th year in South Korea and 30 years in the academe overall.
Where I am teaching now is my 8th school. Some people consider moving from one school to another so frequently as negative. Well, that depends on the reason for leaving.
If a teacher keeps getting fired after spending a year in a school then something is wrong. But if a teacher decides to leave for valid reasons then it should not be taken against him/her.
In the first school where I worked I was a high school teacher. I taught English and Social Studies subjects. Seeing that students in the night session there were not very active in extra-curricular activities, I asked the principal if I could open a theater group for them. I was given the go signal and “Teatrong Pang-gabi” was born. Night students joined. That paved the way for me to become the moderator also of the school’s main theater group – “Teatro Teresiana.”
In 1990, I resigned because I was supposed to work at a supermarket in Oman. I was enticed by the salary offered which was 500% higher than my salary as a teacher then. But chaos descended on the Middle East when Saddam Hussein invaded Kuwait. My mother and many more dissuaded me from leaving. I heeded.
From Batangas, I relocated to Bulacan when I was hired by a technical-vocational school. There I taught English and Social Sciences . I was also the marketing officer and was asked to do some administrative works at the same time. There I stayed for 4 years and had to resign when I focused on my dream to have a school of my own. Unfortunately, I was not able to convince the prospective partners to whom I presented my business proposal to invest.
If only I had rich parents or siblings. Not one of my relatives and friends too had the sufficient funds to finance my project then. If only the encouragement of my loved ones and friends could be converted to cash, I would have had the needed capital.
So, I set aside my dream of running my own school for the meantime and sought teaching positions in schools in Batangas and Bulacan. I got offers from schools in both provinces but I opted to accept the teaching job offered by a technical-vocational school that opened only that year (1994). That makes me one of the pioneers in that institution. I decided to work there for the simple reason that everything about that institution resemble the school that I envisioned and wanted to open in Batangas had I found a capitalist partner.
I was assigned the same subjects I have been teaching in the past years. After six months, the owners of the school realized that they need somebody to run the academic and student affairs office of the school. The President of the institution could no longer attend to those matters. Even if I have yet to finish my Master’s at that time, having learned that I performed some administrative works in my previous school, the President offered me the position.
I did not hesitate to grab the opportunity. As a result, I did not continue with my Master’s in English anymore and instead pursued a Master’s in Educational Management so I would learn more about managing schools.
In addition, I was also the marketing officer until I found (and recommended for hiring) a very capable individual to teach and at the same time take my place as in-charge of promoting the school. Nobody was willing to be the moderator of the school paper so I had to be it also.
Then I learned from a friend that a college run by one of the country’s biggest congregations was looking for somebody qualified to head their Education program. The salary was much higher and it just so happen that the said college was located a few kilometers away from the subdivision where we were planning to have our house constructed.
The most practical thing for me to do then was grab the offer.
So, I left that technical-vocational school after 8 years and accepted the offer of a Catholic institution to spearhead their Education program and help in the promotion of the school. That was year 2002.
While working as chair of the education program, I also taught English, Literature, Social Sciences and Education subjects.
The sister president of that college at that time told me that if I wish to remain as head of the Education program beyond that school year – I need to pass the national licensure examination for teachers (LET). I was surprised for I wasn’t told of that kind of arrangement before. But I just took it as a challenge.
I had no chance to enroll in a review center. My plate was full. I had to work from morning till late afternoon from Monday to Friday and had to pursue my PhD studies on Saturdays. But I was confident I would pass because the subject areas covered in the LET were the subjects I have taught in the past years.
So, in 2003 I took the LET (Major in English) and passed.
My first seven years in that Catholic institution were my best years in the academe. The sister president that time was the one of the best (if not the best) school administrator I have worked with. She influenced me in so many ways and squeezed out the best in me. I learned a lot from her. Well, I could give her name… S. Viri.
It was unfortunate that the congregation would allow a religious to head their school for 3 years then they have to be transferred to another school. There were times that they allowed an extension of 3 more years.
So after 6 years, S. Viri bade us a tearful goodbye.
I had it so great in that institution that I told my wife that I would see there all my hair turn gray and my hairline recede… or so I thought.
The next sister president of the institution made me realize that God had other (and better) plans for me. This I articulated in of the essays in this series. The subtitle is “The Decision.”
It was in that “stopover” where I stayed the longest. I really thought it was the final destination in the journey.
From a string of private institutions, I was given a chance to work in a public school – a city college. I was hired as a College Dean, the highest academic position I had. Educators from private schools were transferring to the public schools because of the salaries and benefits becoming better. I was glad to join the exodus.
But there I spent the worst school year in my career. I had encounters with two people that I never thought I would have in a place where supposedly educated people work.
I was warned by the teachers I was supervising and the non-teaching personnel about those two people. I told them about my experiences in my previous employment and they said greater are the challenges I would be facing.
Having heard that, I became very careful with everything that I do and say. I stayed away from school politics and just focused on my job.
I held two positions in that city college – College Dean and Dean of the Education Department. I gave my all, I always do. I always make sure that I would deserve every cent in my pay. I strictly adhered to the tenets of professionalism.
The first and only time perhaps that I lost my cool was when I asked the College President to allow me and one of “the two” to have a dialogue in front of her. I told him nicely to review his job description and not to intervene in my duties as College Dean.
That proved to be my undoing. I just locked horns with one of the President’s dearest allies. I prepared for a possible consequence.
It came.
At the end of my first year in that city college, after I secured the government permit to offer BSED – Major in Mathematics, I was informed that the following school year I would still be Dean of the Education Department but no longer the College Dean.
They could not provide me with a valid reason for the demotion. They could not present an official document showing the results of an evaluation that would show I fared poorly. I said that had I performed poorly as an administrator why retain me as Dean of the Education Department.
The writing on the walls were very clear. I should not stay in that city college a minute longer. I resigned the following day. I’d rather go unemployed than work with those kind of people.
To my amazement, amusement, and bemusement, I was told later by one of “the two” that the announcement about my demotion was just a test. They were just trying to see how I would react. They wanted to see what stuff I am made of specially that they were about to inform me that my “item” (that would make me a regular public school employee) from the government was already granted.
“What?????”
That was the worst joke I heard.
I wasn’t treated professionally.
(If ever those people would come across this article, they are free to refute what I wrote here. My colleagues and friends in that city college could attest to the lack of professionalism of those people.)
From that city college, I became the principal of a basic education institution ran by Pakistanis who own a network of schools in their country and some parts of Asia. That school gave me the highest salary I had in the Philippines. They were about to send me also to Pakistan at that time for the training of their school heads. It would have been all-expense paid. I declined because we were preparing for the FAPE re-accreditation. I was familiar with the accreditation system for tertiary institutions but I never had an experience doing it for a basic education institution. I figured I could not afford to be out of the country for a month. I needed to spend those times for the paperwork and legwork for the re-accreditation and for studying the accreditation policies of FAPE, DEPED guidelines, and the school system that my Pakistani employers wanted to implement. It was something new for me.
We passed the FAPE re-accreditation.
What my unfortunate experiences in that city college and the amount of work and adjustment I had to do in my new role as principal, particularly at that time that we needed to pass the FAPE re-accreditation, did was make me experience BURNOUT. Those two years were emotionally and physically draining. It did not help that it came at a time that I was also having a serious “personal problem.”
Suddenly, I began to dislike my work as school administrator. I just wanted to teach… to write. I no longer wanted to do any administrative and supervisory works.
I needed a break… a change in environment.
I pursued seriously my application as ESL teacher abroad at the turn of 2013.
My dear God listened to my prayers.
On March 2, 2013, an Asiana Airline plane brought me to South Korea to have the fresh start I badly needed. I had a reboot of my career as a teacher.
Paddling Through Waves of Discouragement and Doubts
(My Journey as a Teacher – 1)
2018 marks my 6th year as an ESL teacher here in South Korea and my 30th year as a teacher in general.
I dreamt of becoming a lawyer but I know my parents wouldn’t be able to support me financially had I decided to take up Bachelor of Laws upon completion of my AB English in 1988. So, I decided to pursue what came second among my career choices back then – teaching.
When my friends in the boarding house where I was staying learned that I applied to several schools, one of them told me frankly this:
“Who would hire you? You’re too short and skinny to be considered for a teaching position.”
His name is Nick and I would never forget him.
I stand just a shade over 5 feet and weighed probably around 45 kilos at that time.
Some (or is it most?) people (like Nick) tend to underestimate those who are shorter than they are. They think that their being taller makes them better than shorter people.
Well, I got used to being underestimated because of my height. But I never allowed it to affect me. I very well know my value as a person. It goes way above my 5-foot frame.
The truth is, wherever I go, (modesty aside), I feel like “a dime thrown in with a whole bunch of nickels.”
So, despite the discouragement I heard that day, I pursued my applications vigorously.
I had no good clothes at that time. I just borrowed a friend’s polo which I wore when I attended three interviews and three teaching demonstrations.
A week into SY 1988, I joined a conversation among my friends in the boarding house. Present then was Nick, the one who gave me the discouraging remarks. I told them the dilemma I was facing.
“I was hired by Western Philippine Colleges (High School Department) then this morning I was informed that St. Theresa’s Academy is waiting for me and they’re offering a higher salary.
I asked.
What shall I do friends?”
Of course I knew what to do then. I just took that opportunity to prove to Nick a point. I wanted him to know that there were two well-educated school principals who measured me using a different yardstick and saw that I am qualified to be a teacher… that I am valuable despite my small frame.
Nick was not the only one who tried to shake the foundations of my confidence.
In the summer of 1990, I worked part-time selling encyclopedias (Lexicon Encyclopedia). During one sales training session, I introduced myself and said that I am teacher. The lady seated beside me (her name is Carol) commented:
“Are you sure you’re a teacher?”
What could have prompted her to ask me that was probably same as Nick’s – my being short and skinny. I didn’t gain much weight after 2 years and she probably found it too hard to believe that given my small frame and simple clothes a school would hire me as a teacher.
I wanted to tell her that actually I had to turn down an offer from another school. But I chose to keep quiet for I did not like to have an argument with a lady.
I just took what she did in stride. At least I was right of my impression of her as being a prima donna.
My paddling through waves of discouragement and doubts did not end with Carol.
When my friends learned that I was applying as ESL teacher in South Korea, Japan and China, they chorused:
“It’s a long shot.”
They had a point in saying so. All of the advertisement I checked during those times indicated that universities in the said countries hire only native English speakers. But I learned from other sources that there are Filipino teachers (in South Korea) teaching English and content subjects. That gave me a glimmer of hope.
A Nick-Carol type of individual told me this:
“You’d passed through the proverbial eye of the needle before you could even get an interview for an ESL teaching position.”
But I was more than willing to squeeze through a hole smaller than the eye of a needle in the pursuit of my dreams.
Then that small (or shall I say microscopic) opening presented itself when one day while checking job openings at a website (www.workabroad.ph) I came across a job opening at a university in South Korea (Gyeoungju University). It said urgently needed are English teachers. It did not say that only native speakers may apply.
I immediately sent my application. A week later I got a response advising me to prepare for an interview right there in the Philippines. It was held at the Bayleaf Hotel in Intratmuros, Manila.
The rest was history. I got hired and in March 02, 2013 flew here to South Korea to work as an ESL teacher.
I should be thankful to the Nicks and Carols I encountered in life and in my journey as a teacher. They strengthened my philosophy of not allowing other people to define who I am. They made me more resolute in establishing my own standards in measuring happiness and success. Because of them I became deaf to prejudices and biases of self-righteous people. I believe that in the pursuit of my dreams and desires, the opinion of other people don’t count. Yes, I listen to wise counsel but at the end of the day, after praying hard, I do things my way.
My confidence come from my strong faith in myself and in my God.
The Decision
One of my favorite poems is W.E. Henley’s “Invictus.” The part I love the most are the last two lines – “I am the master of my fate: I am the captain of my soul.” It taught me one very simple yet strong guiding principle in life – that I am in-charge of my own destiny. It influenced me to subscribe strongly to the notion that “man’s destiny is the sum total of all the decisions he makes.” Thus, I never decide hastily.
Just like when I made a very important career decision, I knew I couldn’t afford to take risks. For the skeptics among my loved ones and friends, it was a very unpopular move. For me, it was something that I ought to do, something carefully planned. It seemed to be a leap of faith. The outcome, however, is something that I did not regard as unknown. Thinking of the unknown is to expect the possibility of not succeeding. I don’t have that luxury anymore – to consider failure as an option.
*****
“Why turn your back from a tenured position and a good salary?”
That was the common question my colleagues, friends, and loved ones asked me after hinting that I wanted to leave an institution ran by one of the country’s largest religious congregations. They didn’t seem able to tell me directly to my face that I was a fool. My wife did not disappoint me however. “You’re out of your mind.” Those were her exact words. “Why not wait another year so you can get the school’s share of the retirement fund?” she suggested.
I knew where my wife was coming from. She’s a very practical person. I was nearing the end of my ninth year in a Catholic institution at that time. Leaving the school without completing at least ten years would entitle me only to a refund of the total amount deducted from my salary over the years I had stayed there with nothing from the organization.
On top of that, travel time from our house to the workplace was only less than 20 minutes. That convenience I may be giving up should I leave and not find a work in the same area.
She told me, “Just for once put aside your pride.” My response was, “NO! This has nothing to do with pride.” Then we had a lengthy debate about the financial ramifications of my decision and the corresponding uncertainties it would bring. I had a full understanding of the decision I was about to make and what the consequences would be. At that moment there was something I valued more than convenience and money – my dignity as a person and my role as a professional in my chosen field as an educator.
What exactly brought me to the precipice of this major decision?
I had a lot of issues with none other than the head – the Sister President – of the congregation school where I thought I would be staying until my retirement age. It’s a conflict between the religious and the “not-so-religious” me.
As a I was leaving the Cashier’s Office one morning our paths crossed. “Good morning, Sister. I greeted her warmly. “What’s good in the morning!” She answered grouchily. You see! You might say that it’s just a minor incident. Maybe I got out of bed on the wrong side that morning, or maybe it was that this slight was just the last in a long line. Her response and attitude irked me. It confirmed what I thought were just hearsays about her shrewish tendencies. Images from History class about the abusive clergy during the Spanish occupation flickered through my mind – so long gone, or so I thought. She had hit me hard where it hurts.
That response was cliche for me. I had read it in stories and even heard it said many times. I never thought somebody would actually blurt it out right in my face. Those words were delivered not jokingly. At that moment she was like a boxer swinging a mean uppercut to my unsuspecting jaw with the intention of knocking the living daylights out of me. She almost succeeded. It was not quite a knock-out-punch. I didn’t crumble to the ground but rather stood there momentarily stunned at how rude a woman wearing a habit could be. By the time all of this transpired she was already a meter or so past me. Before the referee could finish the standing eight count, I regained my composure and some small shred of my pride. I was deemed fit to continue to fight. I followed the Sister to her office.
The secretary tried to stop me from entering the President’s office for protocol requires that I should have a prior appointment before I could see the head of the institution. That day nobody could prevent me from doing what I wanted to do. I ignored her and went straight inside. The Sister President was seemingly surprised to see me standing in front of her. We entered into a tepid discourse.
I refused when she asked me to sit down. “What’s the problem, sister?” I asked calmly but emphatically. “Why did you respond to me that way in the hallway earlier?”
“Sir,” her use of the honorific successfully retained the ambient temperature of our conversation, “I was just trying to discourage you from discussing any matter earlier. You’re holding a stack of paper so I thought you would talk to me.” I responded by saying that common sense dictates to me that I should not discuss any matter with persons in authority in the middle of nowhere unless they otherwise ask me to do so.
When she told me I was so sensitive, I said, “I am Sister. Please don’t do that to me again.” That was my own version of a mean uppercut and I added the following as if delivering an overhand punch for a coup de grace, “I’ve got job to do. I must go. Thanks for your time Sister.”
I saw how her face turned crimson as I delivered those parting shots.
I knew I had just voluntarily written my name on her list of endangered species – that I had become a marked man, but I had to do what I ought.
Our encounter that day became news all over the campus. Somebody told somebody who told somebody else. It wasn’t me. It was either her or the secretary… or perhaps there was a hidden CCTV camera that caught the action and beamed the drama live all over the campus.
Later, one of my colleagues gave me an unsolicited advice, “Bear in mind that the sisters don’t stay in a particular school forever. Sooner or later they will be transferred to other schools within their congregation. Just learn to co-exist with that sister until such time she leaves.”
That I know. She may be transferred to another school – or get an extension of another three years (and maybe a bonus of an extra year) just like her predecessor, whom I wish had not been replaced.
I found myself responding, “I can’t bear another year with her. What if she gets a term extension of three years?” For me, that would be like an eternity.
I felt like I stopped growing personally and professionally since she took over as head of the institution. Her leadership style and interpersonal skills, for me, was plain awful and downright unacceptable. I could not stay longer and expect to be productive and effective in the performance of my job. I kept questioning her policies and her moral ascendancy to lead. So, one of us ought to go. And of course, it wasn’t her.
*****
“Where do you go from here?”
That was another question I repeatedly heard. My better half asked me another question in her pointed and direct fashion, “What will happen to us when you leave that school?” It seemed that my wife had forgotten that I don’t make hasty decisions when it comes to anything that would affect my family and my career. That’s the thing about major decisions. I know it would affect not only me but also my loved ones.
I also have parents depending on me so I could not afford to mess up. Even my siblings come to me once in a while to ask for help. In short, I always need to be gainfully employed. To ensure that, I need to have set goals and a definite plan of action to achieve them. I always tell my students and friends that planning on anything involves the preparation of possible alternatives so that when, for example, plan A doesn’t work then you still have a plan B or a plan C. The more alternatives the better.
I have a three-pronged career path to follow. Such is the offshoot of my dreams, education, training and experience.
First – run a school of my own. That’s my dream. I want to have a school of my own. That, I guess, is the dream of many educators.
Second – occupy the highest academic position… Dean of a department… College Dean… or probably higher such as University President. I am not ashamed to admit that I want to occupy any of the said positions. I want to supervise at a school and, yes, teach at the same time. I simply cannot be divorced from teaching.
Third – work overseas as an English teacher.
“Trust me. I know what I am doing.” That’s the way I reassured my wife when she got too worried about me leaving the Catholic institution. Any of my decisions relative to work should always fall within the sphere of my career path, and include those other things important to me. I did not veer away from that path with the important decision I was about to make.
I walked the career path I paved for myself. I became a part of the management teams of the schools where I worked during my mid-20’s. The first administrative position I had was director of academic and student affairs. But my dream school remained in the pipeline. I needed an investor for it to become a reality. What I envisioned was a tandem of capitalist and industrialist partners with the latter being me. Most of my friends who have their own schools either inherited them from their parents or they opened schools supported financially by their moneyed parents or siblings. This was not an option for me.
I have no rich parents or affluent siblings or relatives capable of financing my project. The most viable option for me was to find capitalist partners. I actively searched for people I could convince to finance my dream school. All they needed to do was invest their money and I would take care of everything else, or so I thought!
During the early 1990s, the town adjacent to my father’s birthplace was a good site for a computer school. There were none there then. With information technology starting to take a hold in the world at that time, there was strong demand for expertise and skills related to computers and IT. That was the time when computer schools started to mushroom all over the country. It was the best chance for my dream to have a school of my own to become a reality. I created a feasibility study and presented it to several people I knew had money. Unfortunately, I wasn’t able to convince any of them.
Just a couple of years after that, a local businessman opened the first computer school in that locality. The big players in computer education also opened branches soon after.
The school I wanted to have was not within reach. I would have a couple more rejections after that. So, I focused on my teaching and supervisory job and put my dream of having a school of my own on the backburner for a while.
Then I received an invitation from a religious to join her team and lead their Education department. It was an offer so difficult to refuse – salary and opportunity-wise. I resigned from my job and decided to work in the school ran by sisters.
Under the tutelage of the first Sister President I worked with, I learned so much. I swear that I learned from her much more than I had learned from several years in Graduate school. She was my mentor… one of the best, if not the best education supervisor I worked with. The seven years we were together were my Golden Age. She set the standards that unfortunately her successor could not measure up to. I felt that that institution had entered its Dark Age when my mentor left and before I could completely revert back to my barbaric ways I seriously considered leaving the school.
When the next Sister President came, with all the negative information about her circulating in the campus, I was afraid that things wouldn’t be good. I suddenly actively pursued my dream of having my own school again. I targeted a school site in a town in the province where I had settled down with my family. I created another feasibility study and started presenting it to prospective capitalist partners.
My most heartbreaking experiences came a couple of years before the resignation I was planning to make. I came so close to the realization of my dream – so close and yet so far.
In 2009, I presented my proposal to a Briton. I was able to convince him of the merits of my plan and he asked me to start doing both the legwork and the paperwork, which I did. We were supposed to start operating the school June, 2010. He promised to provide the initial investment in November, 2009. Finally, my dream school would become a reality… or would it? The Briton lost his job in Oman in October, 2009. Much to my consternation, he decided to back out from our project.
Of course, I was so disappointed. I did not give up on my dream though. I had already laid out the plan and been working on the paperwork. I had also already talked to the owner of the building we were targeting as a site for the school, so I searched for another capitalist partner. I found another one, an Australian, who was working in a bank in his country and was the fiancée of one my friends in a local gym. He agreed to finance the project.
Unfortunately, I did not find the terms he set for the partnership acceptable. He wanted the initial profit sharing to be 80-20 with him getting the lion’s share. He also demanded that he got back in full whatever amount he invested after five years. I did not agree, even when he added that my share in the profit would increase annually until the profit-sharing became 60-40. My offer was nothing less than 50-50 and that he was not supposed to get back the amount he had invested. That was to be his investment. Mine would be to get the school up and running and operating successfully. Neither of us budged. Thus, even though I knew I was letting go of a dream that was about to come true, I did not pursue the project with him.
That was the closest I got to having my dream school.
Those were heartbreakers, but life has to go on, I moved on and vowed that I will just keep trying. My dream to have a school of my own did not die. For as long as I am breathing, that dream will remain alive. This brings me back to the Catholic institution and the important, possibly life-changing, decision I was about to make.
*****
“Do you think you can still find a better school?”
That was my mother. She added, “Leaving that school was like letting go of a very stable job to face the uncertainties of finding a new one.”
When she told me those things, it became apparent that my wife asked her to convince me not to resign. In that moment I recalled what I had once read – “If opportunity doesn’t knock, build a door.” I never doubted my chances of finding another job should I really decide to leave.
I had to explain the situation to my mother and at the end made this request – “Just pray for me mother dear.”
I revisited my career path. I looked at the different directions I set seemingly so long before.
It’s clear that the opportunity for the realization of my dream to have my own school had not come knocking yet. So I thought of building a door where opportunity could knock. I thought it was time for me to consider working as an English teacher overseas so I could earn more and save money for my dream.
Thus, I set my mind on pursuing a teaching career abroad. I was told that it would be easier for me to be employed as an English teacher overseas if I was certified in “Teaching English to Speakers of Other Languages (TESOL).” I searched the Internet for institutions that offered TESOL training and started looking for job openings for ESL teachers abroad.
My search for ESL jobs abroad validated what my friends had been telling me all along – that most schools abroad, particularly in Japan and South Korea, hired only native English speakers as teachers. But I knew that there were also Filipinos teaching English in the aforementioned countries. If they got hired, I thought I would also have a chance to get hired.
I got the information I needed for the TESOL training I was planning, and a bonus – I saw the advertisement that had been posted by a city college searching for a College Dean. I had the necessary educational qualifications and experience for the position, so I took the plunge. The college was run by a city government which meant that should I get hired I would become a part of the public school system. Not a bad idea considering the fact that private school teachers were starting to flock to government schools because salaries and benefits in public schools were beginning to get better. Public schools offer teachers better opportunities and a more secured future. My plan A was now to find ESL positions abroad with plan B being to find administrative positions in other colleges or universities. It seemed plan B was shaping up.
I happened to be on the dance floor when an opportunity was looking for a dance partner. I offered my hand.
While pursuing my application to that city college, I enrolled for a 120-hour TESOL training program.
“You are resigning from your present job then you will be spending money for that training?”
My wife again! I just nodded in response. I knew what she was trying to drive at. She wanted us to save money. After all, if I was really quitting my job just how sure was I that I could immediately find my next source of income? My wife knew however, that even if she disagreed with my plans I would still push through with them.
I enrolled for the TESOL-certification program. I also applied on-line for ESL jobs in South Korea, Indonesia and the Middle East. Then I was invited by the city college and two prospective employers from the Middle East for an interview, all of those in the same week. All these opportunities presented themselves while I was still finalizing my decision to cut ties with the school headed by the religious order.
Bright lights lit up the directions I had paved for my prospective career paths. It was very clear. If I decided to leave, I could either work as a teacher overseas (plan A) or be the College Dean in the city college (plan B). But what if I failed in all three interviews? Should I opt to forego of my plans to resign?
*****
“Is your decision final?”
That again was my wife making a last-ditch effort to sway me from making that decision. She asked me that question when she saw me sifting through a box of documents I brought home that night. She noticed that I was already slowly bringing home my personal belongings from my office.
Then again I gave my wife what became my classic response – “Trust me. I know what I am doing.”
While going through the files in that box, I came across the printed materials of a lecture delivered by a certain Dr. Bien. I recalled how prolific he was as a speaker. I started reading the materials he discussed during that seminar. I began to wonder why those materials did not affect me when I heard them delivered and expounded by Dr. Bien personally in the same way that they did when I read them. Perhaps I was not focusing on his talk that time.
Reading those old lecture notes made me finally see something that was kept from my view in the many years I had been teaching in that institution – the enormity of the role of a Catholic educator. It was not as simple as I thought. It is a difficult responsibility, something transcendental. It is not the subject areas that are being taught, it is the Gospel. It is not fusing the Gospel into a subject but the other way around.
I began to question what I had done in all those years I spent in that Catholic school. Those lecture notes made me feel uncertain as to whether or not I deserve to be a Catholic educator. The materials I read made me realize that only those who possess the fruits of the Holy Spirit can be efficient in carrying out the functions of a true Catholic educator. Honestly, I didn’t think I bore the fruits of the Spirit. I did and said things that made me unworthy to be a teacher and administrator in that institution.
I was eaten up by the hatred that I had fermented towards the Sister President. My deeds and words, and my ways of thinking about and doing things make me unworthy to be a torchbearer in Christian education. I couldn’t be “the blind leading the blind.” Pretense and hypocrisy tore my soul apart. Suddenly, my decision to leave just became final. I had to leave not because I don’t have faith in that religious as head of the institution but because I am weak. I am sinful.
Two months before the end of the school year I filed my resignation. There was no more turning back.
A week after filing that resignation letter, I received e-mails informing me that the universities in the Middle East decided not to hire me because I was not yet TESOL-certified. Those rejections came two weeks before I completed my TESOL training.
It was not meant to be. I did not inform my wife about it because she was already so disheartened when I resigned from my job. Telling her that my first two applications abroad ended up in failure would make her even more worried.
Then a few days before my resignation from the Catholic institution officially became effective, I received a call from the city college where I applied as College Dean. I was home at that time watching TV with my wife. After hearing the first sentence from the one who called, I was already sure of what he would say next. I asked him to give me a second. I told my wife to turn the TV off while I turn on the speakerphone. I wanted her to hear something special.
“Please continue sir.” I said.
“The President would like you to know that we have decided to hire you. Can you come here tomorrow?”
My wife smiled. She tried unsuccessfully to prevent tears to roll from the edges of her eyes. The opportunity that knocked on the door I built was not a chance to work overseas as ESL teacher but to continue as school administrator.
*****
“Lord, how many times shall I forgive my brother when he sins against me? Up to seven times?
That’s Peter in Matthew 18:21 asking the Lord Jesus Christ.
As the school year (and my nine-year stay with the Catholic institution) drew to a close, I attended my last Basic Ecclesial Community (BEC) activity. BECs in the congregation schools are intended to make the faithful live in communion with God and with one another. Such activities are like mini-retreats. They are designed to make the participants examine their conscience and reflect on their relationships with the Almighty and their fellowmen.
The central theme of that particular BEC activity was forgiveness.
Chance would have it that I and the Sister President shared the same table. She was already there when I came. I wanted to think that the organizers of that particular BEC set us up.
Courtesy dictated that I should acknowledge her presence.
“Good morning, Sister.”
Then I added the standard greetings of the congregation.
“Praised be Jesus and Mary.”
“Hello sir. Praised be Jesus and Mary.”
I could see how my friends and colleagues on that table were smiling on the pleasant exchange between me and the Sister President. I wasn’t sure if those smiles were expressions of amusement or happiness seeing that I and the religious matriarch were at the same table and talking. They knew everything that had transpired between me and the Sister President. They knew that I supported the formal complaint lodged against her, a complaint that reached the office of the Education Ministry of the congregation.
I didn’t use any camouflage in expressing my dissent against her during those times. I don’t operate that way. I don’t like stabbing my opponents on the back. I want them to see when I draw my sword to give them a chance to prepare for my assault. I openly talked to the teaching and non-teaching personnel she had offended in one way or another. I encouraged them to complain. She had loyalists in our ranks and I was almost certain that through them she came to know about what I was doing. She summoned me one time to her office and asked me to explain. We had an unpleasant exchange then.
Then the head of the congregation’s Education Ministry came to listen to the first-hand accounts of the people complaining against the Sister President. That was a week after I read Dr. Bien’s handouts. I told her everything I needed to say – how ill-tempered she was and how her grumpy ways led me to wonder if indeed she was a senior representative of a religious order. After hearing my litany, she asked me point blank.
“What do you want us to do with her?”
I wasn’t able to respond immediately.
I was not really surprised by the straightforwardness of the question but by the response I wanted to give. I thought I hated her and her ways so much that I wanted her removed from her office.
There seemed to be an eternity between the question and the answer I gave. I knew I was not the only one the head of the congregation’s Education Ministry had talked privately with about the Sister President. I wondered what they had said when asked the same question?
Before I responded I recalled how she took time to accompany me to the office of the congregation’s lawyer when I needed an attorney for my defense in a case filed against me by two students who felt offended when I just tried to carry out my concurrent function as prefect of discipline dutifully. The case was eventually dismissed for lack of merit. Nonetheless; at the moment when I was faced by that question I realized that it was difficult to just dismiss the fact that the Sister President could have decided to simply endorse me to the lawyer by calling him. But she had opted to accompany me personally. I recalled her reason.
“Sir, I wanted to make sure that everything would go well. I noticed how troubled you have become after learning about the case.”
That happened before we had that encounter in the hallway. I was hurt by that so much so that all I could see from then on was everything bad about her. I chose not to consider the good things she was doing for the institution. She may not be as good as her predecessor, she may be ill-tempered, but she was very much a capable administrator. It was when she took over as Sister President that the department I was leading had more students.
“Is that question difficult to answer?”
I apologized to the sister talking to me for taking too long to respond. Then I said what I had to say.
“She has been trying her best to lead the school sister. Just please tell her to improve a bit on her interpersonal skills and avoid hurting people with her words.”
Then came that BEC that day.
“Congratulations sir on your new job! You deserve it.”
That was the Sister President. Apparently, somebody had whispered to her that I had already been hired by another school. I told only a few of my friends about it. They may have told their friends too until the information reached the President’s office.
“Thank you sister” I replied.
I heard a lot of stuff about forgiveness that day. More importantly, I experienced it.
As a culminating activity, the BEC coordinator that day gave each of us ¼ sheets of short bond papers then instructed us to write there the name of the persons who hurt us and what they did.
I guess I need not say whose name I wrote on that paper and what she did. The final instruction given was to fold the paper and approach the table where there was a candle burning. We would set the paper on fire, throw it into the urn beside the candle then watch it burn.
“Sir, let’s do this together,” said the Sister.
I obliged.
“It’s my pleasure sister.”
The Sister President and I approached the table where the candle was. The aromatic scent wafting from the candle wrapped us as together we made the pieces of paper we’re holding kiss the candle’s lighted wick. We watched silently as the flame consumed the paper in the urn. It turned from white to black… then gray. It turned to dust the way I would long after I breath my last.
“Sister, sorry for all my shortcomings.”
I said sorry for I know I offended her in many ways. I said sorry for I know that I did not do well as a Catholic educator. The Sister President smiled and laid a hand on my shoulder and let it stay there as we walked back to our seats.
I left the institution I served for nine years without any emotional baggage. That was the more important decision I made… more important than my moving to another job. That way I found it easier to turn the pages to the next chapter of my life.
Fast forward…
One morning, seven years after I left that congregation school, I was at the Incheon International Airport waiting for the bus going to the university where I’m currently working.
Yes, eventually I was hired as an ESL teacher by a university here in South Korea. What happened? I worked only for one year as the College Dean in the tertiary institution where I transferred after leaving that congregation school. Thereafter, I became a Principal in a basic education school.
Those two schools were so unlike the Catholic institution where I worked. The systems, the values, and the people were totally different. Honestly, I experienced a “culture shock.” The pay may be higher and I had lesser work, especially when I was a Principal, but I missed the professionalism, the strong sense of direction, the personal and professional development, and the academic ambiance that I got accustomed to for nine years. That resulted to job burnout and identity crisis. I must admit – I started to regret leaving the congregation school. I didn’t tell my wife about it because I know what she would tell me. I did not tell my mother that I failed to find a better school. I faced a dead end.
The job burnout and the subsequent identity crisis took a lot from me. It led to personal problems that were seemingly spinning out of control. Then came the answer to a prayer – I got a call from a university here in South Korea. That was just what the doctor ordered. A chance to teach in another country was the fresh start that I needed. Here in South Korea, I had the career reboot I wanted. There was even an unexpected bonus – I rediscovered my passion for writing.
While enjoying a cup of hot caramel macchiato at the airport, I tried to look back at my long career as a teacher. That morning I just came back from the Philippine where I spent my winter break. At that moment, my heart was drowned with gratitude at the thought that I am so blessed to be given the opportunity to become an ESL teacher in another country. Then suddenly I recalled that incident that morning when the Sister President rudely responded to my greetings. Had she not done that, would I consider resigning? Would I be here in South Korea?
While as I was thinking about all those things, something hard to believe happened. A familiar face entered the coffee shop. It was the Sister President. Indeed, ours is just a small world. I could have easily decided to just pretend I didn’t see her but I just found myself standing from my seat and allowed that our paths cross again.
“Good morning, sister!” I warmly greeted her the way I did on that fateful morning many years ago when we had that unfortunate encounter. She did not respond grouchily the way she did then instead she called out my name so loudly and excitedly that she drew the attention of the other people in that coffee shop.
I gently put her hand on my forehead. After that she embraced me.
She was both surprised and delighted to see me there.
While her companion went to the counter to order, we stood there excitedly chatting, just like two old friends who have not seen each other for a very long time. How I wish they had no bus to catch that time so I could be with the Sister President longer.
Before the Sister President and her companion left, we both took pictures of that special moment we were together. She hugged me one more time before she left.
STOLEN KISS
A stolen kiss
Landed on a cheek
Cheek so soft
So pinkish.
That stolen kiss…
Triggered an avalanche
The snow slid
Buried the thief.
So deep
So sweet
Stolen kiss…
Crawled to the lips
Down the loops and the twists
Till the thief touched the edges of the cliff.
Plunge did the thief
Down into the abyss
Trench so deep,
Then peaked at the bottom of the pit!
M.A.D. LIGAYA
M.A.D. L I G A Y A 