We're all Human Beings

Musings of a Math Teacher

Well, holiday is coming to an end, and I'll be going back to school as a math teacher. It's been a great holiday; I had a really great time with Ifo and my friends, watched an awesome movie (Captain America: The Winter Soldier. Seriously, you gotta watch it. It's brilliant!), rewarded myself with some fancy stuffs, etc. I also spent this holiday doing homework: checking math papers. I'm so glad I almost cry that most of my students pass the test, I mean, my effort paid off eventually. There's still a few students who don't get good scores, but it's not the end of the world though because I'm sure they can do better next time. So I showed it to my mom, the scores, as she's cooking dinner and she said what a great job I had done with them.

Truth is, even though I'm just a substitute teacher, but I get to carry the weight of the world on my shoulders, just like other teachers. Each day, 90% of it is wonderful. I get to make a difference in kids' lives. I get to make them think about problems and ask questions. I get to encourage them and make them feel good about themselves. I get to challenge them and make them see others' points of view. For some, I get to be the person in their life who actually cares. I get to be one of the teachers who makes them change their opinion of math and to help them see how enjoyable it can be. Not every kid is going to be a math genius, but every kid should feel some kind of success every day in math class. That could range from being able to solve a two-step equation to simply being able to finally remember that three times four is twelve.

Then there's the other 10% of the day. This part of the pie-graph includes parents who don't believe me when I tell them that their kid misbehaved. It includes watching kids bully each other and knowing that sending the bullies to the principal is probably just going to make it worse. This part would include the kids who don't bring a pencil and a book to class because they honestly can't afford one. A fraction would be homework with just answers, and no work shown. A small percent would be dedicated to not having any time to actually create lessons during my planning time because I have a meeting about school activities. 

It has been a really nice break, but I'm beginning to actually picture the math that I taught my students flying out of their heads. Lol. I hope it's not true. 

On Sadness and Its Place

There's a friend who asked me about sadness, noticing that I seem to skip the negative here on my blog nowadays. She wondered whether I purposely kept things positive, and I said, yes I do. Truth is, I like to hold on to this as a lighter space, and I save the good, darker stuff for fiction. In any case, I thought I'd take a moment to share my thoughts on sadness and its place. I hold on to sadness like holding on to a new dress, waiting for the just-right day to wear it. I've always been a saver of new clothes, the sort of person who buys something and swears not to wear it until the perfect occasion comes up..only to finally debut it at some place. In any case, I tuck new clothes toward the back of my closet and make a mental note to grab them when the time's right, when I'm eventually ready. And so it goes, I've realized, with sadness.

Melancholy has always felt comfortable to me. Nostalgia and melancholy, those I can do, those are the backbone of the things I love. But sadness? It's not something I easily wear. I tug and itch at it, then reach for something softer, something a bit more worn-in. I pick melancholy usually, which tends to bleed into some shade of understanding if you sit with it long enough. 

Scattered weekends and occasional rainy day. Those are the times that I normally decide to unfold the sadness I've been stashing away. And when I unroll it, I spread it out, letting it splay across my chest so that I can really feel its weight, its pressure. Then I wallow. I  wade and sink and sometimes drown in whatever it is that made me itch, because I've come to realize that I can't let those stacks of sadness pile up forever. At some point or another, it's necessary to pick up each piece, see it for what it is, and throw it away so that I can move on.

This isn't to say that I always toss the bad stuff aside. There's room for pockets of sadness within each moment, I think. And if those spaces start to spill over, that's when it's time to bring them to light. That's when it's time to wallow, to call someone, to curl up in bed and read a book or listen to rainy-day songs or just sit there feeling sorry for yourself. Every so often, that's okay. There's a time and a place for sadness, and I've found that eventually, when I come across the right occasion, I'll try it on.

On Regrets

I believe in regrets. I appreciate the people who don't, and I find the saying "no regrets" both wise and optimistic. But to tell you the truth, there are some things that I'd handle differently, if given a 2nd chance. There are some things I said that I wouldn't say, and some things I didn't say that I'd love to speak aloud. As someone who probably writes and talks too much, it's the unsaid that I tend to regret most.

I'm fortunate enough not to have any significant regrets, nothing so earth-shattering that it leaves me up at night. My regrets are mostly little things, tiny tweaks I'd make to the random moments of my life. Given a 2nd chance, I'd have spent more time with my grandmother. Told my high school teacher that she inspired me a lot. Tried more vegetables when I was younger. Helped my mom gardening. I'd have chosen different course in college. Learned Mandarin.

Given a 2nd chance, I'd have forgiven myself more easily and held others to a higher standard because I'd have known that self-respect reigns most important. I'd have recognized love more quickly and acknowledged when to let go of the relationships that had run their course. I'd have skipped the unnecessary apologies, the meaningless guilt and the heavy boots that came with holding on to things for far too long. I'd have allotted more time for art. I'd have saved the petals from the first red roses Ifo ever gave me. I'd have taken more pictures.

Like I said, nothing earth-shattering. Just tiny regrets, small 2nd-chance dreams that teach me what I value and what I need to do with the rest of this life I've been given. Do you have a no-regrets attitude? Or are there things you'd have done differently?

1 Verse, 114 Revelations

بِسْــــــــــــــــــمِ اﷲِالرَّحْمَنِ اارَّحِيم 

Bismillah (in the Name of God) is the start of all things good. We too shall start to it. 

We're the travelers, and this world is a desert. Our impotence and poverty have no limit, and our enemies and needs are endless. Since it is thus, take the name of the Pre-Eternal Ruler and Post-Eternal Lord of the desert and be saved from begging before the whole universe and trembling before every event. The person who acts saying, "in the name of God," resembles someone who enrolls in the army. He acts in the name of the government. In the same way, all things act in the name of Almighty God. He has fear of no one; he speaks, performs every matter, and withstands everything in the name of Allah. 

We should know that there's a way to ascend to the throne of Divine Mercy, and that is, bismillāhi r-rahmāni r-rahīm. If you want to understand how important this way of ascent is, look at the beginning of the 114 chapters of the Qur'an of Miraculous Exposition, and at the beginnings of all estimable books, and at the start of all good works. And a clear proof of the God-determined grandeur of bismillah is that the very foremost Islamic scholars like Imam Shafi'i (may God be pleased with him) said: "Although bismillāhi r-rahmāni r-rahīm is one verse, it was revealed 114 times in the Qur'an."

Excerpt taken from Sunnah In Action.