Lunchtime Blog Post Number 3
Over the the weekend I accomplished very little of the numerous creative projects I had tentatively planned on tackling. Instead, I wasted a lot of time watching TV shows and a couple of films that left me feeling just as hollow as before watching them.
My dysfunctional mind, instead of realigning or rescheduling things I intended to do, simply drops them from the list, unstricken, never to trouble me again, that is, until I realize on Sunday night I completely squandered my weekend.
In my American Literature class today, we continued discussing various Emily Dickinson poems. One poem in particular should have made a deeper impression upon my class, “I’m Nobody! Who are you?”, but they weren’t able to understand and internalize the meaning behind the words. I suppose I can’t really blame them too much as English is their second language, and I don’t suppose too many American students would find the deeper meaning appealing at the same age. I guess no one wants to believe they are the bog (swamp) in a poem’s less-than-flattering metaphor.
In the past month, my school has expelled two students for entirely different infractions. The first student, Davis, was kicked out for bullying. I was told that he had gathered a group of his friends (from other schools) to intimidate another boy outside the front gate on a Friday afternoon when the boarding students usually head back to their homes. In my opinion, Davis definitely deserved his punishment.
The other boy, Allan, was expelled for smoking both off-campus and in various location on-campus. While I agree that students should definitely not be smoking on the school grounds, I don’t believe he should be punished for what he does outside the
prison school walls. The fact that he was caught smoking at school is certainly a serious problem, but I don’t believe the punishment fit the “crime.” Obviously, the boy has an addiction to nicotine, and by expelling him, the school really hasn’t done anything to help him break this addiction. He’s just been cast aside like he’s a flawed clay pot unworthy of being fired in the kiln of education.
Sometimes I think international schools in China are run too much like factories where the administrators view the workers (students) as interchangeable and replaceable. They just don’t seem to grasp the human aspect of teaching and shaping young minds. My school has such low expectations for these kids that teachers let them sleep in class, but try to force these same lazy kids to stay awake during the exams by making their tests harder.
There’s just no logic to international school education in China. If you want to create little robots, follow the Chinese curriculum, but if you want thinkers and creators, take a more westernized, holistic approach and stop throwing away kids just because they’ve begun heading down a wrong path.
As I walk the busy streets of Shanghai, I often see a father walking alongside his young son, holding his hand, and I miss my son. I have to look away or risk tearing up. But then I think about the person who caused my isolation, my exile from Changsha, and I feel a deep anger well up inside me. The wetness in my eyes transforms into a bitter hatred and resentment toward the person I’ve come to despise with all my being. Once focused on my anger and regret in having wasted so much on a person so undeserving, it’s very difficult to push it out of my mind.
To this end, I’ve been listening to some “new” music because it doesn’t remind me of anything. I highly recommend Depeche Mode’s Spirit , Queens of the Stone Age’s Villains, and K. Flay’s Everywhere Is Somewhere. This is how I temporarily self-medicate and set my mind free.
I’ve been doing some very deep thinking about super heroes lately. Perhaps it has something to do with my falling in love with Wonder Woman, or it could be related to the fact that I watch all the super hero TV shows (except Agent Carter, Super Girl, and Arrow).
Most of the best super heroes weren’t born that way. Instead, they started out as normal human beings, with strengths and weaknesses, flaws, and talents. But something transformative molds them into something special; still flawed, but better and more powerful than they were before.
Peter Parker was a puny high school runt who was bitten by a radioactive spider and became Spider-Man. Steve Rogers survived Polio and became Captain America thanks to Project:Rebirth. Bruce Wayne’s parents were murdered right in front of him, leaving him orphaned with only billions of dollars and a massively successful company to sustain him through childhood before becoming the Batman. Kal-El (Clark Kent) had to put up with his folksy human, Smallville adoptive parents and pretended to be human, all the while hiding his super powers. Princess Diana (Prince) left an island paradise full of beautiful Amazon warriors to fight evil, all the while resisting what must be an overwhelming urge to wrap the Lasso of Hestia (Lasso of Truth) around the neck of every politician on Earth.
Suffering through adversity might be the one thing I have in common with the aforementioned super heroes, though my misfortunes have largely been of my own creation. Obviously I’m not clairvoyant. In fact, even my faculty of hindsight doesn’t rise to the level of a competency. I repeat patters and mistakes, thereby hatching new regrets and nemeses (nemesi?). Although I definitely have a a back-story to rival those of my favorite heroes, and despite the wearing of super hero T-shirts and Batman earring, it hasn’t been enough to propel my superpowers of punctuality and sarcasm into the realm of crime-prevention or world-saving.
For the most part, my jet lag has improved a lot. On average, I’ve been sleeping more than 6 hours per night, so it came as a big nasty surprise when I managed to spill milk in the community refrigerator a couple of days ago.
Because I’m living in the students’ dorm while the teachers’ dorm is being remodeled, if I want my milk to be cold, I have to keep my milk in the community fridge. Perhaps I wasn’t fully awake at 5:30 AM when I carried my bowl of corn flakes down the 2nd-floor hallway and set it inside the fridge. With the door still open, I unscrewed the cap and then pulled off the tab on the new box of milk. Then I poured milk onto the cereal. Somehow, between the act of capping the milk and setting the box back into the refrigerator door, I somehow forgot the location of my cereal bowl. I instinctively closed the door, only it didn’t quite close all the way because my bowl was blocking it.
That momentary loss of concentration, that split-second gap in my awareness of what I was doing, caused the milk to slosh out of the bowl onto the shelf of the fridge for me to clean up. Yay.