Thursday, August 14, 2014

DREAM

Today in our Faculty Enhancement Program, we talked about 21st century education and massive open online courses.  It reminded me of the many lectures and inputs provided in the ITP- AVLM, conducted by KU Leuven, most of which inspired me to further my learning on instructional design and technology.  Today i affirm the same conviction that the highly complex and technology-based world is inevitable. I am settled in the fact that this is the way things are.  At the rate things are going — teachers cannot lag behind, and if the university is to survive the feat, it must consider motivating teachers to retool themselves. 
While i am so personally against the seeming dehumanization of education, it doesn’t change the fact that the world’s direction is towards that.  Apparently, the imperative is to provide students the needed skills – cognitive, functional, personal, ethical — in whatever mode educators profess to be best.  It is not so much a question of modality, anymore.  It is about outcomes,; not what is taught, but what is learned and ultimately, what becomes of learners when immersed in the bigger university called life. 
As an educator, i still dream of molding the total man — not a specialist, but a generalist– a liberally-trained individual, steep in social sciences, humanities, culture, literature; developed in all facets — physical, intellectual emotional, spiritual; and in possession of either a naturally endowed or a learned gift of compassion for others.  I still dream of turning out 50 men & women by the hour whose minds and hearts are in harmony with each other,  whose capacity to feel embolden their spirits to reach out for others, for humanity and the world; whose empowerment comes from the recognition of their emotions both as a strength and as a gift –thus, they must think, as they also bleed. (June 5, 2014)

Friday, December 9, 2011

DAY 1 IN OHIO

April 18

Leaders call it punctuality and discipline.  An adventurer at heart, I call it over excitement – the team making it at least three full hours before boarding time! Because no one is a first time traveler, the tedious checking in was never an issue.  From there started what would be the longest trip of our lives, literally.

We boarded at roughly 5:30 a.m..  The long queue was rather an awesome sight.  It made me wonder how many people – fathers, mothers, children – leave everyday.  And that persistent question:  for what?  At any rate, flight realized at 6:15.  Quite a short trip from Manila to Nagoya, four hours at most.  The one hour time difference made it appear even shorter.  The brief stop over had us taking pictures and exchanging jokes to ward off what I suspect to be similar to the jitters I had the day before.  After two hours of exploring Nagoya airport, and getting little “somethings” for us to remember the brief encounter with the  land of the rising sun, we boarded the same plane.  It was a 12-hour flight, and not being seated together made it less interesting.  We slept and ate and moved around.  At times like this, one felt so helpless.

Detroit airport is such a relief!  Once there, we managed to freshen up and later enjoy the sight.  It was slightly snowing and I could feel the cold.  It’s weird leaving morning of April 18 and arriving morning of the same date, yet felt like it’s been years up there!  Though still worrying about the calorie intake at the plane and not having been able to burn them up, we opted to eat knowing we had to stay four more hours before a plane takes us to Akron-Canton, our final destination.  I helped myself to a serving of baked potato in bacon and cheese paired with a chocolate shake.  Then, the endless picture taking.  While the rest again slumbered comfortably in the lounge, I entertained myself by engaging in a witty conversation with a teammate.  I wanted to doze off but I was afraid my contact lenses might just  dry up, and my eye lubricant was nowhere to be found.

Flying from Detroit to Akron was less imposing.  What was overwhelming was the reception right down the lane.  Mary, the GSE coordinator, who refused to let us tell her our names and see if she were able to associate the names with the faces (and quite successfully!) was there.  James Russell, the District Governor of RI 6650 whose name we have memorized since visa application warmly welcomed the team as well.  Shelly, Sheryl, George, Mina and a few other very kind Rotarians were very accommodating, always asking about how our flight was and how else might they make us feel comfortable.  As we drove to Ruby Tuesday, Shelly was giving us a rundown of the next day’s activity simultaneously showing us some of the nice places in Ohio.  The state is rather quiet, unlike the busy streets often featured in movies.  Although it was almost 8:00, it was not even dark and that gave me the impression of the shops not having to close for the day as yet.  But Shelly said, they’re normally closed at 9:00.  At Ruby Tuesdays, we had a hefty serving of grilled chicken salad dressed in honey-mustard; not my normal dinner, but it was inviting.  The apple juice was heavenly, completely unlike the packed apple juice I had my whole life.

We drove for a few minutes to Boardman to be with our foster family.  Shelly was saying Jerry sounded so excited about our coming.  It was dark by then at 10:00  but I never missed noticing that the neighborhood was cool.  Arriving at the new home, I was surprised at how Dianne and Jerry could be so trusting of guests.  They have a cozy, very nice place; it almost looked “uninhabited.”  Everything was in order, like those one sees in display rooms or home magazines.  True enough, only Jerry and Dianne live there and that explained why they’re pretty excited about our coming.  We looked around the house, not big (huge!), and one would hesitate sitting on a chair or moving a vase or something because everything was orderly.  I felt rich for a day. The upper storey was all ours for the taking.   I’ve got a charming room painted in white and blue with all the amenities quite fitted to my person, it seemed.  There were literature books and a cushioned rocking chair and a lamp nearby.  I was almost tempted to read if not only I was rather tired and feeling quite a mess already.  I  opted to take a warm shower instead and take a rest…

Sunday, December 4, 2011

LOVE'S SEASONS

I am stunned at people who could literally hop from one relationship to another; they make things seem so easy like it doesn’t leave any trace of resentment, or pain. I wonder if they ever knew how relationships could turn from one season to another – that it could be all warm and loving, cold and frightening, strong and growing, fresh and nurturing – all at different times, that they’d have to wait and labor long enough to gain a fruitful harvest?   At least by now, this is what I know.

More than ten years of marriage has shown me but one season – all sunny, and bright, and colorful – and I thought that was all there is. Not till I noticed a change – gradual, hardly perceptible – forgivable.  At one point I thought, this was the relationship I dreamt about – ideal, perfect – “quiet” – unfortunately, uneventful – like having a vacation, loving the sand on my feet and the ice cream on my tongue, but NOT remembering what happened after – something like it.  I started missing the fire – not that it has stopped to burn – but that it has transformed into a coal-like state, eternally smoldering, minus the flare. 

I am not one likely to give up.  I have a different spirit – quite unlike that of an ordinary wife's.  I am always brave enough to make my presence felt. I don’t fade into another’s person, not even my husband’s.  I know, I need to do something.  For one, ours is a match made in heaven – a gift from the gods. Whenever I look into his eyes, I still see the rest of my life.   Whenever he holds my hand, I still feel the warmth inside.  And when he comes home and leaves, he kisses me with the assurance that I am his home.  Thus, letting the passion go—just like that-- isn’t anything I’d ever want to do.

And so this is another season that I am just as prepared to weather, even for the next ten years or so.  I am facing it head on, with an accepting heart and open mind. It is enough at the moment that I understand how seasons change, and that the relationship needs this time to grow. 


I’ll let it grow.


Saturday, December 3, 2011

DISPARITY

April 19
TP, Steel Museum, Mineral Museum, Youngstown State University, Michael Alberini's

I woke up with a big headache.  I slept but had to wake up at least three times knowing that I was to be on my toes today.  First Team presentation and at least a hundred Rotarians from the district welcomed us!  Great.  It went well – no major blunder.  People were so business-like they accomplished so much in an hour.

After the meeting, we drove to the Steel Museum. It was history-laden, and it triggered thoughts about how greed for material wealth could actually corrupt minds and bring about revolution in many facets of society at the same time.  I guess Jonathan, our tour guide, did a neat job by humanizing the tour experience for us.  Apart from showing the implements and rudiments of steel industry evolution, he presented the historical and social milestones that brought about the rise and fall of steel industry in Ohio.  That was clever.

Youngstown State Institute made me see the disparity in educational opportunities between this  country and the Philippines.  In truth, it made me feel so poor and imagined what our brilliant students back home would be like, given chances as opulent as this!  Somehow, this experience summoned more compassion in me because I felt my own students could really go far and big, if only they would be provided their educational needs.  My students are less confident and competitive and global because they are too confined.  Maybe they do not dream much because they do not see much.  Maybe they do not strive hard because the world they live in does not require much.  These opportunities, this extravagance, this modernity, this advancement – they are non-existent in most of the universities in the Philippines.  My heart went out to so many bright students in my classes who patiently listened to my lectures while enduring the buzzing sound of jeepneys or fanning themselves to death.  I was disheartened to realize that the three model rooms I fought so hard for to give some of my students a state-of-the-art condition were nothing but garbage compared to what students in this part of the world experience.  While enjoying the magnificent sight, I was grieving inside.  Life is not fair.  I now wonder whether it is still just to exact blood from our students to make them learn when the system is not able to provide enough.  I now wonder where the hell others get the nerve to dampen the spirit of students whose souls are already crushed by the hardship of simply being physically present.  I now wonder what step to take to at least give one or two of my promising students the same wonderful experience, so that they too could dream the dream for others.  It is sad to note that at this point, I could only but watch and wonder.

I brought these thoughts at Michael Alberini’s where the food kept coming… and I hardly swallowed them.  The wine was bitter, as my heart was. 

DRUNK

A picture of my almost 40 years:  LISTEN AND OBEY.  DARE AND DEFY. WEIGH AND CONSIDER. DO OR DIE.  
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I went from:  SUNNY to DEFIANT to SOBER...now, FEARLESS.
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The good thing about aging is the "DRUNKEN" feeling -- you do the thing, and pretend quite successfully it didn't happen.
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Some think of midlife crisis as really that -- crisis!  But, it's really a time of reDISCOVERY, of an old self denied, or a new self unseen.
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I never thought I could be right HERE, right NOW...breaking all the rules.  I couldn't help it.
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My friend said I outran myself.  She's right.  I want to have ALL that life has to offer.
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Wandering.  I want to taste LIFE and discover what is that one thing that will render me BREATHLESS...
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PLAY.  WORK.  LOVE.  PRAY.  I wanted life to be this simple.  But life is COMPLICATED, and I'm not really meant for the simple life.
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There's more to life than peace and quiet.  I know that now.  Giving breath to the TRUE self, unrestrained by conventions, matters.
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I have no idea how far would I go.  But one thing is certain:  I OUGHT to CELEBRATE life.
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DEFERENCE AND DEFIANCE

Poetry is a verbal expression of man's totality, that expression being as varied as the moods that pass over his soul.  It is the varied expression of thought, laboring under emotions, produced by different influences.

William Wordsworth, considered to be one of the greatest English Romantic poets defined poetry as the "spontaneous overflow of powerful feelings..."  This was confirmed by Pershe Bysshe Shelley in his "A Defense of Poetry" when he said that poetry is not like reasoning, a power exerted according to the determination of the will.  This power comes from within.  As such, poetry may grapple with the basic human emotions and sentiments on a purely individual plane. It may speak of love or hatred, of joy or sorrow, of fear and hope.

Hence, i find it unseemly for some writers to consider emotions, such as love, a trivial, shallow and superficial subjects of poetry.  I profess that such writers lack depth of character and intellect and, therefore, must need proper orientation of what poetry is, and of literature as a whole.

Individual character has much to do in the moulding of poetic expression.  Thus, prejudicial writers deprecating human emotions as potential subjects of poetry, cleaving instead to the exposition of current fetid ills of the society are nothing but great pretenders, seeking to awaken other's sensibilities without opening his own visions of what poetry is.

Poetry is highly infinite.  Various interpretations by different people of diverse ages and times are derived out of a single work depending upon the reader's sensibility and receptivity,

There are many ways of seeing. Each literary artist sees the world in his own individual way, expresses it in his own individual style.  It is the individual reader's task to discern and interpret the work, the interpretation being comprehensible and logical, having been consciously guided by the textual content.

How much we derive from our readings depends not only on the skills of the writer, but largely on our sensibilities and opennes as readers.  if we are sensitive and receptive, we carry away something of value regardless of how insignificant the subject is.  Thus, a poem presented in the simplest way, imploring personal emotions and deep sentiments (again, as love), constantly frowned at by few self-proclaimed intellectual writers may be ingterpreted in its most universal context by the universal thinkers.  The subtleties and profundities are unveiled only by the subtle and profound minds.

Some literary writers then must refrain from the irrational idea of obliterating personal emotions and particularity for fear of threatening the poetic principle of universality.

I adhere to the contention that social awareness must be spurred and developed, and must be reflected in today's writings as it need be.  But let it be known that the measure of poetry is not solely based on its social context nor on immediacy or timeliness of the work, rather, a work of literature is a product of various influences, the social conditions influencing the author being but one.  Setting a line, therefore, between an excellent and inferior work by the sole virtue of the social value oor relevance it bears at the moment is absolutely insane.

Confinement to the realms of societal occurrences and expressing contempt over the very personal and subjective expressions deprive beginning writers of a chance to explore their own dimensions.  Apprehensions and inhibitions are bitter consequences of such a perception, retarding in the process the growth of such inherent literary forte which in due time matures to its brim and strives towards the humanization and concretization of facts, the distinguishing marks of literature.

Social events and realities of the present times are of paramount importance;nevertheless, such great enterprise must never limit the illimitable creativity, imagination and forms of expressions of literary men.

UNCANNY

Human passion fascinates me.  Loving literature, I have grasped and suffered even uncanny emotions – those often repressed because of society’s tyrannical rule.
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Doubtless, these are pure emotions – raw, childlike –maybe questionable, but real.  Characters whose passions are unforgivable find themselves only in fiction.
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There are those who stand up for their passions, no matter how tradition breaks them.  Brave souls find themselves ostracized by the world. Worse, it is they who condemn themselves.
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The world’s right and wrong may not entirely be right, neither wrong.  The words are so delineated – cold to a right that becomes a wrong, or a wrong that feels right.
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Anyhow, that is why there is fact and fiction, reason and emotion, mind and heart.  The reality is so defined which makes movement and decision precise. 
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But then, imagination is boundless.  In this world unknown to most, anyone with the spirit can choose to stay the sun.