Sorry to all for my long absence. I hope everyone had a very happy, fulfilling (and just plain filling) holiday season! To start the new year off with a bang I'd like to pay homage to Jeff Foxworthy's brilliant "You know you're a _____ if" skits by creating my own list, Philippines style. I've been trying to draft a post on the challenges (and foibles) of being a 6' female in the Philippines for some time, but it just hasn't felt right...until now. Thanks, Mr. Foxworthy. I'd like to dedicate this to my fellow tall Volunteers (particularly the tall ladies) and invite them to comment with their own additions (as this list is by no means all inclusive). These are true personal experiences; unlike on Law & Order, any resemblance to real people and real events is intentional.
You know you're too tall for the Philippines if...
...you've developed a permanent "jeepney slouch" from riding in public transportation.
...you've never - not once - met a Filipino taller than you. Never.
...you sit down to be at eye level with the standing person who's talking to you, but you're still above eye level.
...you're constantly getting cobwebs in the face because you and the spiders are the only ones occupying the space up there.
...the top of any wall mirror comes to just below your shoulders.
...you hit your head on light fixtures at least once a day.
...people tell you to watch your head when you walk beneath a ceiling fan.
...you occasionally have to duck beneath door frames.
...people exclaim "napakatangkad" (so tall) while taking pictures of you with their camera phones.
...you think some of your flip flops have too much of a heel on them.
...you smile at children and they run screaming in the opposite direction.
...you smile at infants and they cry hysterically while hiding in their mothers' shirts.
...you took the title of Tallest Female Teacher from a woman who is 5'4".
...you get called things like "giant," amazon," or "sooooo BIG" multiple times a day.
...when seated at school events the 15 rows of chairs directly behind you are empty because no one can see over your head.
...your feet hang off the end of your bed by a good 7", and that's with your legs bent.
...you stand in the back of a packed auditorium and have no trouble seeing the speaker at the front.
...you can't sit behind the teacher's desk in one of you classes because your legs won't fit underneath it.
...you're afraid you always have a double chin because of the steep downward angle at which you hold your head to talk to people.
...when riding on a Philippine bus you'd give anything to have the same legroom as on an airplane.
Sunday, January 8, 2012
Saturday, November 5, 2011
At least I'll have my cats...
One of the attractions (and challenges) of being a Peace Corps Volunteer is living in and adapting to a culture entirely different from the one in which Volunteers have been raised. This holds true for the Philippines. While there are similarities with American culture, there are also big differences. One of these differences has impacted me from the moment I arrived here: the belief that a woman's most important societal role, despite anything else she might do in her life, is to get married and raise a family. Sure, having educated, professional women is important, but ultimately a woman's job is to have a family. When Filipinos find out how old I am (30! *GASP*) the question that immediately follows is, "Are you married?" When I say "no" a slightly pitying look comes over their faces and some variation of, "Oh, you better find someone to marry soon!" is directed at me. I smile and nod, saying that I'll devote all my time and energy to finding a suitable mate once I'm done with the Peace Corps ("but by that time you'll be 31! *GASP*"). At least once a day someone mentions how I need to get married soon if I ever want to have children.
Don't get me wrong, I understand where they're coming from. Filipinos graduate from high school at age 16 and the majority do not go on to college. Thus, the next step for many is to get married and start a family at a very young age. Even those who go to college graduate by the time they're twenty or twenty-one, and the women at this point are expected to get married. I think parental pressure is very strong on daughters to have a family. Of course there are exceptions, but this is true for many women, particularly in the rural areas (which are much more extensive than the urban areas). Apart from outside societal pressures, women themselves seem to feel this is their ultimate female duty. I remember one conversation I had with my counterpart, with whom I'm quite close. She is 39 and has four children, the oldest of which is 17. We were discussing marriage and children and she said that I must have children because a woman is not complete without children. I've always thought I'd have children at some point, but I've never felt that I'm an incomplete woman without them. Often, I have to remind myself that people are not saying this to me to give me a hard time, but they are genuinely concerned for me. One time I was talking to a different teacher who asked why I'm not married. I said something about wanting to accomplish my own personal goals before starting a family, and she nearly yelled at me, "DO YOU WANT TO DIE ALONE?!?!" I think this is one of the most striking examples of the different cultural perspectives: in the U.S. it is desirable for a woman to have a family, but in the Philippines it is a woman's obligation to do so, preferably at a youngish age.
Before coming to the Philippines I never felt any pressure to get married. I have lots of single friends my age (and older), and yes, of course I'd like to fall in love and get married, but it'll happen when it happens. But after coming here...whew. Some days after numerous comments about my need to find a man I actually get a little freaked out that I will end up dying alone. But then I remember that this is just the Philippines effect. Given the cultural context here, I understand why they see a 30-year-old single woman as an abnormality. People here just aren't single at thirty. Sometimes the teachers like to play the "how many children did I have by the time I was your age" game. The most is five. Most days I'm fine with the comments and conversation - it's something I've become accustomed to hearing. Like the comments I always get about how I'm REALLY BIGGGGGG and how I have nice white skin (no...I'm tan! I'M TAN!!). But the other day something happened that made me seriously consider getting married - to the first man off the street...tall, short, fat, idiotic, peg-legged...whatever. My counterpart and I were teaching our first class of the day and she was introducing new vocabulary words to the students. One of the words was "bachelor." None of the students knew the definition so she wrote it on the board: an unmarried man. Then she asked the class if they knew what an unmarried woman is called. I was thinking, "duh, a bachelorette" when all of a sudden she says, "a spinster - like what Ma'am Britt is!" I think the look on my face adequately conveyed my emotions at that moment. First of all, I don't think "spinster" is the female equivalent of "bachelor." Second of all, "spinster" is an antiquated term and I would much prefer the more modern label of "crazy cat lady." Third of all, if you're going to call someone a spinster, do it behind her back, not to her face. Fourth of all, I'M ONLY 30!!!!
I'd like to think that my being called a spinster was the product of the "lost in translation" problem - her not entirely understanding what "spinster" means in English (and the connotations of being called one....ouch!). But I'm not so sure. I've already adopted one cat here and am responsible for feeding two others, so maybe I am a crazy cat lady. But a spinster?? I just can't own up to that.
So, my dear readers, if you know of any peg-legged, slightly idiotic bachelors, feel free to give them my contact info. Send all letters to the attention of Britt "30-Year-Old Spinster" Hubbard.
Don't get me wrong, I understand where they're coming from. Filipinos graduate from high school at age 16 and the majority do not go on to college. Thus, the next step for many is to get married and start a family at a very young age. Even those who go to college graduate by the time they're twenty or twenty-one, and the women at this point are expected to get married. I think parental pressure is very strong on daughters to have a family. Of course there are exceptions, but this is true for many women, particularly in the rural areas (which are much more extensive than the urban areas). Apart from outside societal pressures, women themselves seem to feel this is their ultimate female duty. I remember one conversation I had with my counterpart, with whom I'm quite close. She is 39 and has four children, the oldest of which is 17. We were discussing marriage and children and she said that I must have children because a woman is not complete without children. I've always thought I'd have children at some point, but I've never felt that I'm an incomplete woman without them. Often, I have to remind myself that people are not saying this to me to give me a hard time, but they are genuinely concerned for me. One time I was talking to a different teacher who asked why I'm not married. I said something about wanting to accomplish my own personal goals before starting a family, and she nearly yelled at me, "DO YOU WANT TO DIE ALONE?!?!" I think this is one of the most striking examples of the different cultural perspectives: in the U.S. it is desirable for a woman to have a family, but in the Philippines it is a woman's obligation to do so, preferably at a youngish age.
Before coming to the Philippines I never felt any pressure to get married. I have lots of single friends my age (and older), and yes, of course I'd like to fall in love and get married, but it'll happen when it happens. But after coming here...whew. Some days after numerous comments about my need to find a man I actually get a little freaked out that I will end up dying alone. But then I remember that this is just the Philippines effect. Given the cultural context here, I understand why they see a 30-year-old single woman as an abnormality. People here just aren't single at thirty. Sometimes the teachers like to play the "how many children did I have by the time I was your age" game. The most is five. Most days I'm fine with the comments and conversation - it's something I've become accustomed to hearing. Like the comments I always get about how I'm REALLY BIGGGGGG and how I have nice white skin (no...I'm tan! I'M TAN!!). But the other day something happened that made me seriously consider getting married - to the first man off the street...tall, short, fat, idiotic, peg-legged...whatever. My counterpart and I were teaching our first class of the day and she was introducing new vocabulary words to the students. One of the words was "bachelor." None of the students knew the definition so she wrote it on the board: an unmarried man. Then she asked the class if they knew what an unmarried woman is called. I was thinking, "duh, a bachelorette" when all of a sudden she says, "a spinster - like what Ma'am Britt is!" I think the look on my face adequately conveyed my emotions at that moment. First of all, I don't think "spinster" is the female equivalent of "bachelor." Second of all, "spinster" is an antiquated term and I would much prefer the more modern label of "crazy cat lady." Third of all, if you're going to call someone a spinster, do it behind her back, not to her face. Fourth of all, I'M ONLY 30!!!!
I'd like to think that my being called a spinster was the product of the "lost in translation" problem - her not entirely understanding what "spinster" means in English (and the connotations of being called one....ouch!). But I'm not so sure. I've already adopted one cat here and am responsible for feeding two others, so maybe I am a crazy cat lady. But a spinster?? I just can't own up to that.
So, my dear readers, if you know of any peg-legged, slightly idiotic bachelors, feel free to give them my contact info. Send all letters to the attention of Britt "30-Year-Old Spinster" Hubbard.
Saturday, September 17, 2011
Personal Growth
Believe it or not, August 21st marked the one-year anniversary of my arrival in the Philippines. In honor of that auspicious date, I'd like to devote this post to reflecting on some of the things I've learned over the past year.
Raid is for cowards.
In previous posts I've mentioned the sense of omnipotence one feels while holding a can of Raid over an unsuspecting pest. Many a spider, ant, mosquito, and Filipino mega-cricket have fallen victim to its steady, deadly spray. But recently I've realized that Raid is the ultimate form of passive-aggressive confrontation. I spray poison from a safe distance away while the pest hops around dying a slow, torturous death. This is not only cowardly, it's cruel. (Not to mention the somewhat serious side-effect of poisoning myself, which in the heat of battle seems a small price to pay for vanquishing my enemy, but afterwards makes me think I've knocked five years off my life.)
Case in point: You may recall one of my last posts about the Filipino mega-cricket infestation I suffered from a few months ago. While the mega-crickets have never again returned in such force, I do get one or two flying around every week. But do I run to get my can of Raid? No (and pay attention here - I think this is the best example of my personal growth), I run to get my flip flop. Did you think I was going to say I leave it in peace to live out the rest of its 2-week life cycle? Let's not get crazy, I'm no Mother Teresa. But I do face it, human to pest, and give it a nice quick death with a slap of my flip flop. (And I'd like to point out how this is more dangerous for me as I must get much closer to the cricket and actually risk missing my target, thereby enraging him and having him try to hop on me.) No slow, painful death by poison. And I have the satisfaction of knowing I conquered my fear of the Filipino mega-cricket. (The mega-spider is another matter entirely. If I ever see one of those in my apartment I'll just transfer the lease to him and get him a nice housewarming gift on my way out.)
Reading expands your vocabulary.
Okay, so I've always known that reading expands one's vocabulary. But reading fifty-one books in the past nine months has turned me into quite the wordsmith. (Truly, fifty-one books - I'm keeping track. And not all of those are picture books, either.) I mean, auspicious and omnipotence?! Sure I've known the meaning of those words for some time, but never before would I have dared use them in a blog post! Some new words I've learned recently: sinecure (n., a position requiring little or no work but giving the holder status or financial benefit); venal (adj., showing a susceptibility to bribery); cozen (v., to trick or deceive); vainglorious (adj., showing and inordinate pride in oneself or one's achievements; excessive vanity); calumny (n., a false or slanderous statement).*
*An interesting note: I was trying to think of example sentences for these five words and realized that you can probably work "Sarah Palin" into each of them. Try it, it's fun.**
** An apology to Sarah Palin supporters: Please feel free to substitute the name of your most-detested liberal instead.
Spiders less than 3" in diameter aren't worth my time.
Ah, I remember the days before I came to the Philippines - when I was young and naive, believing that Santa Clause brought presents to all the good girls and boys and that daddy long-legs spiders were scary. Then I got to the Philippines and realized that if Santa tried to deliver presents here his reindeer would spontaneously combust and his sensitive North Pole skin would suffer third-degree sunburn. Oh, and spiders? Daddy long-legs aren't spiders. Daddy long-legs are a cool breeze on a hot day. Daddy long-legs are that first sip of water after trekking 100 miles through the desert. These days I kill daddy long-legs with my bare hands while eating a pb & j sandwich and watching Vampire Diaries. I've been eye to beady eye with a real spider, and he eats daddy long-legs for lunch (literally). So yeah, maybe I'm still mortally afraid of the Filipino mega-spider, but lesser spiders no longer have any power over me. If I worried about every little spider that crossed my path I'd never leave my force field...ehem...mosquito net.
Just because I can speak English doesn't mean I can teach it.
What's that saying? "Those who can't do, teach." Ha! Whoever came up with that little nugget of bullcrap was clearly a bitter, wannabe teacher who failed out of teacher's college after his first semester. I've always been proud of my English skills. I think I speak and write well and I always got high grades in my English and writing classes. And yes, I pride myself on my knowledge of grammar. I mean, I know the proper usage of prepositions, nouns, adjectives, adverbs, and even gerunds and the like. And yes, I understand that "I go" and "they go," but that "she goes." Unfortunately I often find myself unable to figure out how to teach these things. "Because it sounds right" isn't really a rule that helps students who have no idea how it should sound. It has truly been a challenge teaching English. It goes to show that just because you can do, doesn't mean you can teach!
Apart from the difficulty of teaching the substance, the physical act of teaching is exhausting. (Not to mention the effort it takes to avoid being captured by the students' camera phones mid-lecture. C'mon, students, no one likes a sneaky photographer.) Luckily I have a long lunch break so I can go home and nap in between classes. Teachers work hard. They work nights. They work weekends. They get through their classes without employing corporal punishment...or murder. I've grown to believe that a good non-lethal stab wound to the arm or abdomen would do wonders for discipline, but I had trouble getting support for that proposal at the last PTA meeting.
You can live in a tropical climate for a year and still be pasty white.
And yes, I'm referring to me. Sad but true, I'm significantly pastier than when I left the States a year ago. How can this be, you ask. Well, I'd never truly realized it before, but the sun is hot. Really hot. And when you live in a climate where the only seasons are hot, hotter, and core-of-the-sun hot, the last thing you want to do is be in the sun. So I've found that I get less sun here than I did when I was living in the States. I'm inside more than I've ever been, and when I'm outside I'm underneath an umbrella. And if I ever dare to go outside without my umbrella, there's always someone there to force me to share theirs. "I'm trying to get a tan" is not an acceptable reason to be without an umbrella. At least I'll fit in when I return to the States in the middle of the winter.
Diarrhea can become a daily topic of conversation.
When I first arrived here I remember hearing people say that discussions about bowel movements would soon become commonplace. I shuddered at the thought, quite sure that I would never be discussing my intestinal issues with anyone. And now here I am, blogging about them. If I tell my teachers I'm not feeling well they assume I'm having an LBM (loose bowel movement), and everyone contributes to the conversation on how I can firm those up. And yes, Volunteers will occasionally compare their diarrhea stories. I have my own story of how once, a couple of months ago, I almost pooped on a bus. I'll save you the gory details and just say that it got to the point where I was looking at the roadside ditches and thinking, "That one wouldn't be such a bad place to squat!"
So those are some of the lessons I've learned over the past year. I know what you're thinking: "Wow, Britt, you've certainly undergone a great deal of personal growth." I know. I consider my reduced fear of spiders and my new willingness to talk about diarrhea to be great personal accomplishments. I'm glad I could share them with you.
Raid is for cowards.
In previous posts I've mentioned the sense of omnipotence one feels while holding a can of Raid over an unsuspecting pest. Many a spider, ant, mosquito, and Filipino mega-cricket have fallen victim to its steady, deadly spray. But recently I've realized that Raid is the ultimate form of passive-aggressive confrontation. I spray poison from a safe distance away while the pest hops around dying a slow, torturous death. This is not only cowardly, it's cruel. (Not to mention the somewhat serious side-effect of poisoning myself, which in the heat of battle seems a small price to pay for vanquishing my enemy, but afterwards makes me think I've knocked five years off my life.)
Case in point: You may recall one of my last posts about the Filipino mega-cricket infestation I suffered from a few months ago. While the mega-crickets have never again returned in such force, I do get one or two flying around every week. But do I run to get my can of Raid? No (and pay attention here - I think this is the best example of my personal growth), I run to get my flip flop. Did you think I was going to say I leave it in peace to live out the rest of its 2-week life cycle? Let's not get crazy, I'm no Mother Teresa. But I do face it, human to pest, and give it a nice quick death with a slap of my flip flop. (And I'd like to point out how this is more dangerous for me as I must get much closer to the cricket and actually risk missing my target, thereby enraging him and having him try to hop on me.) No slow, painful death by poison. And I have the satisfaction of knowing I conquered my fear of the Filipino mega-cricket. (The mega-spider is another matter entirely. If I ever see one of those in my apartment I'll just transfer the lease to him and get him a nice housewarming gift on my way out.)
Reading expands your vocabulary.
Okay, so I've always known that reading expands one's vocabulary. But reading fifty-one books in the past nine months has turned me into quite the wordsmith. (Truly, fifty-one books - I'm keeping track. And not all of those are picture books, either.) I mean, auspicious and omnipotence?! Sure I've known the meaning of those words for some time, but never before would I have dared use them in a blog post! Some new words I've learned recently: sinecure (n., a position requiring little or no work but giving the holder status or financial benefit); venal (adj., showing a susceptibility to bribery); cozen (v., to trick or deceive); vainglorious (adj., showing and inordinate pride in oneself or one's achievements; excessive vanity); calumny (n., a false or slanderous statement).*
*An interesting note: I was trying to think of example sentences for these five words and realized that you can probably work "Sarah Palin" into each of them. Try it, it's fun.**
** An apology to Sarah Palin supporters: Please feel free to substitute the name of your most-detested liberal instead.
Spiders less than 3" in diameter aren't worth my time.
Ah, I remember the days before I came to the Philippines - when I was young and naive, believing that Santa Clause brought presents to all the good girls and boys and that daddy long-legs spiders were scary. Then I got to the Philippines and realized that if Santa tried to deliver presents here his reindeer would spontaneously combust and his sensitive North Pole skin would suffer third-degree sunburn. Oh, and spiders? Daddy long-legs aren't spiders. Daddy long-legs are a cool breeze on a hot day. Daddy long-legs are that first sip of water after trekking 100 miles through the desert. These days I kill daddy long-legs with my bare hands while eating a pb & j sandwich and watching Vampire Diaries. I've been eye to beady eye with a real spider, and he eats daddy long-legs for lunch (literally). So yeah, maybe I'm still mortally afraid of the Filipino mega-spider, but lesser spiders no longer have any power over me. If I worried about every little spider that crossed my path I'd never leave my force field...ehem...mosquito net.
Just because I can speak English doesn't mean I can teach it.
What's that saying? "Those who can't do, teach." Ha! Whoever came up with that little nugget of bullcrap was clearly a bitter, wannabe teacher who failed out of teacher's college after his first semester. I've always been proud of my English skills. I think I speak and write well and I always got high grades in my English and writing classes. And yes, I pride myself on my knowledge of grammar. I mean, I know the proper usage of prepositions, nouns, adjectives, adverbs, and even gerunds and the like. And yes, I understand that "I go" and "they go," but that "she goes." Unfortunately I often find myself unable to figure out how to teach these things. "Because it sounds right" isn't really a rule that helps students who have no idea how it should sound. It has truly been a challenge teaching English. It goes to show that just because you can do, doesn't mean you can teach!
Apart from the difficulty of teaching the substance, the physical act of teaching is exhausting. (Not to mention the effort it takes to avoid being captured by the students' camera phones mid-lecture. C'mon, students, no one likes a sneaky photographer.) Luckily I have a long lunch break so I can go home and nap in between classes. Teachers work hard. They work nights. They work weekends. They get through their classes without employing corporal punishment...or murder. I've grown to believe that a good non-lethal stab wound to the arm or abdomen would do wonders for discipline, but I had trouble getting support for that proposal at the last PTA meeting.
You can live in a tropical climate for a year and still be pasty white.
And yes, I'm referring to me. Sad but true, I'm significantly pastier than when I left the States a year ago. How can this be, you ask. Well, I'd never truly realized it before, but the sun is hot. Really hot. And when you live in a climate where the only seasons are hot, hotter, and core-of-the-sun hot, the last thing you want to do is be in the sun. So I've found that I get less sun here than I did when I was living in the States. I'm inside more than I've ever been, and when I'm outside I'm underneath an umbrella. And if I ever dare to go outside without my umbrella, there's always someone there to force me to share theirs. "I'm trying to get a tan" is not an acceptable reason to be without an umbrella. At least I'll fit in when I return to the States in the middle of the winter.
Diarrhea can become a daily topic of conversation.
When I first arrived here I remember hearing people say that discussions about bowel movements would soon become commonplace. I shuddered at the thought, quite sure that I would never be discussing my intestinal issues with anyone. And now here I am, blogging about them. If I tell my teachers I'm not feeling well they assume I'm having an LBM (loose bowel movement), and everyone contributes to the conversation on how I can firm those up. And yes, Volunteers will occasionally compare their diarrhea stories. I have my own story of how once, a couple of months ago, I almost pooped on a bus. I'll save you the gory details and just say that it got to the point where I was looking at the roadside ditches and thinking, "That one wouldn't be such a bad place to squat!"
So those are some of the lessons I've learned over the past year. I know what you're thinking: "Wow, Britt, you've certainly undergone a great deal of personal growth." I know. I consider my reduced fear of spiders and my new willingness to talk about diarrhea to be great personal accomplishments. I'm glad I could share them with you.
Monday, August 29, 2011
A Day in the Life
Friday, August 26, 2011. Sual, Pangasinan, Philippines.
5:49 a.m. - My alarm goes off. Its muffled sound comes from under my pillow and works its way into my dream; I always manage to wedge it under my pillow sometime during the night. My subconscious letting me know how it feels about waking up at 5:49 a.m., undoubtedly.
5:54 a.m. - I get out of bed to heat water in my electric kettle. There'll be no bucket bath for me without first heating up some water. (It's rare for houses to have hot water from the tap here.) I've grown soft in my old age - when I first arrived in the Philippines I took bucket baths every morning without heated water. But now that I'm accustomed to warm water, there's no going back. Imagine my dread last week when I woke up and discovered the power was out. No power = no electric kettle = no hot water. Let's just say I went to school a little dirtier than usual that day.
5:56 a.m. - I get back into bed to wait for my electric kettle to work its magic.
6:03 a.m. - My electric kettle automatically switches off, the magic completed, the water hot.
6:10 a.m. - I consider getting up.
6:11 a.m. - I seriously consider getting up.
6:12 a.m. - I tell myself that unless I get up right now I'm going to be rushed and end up leaving late for school, which means I'll have to walk fast, which will result in me arriving at school dripping with sweat. And I'll have to reheat my water.
6:15 a.m. - I sit up......I lie down.
6:16 a.m. - I open one eye, decide that's more than enough vision to get me successfully to the bathroom, get out of bed, get my hot-ish water, and dump it into my bucket. Ahhhh...warm-ish water.
6:17 - 7:04 a.m. - Beautification time. (Which apparently is ineffective. See my 4:10 p.m. conversation, below.)
7:05 - 7:11 a.m. - I walk to school. As predicted, I leave late, so now I'm walking at a pace that causes me to break into a sweat. (Okay, you caught me - any physical activity causes me to break into a sweat: breathing, blinking, thinking too hard, etc.) By the time I get to school I'm trying to daintily wipe my lip, neck, and arm (yes, arm) sweat while still maintaining my "exotic blond American" air.
7:12 a.m. - The students gather for the flag ceremony. Everyone sings the Philippine national anthem, Lupang Hinirang, and pledges allegiance to the Philippines. I join in on singing the anthem, but don't worry, America, I haven't yet pledged allegiance to the Philippines. And yes, I know the words to the national anthem. Well, most of them. Kind of like the Star Spangled Banner, actually.
7:30 - 10:40 a.m. - I co-teach three fourth-year English classes with my counterpart teacher. My 7:30 class is the top section of fourth-year students, so they're the least likely to look at me like I have three heads when I speak. Though they do have the habit of clapping after I say something, which makes me think they have no idea what I'm saying. I've gotten used to looks of concentration mixed with confusion whenever I speak. Apparently my proper pronunciation makes me nearly unintelligible. (No, I'm not bitter.)
Normally on Friday I would be teaching a remedial reading class to first-year students during an hour of this time, but today my other co-teacher canceled it. Not sure why. She just said that she "told the students not to come today" and then winked at me. I was a little perplexed given that I'm the one who prepared the lesson and I'll be the one teaching it. Oh well. I guess the students can wait until Monday to learn the difference between short and long vowel sounds.
11:00 a.m. - 2:00 p.m. - This is my non-teaching time, so I often use this time to correct students' work. Or I take a three-hour lunch break. Depends on how dedicated I'm feeling that day. There are approximately 60 students per class and I co-teach 5 classes, so there is a lot to correct. We give the students a paragraph dictation test, which is my co-teacher (not me, of course, given my unintelligible pronunciation) reading a paragraph to the students. They have to write the paragraph as she reads it. Every misspelling and incorrect word is counted wrong and the total number wrong is subtracted from the total number of words in the selection. This week's paragraph was on oceanographers. After correcting around 200 of these I have the paragraph memorized and never want to see the word "oceanographer" again. Or "osean hographer." Or "solar eyes cups." Can you guess that one? Yeah, it should be "polar ice caps."
2:00 - 4:00 p.m. - I teach my last two classes of the day. Students are less likely to come back to school after lunch (especially on a Friday), so these two classes generally have fewer students than my morning classes. Today my 3:00 class (which is the lowest fourth-year section) has seven students. Seven. Out of 57. Ouch. The teachers like to refer to this as "Friday sickness."
4:10 - 4:12 p.m. - A real conversation with a teacher:
Teacher: [Coming to my desk and staring at me intently.] What happened to your face?
Me: Ummm...
Teacher: [Pointing at the zit on my forehead.] Is that a mosquito bite?
Me: Oh, no, it's a zit...uh, you know, a pimple. Yeah, it's a big one... [Trailing off with nervous laughter.]
Teacher: Hm. When you came here you had nice skin. [Staring at my face even more intently.] Now you have spots...and freckles...and, hmm, acne. Why?
Me: Oh, well, uh...I don't know. I guess, well, my face sweats....sometimes...you know, because it's hot...so...I get pimples...occasionally...um... [Trailing off with nervous laughter.]
Teacher: And there, [pointing to/touching the side of my face], it looks like something happened there.
Me: Oh, really? Huh, well...maybe it's a...uh...rash? I guess I get those sometimes. Mystery rashes and all that...haha...ha... [Trailing off wondering how I could have missed the sudden appearance of acne, age spots, and leprosy in the mirror this morning.]
Teacher: Hmmm. You had such nice skin... [Walking away shaking her head.]
Me: ... [Planning an immediate trip to the mall to buy super-coverage foundation and concealer. Or maybe just a paper bag with two eye-holes cut out.]
4:30 p.m. - Time to walk home. Of course I never sweat on the walk home.
4:37 - 11:00 p.m. - My nights usually consist of fixing dinner then watching T.V., watching movies, and/or reading. I eat the same thing almost every night: spinach pasta with olive oil. Probably not great to eat pasta every night, but at least it's not rice! My fellow teachers are all amazed that I don't cook rice for myself. They offer to come over and cook it for me if I'm unable to do it myself, but I assure them that I survive just fine without it. I don't think they believe me. Tonight is a new episode of "Pretty Little Liars" on ETC, the one station that airs American TV shows. True, the shows are all aimed at 14-year-old girls, but luckily I'm easily entertained and have the emotional maturity of a 14-year-old girl. Other shows include "Gossip Girl," "America's Next Top Model," "Vampire Diaries," and "One Tree Hill." Oh, and "The Insider" and "Extra," so I'm up-to-date on my celebrity gossip. (Will and Jada Pinkett Smith separated?! I'm crushed!) I think Peace Corps should include that in its recruiting materials.
So another day is done! Because tomorrow's Saturday I'm planning to sleep until 7:30 (which is really late here), but the stray cats I've been feeding usually start demanding their breakfast by 6:30, so I'm not hopeful.
5:49 a.m. - My alarm goes off. Its muffled sound comes from under my pillow and works its way into my dream; I always manage to wedge it under my pillow sometime during the night. My subconscious letting me know how it feels about waking up at 5:49 a.m., undoubtedly.
5:54 a.m. - I get out of bed to heat water in my electric kettle. There'll be no bucket bath for me without first heating up some water. (It's rare for houses to have hot water from the tap here.) I've grown soft in my old age - when I first arrived in the Philippines I took bucket baths every morning without heated water. But now that I'm accustomed to warm water, there's no going back. Imagine my dread last week when I woke up and discovered the power was out. No power = no electric kettle = no hot water. Let's just say I went to school a little dirtier than usual that day.
5:56 a.m. - I get back into bed to wait for my electric kettle to work its magic.
6:03 a.m. - My electric kettle automatically switches off, the magic completed, the water hot.
6:10 a.m. - I consider getting up.
6:11 a.m. - I seriously consider getting up.
6:12 a.m. - I tell myself that unless I get up right now I'm going to be rushed and end up leaving late for school, which means I'll have to walk fast, which will result in me arriving at school dripping with sweat. And I'll have to reheat my water.
6:15 a.m. - I sit up......I lie down.
6:16 a.m. - I open one eye, decide that's more than enough vision to get me successfully to the bathroom, get out of bed, get my hot-ish water, and dump it into my bucket. Ahhhh...warm-ish water.
6:17 - 7:04 a.m. - Beautification time. (Which apparently is ineffective. See my 4:10 p.m. conversation, below.)
7:05 - 7:11 a.m. - I walk to school. As predicted, I leave late, so now I'm walking at a pace that causes me to break into a sweat. (Okay, you caught me - any physical activity causes me to break into a sweat: breathing, blinking, thinking too hard, etc.) By the time I get to school I'm trying to daintily wipe my lip, neck, and arm (yes, arm) sweat while still maintaining my "exotic blond American" air.
7:12 a.m. - The students gather for the flag ceremony. Everyone sings the Philippine national anthem, Lupang Hinirang, and pledges allegiance to the Philippines. I join in on singing the anthem, but don't worry, America, I haven't yet pledged allegiance to the Philippines. And yes, I know the words to the national anthem. Well, most of them. Kind of like the Star Spangled Banner, actually.
7:30 - 10:40 a.m. - I co-teach three fourth-year English classes with my counterpart teacher. My 7:30 class is the top section of fourth-year students, so they're the least likely to look at me like I have three heads when I speak. Though they do have the habit of clapping after I say something, which makes me think they have no idea what I'm saying. I've gotten used to looks of concentration mixed with confusion whenever I speak. Apparently my proper pronunciation makes me nearly unintelligible. (No, I'm not bitter.)
Normally on Friday I would be teaching a remedial reading class to first-year students during an hour of this time, but today my other co-teacher canceled it. Not sure why. She just said that she "told the students not to come today" and then winked at me. I was a little perplexed given that I'm the one who prepared the lesson and I'll be the one teaching it. Oh well. I guess the students can wait until Monday to learn the difference between short and long vowel sounds.
11:00 a.m. - 2:00 p.m. - This is my non-teaching time, so I often use this time to correct students' work. Or I take a three-hour lunch break. Depends on how dedicated I'm feeling that day. There are approximately 60 students per class and I co-teach 5 classes, so there is a lot to correct. We give the students a paragraph dictation test, which is my co-teacher (not me, of course, given my unintelligible pronunciation) reading a paragraph to the students. They have to write the paragraph as she reads it. Every misspelling and incorrect word is counted wrong and the total number wrong is subtracted from the total number of words in the selection. This week's paragraph was on oceanographers. After correcting around 200 of these I have the paragraph memorized and never want to see the word "oceanographer" again. Or "osean hographer." Or "solar eyes cups." Can you guess that one? Yeah, it should be "polar ice caps."
2:00 - 4:00 p.m. - I teach my last two classes of the day. Students are less likely to come back to school after lunch (especially on a Friday), so these two classes generally have fewer students than my morning classes. Today my 3:00 class (which is the lowest fourth-year section) has seven students. Seven. Out of 57. Ouch. The teachers like to refer to this as "Friday sickness."
4:10 - 4:12 p.m. - A real conversation with a teacher:
Teacher: [Coming to my desk and staring at me intently.] What happened to your face?
Me: Ummm...
Teacher: [Pointing at the zit on my forehead.] Is that a mosquito bite?
Me: Oh, no, it's a zit...uh, you know, a pimple. Yeah, it's a big one... [Trailing off with nervous laughter.]
Teacher: Hm. When you came here you had nice skin. [Staring at my face even more intently.] Now you have spots...and freckles...and, hmm, acne. Why?
Me: Oh, well, uh...I don't know. I guess, well, my face sweats....sometimes...you know, because it's hot...so...I get pimples...occasionally...um... [Trailing off with nervous laughter.]
Teacher: And there, [pointing to/touching the side of my face], it looks like something happened there.
Me: Oh, really? Huh, well...maybe it's a...uh...rash? I guess I get those sometimes. Mystery rashes and all that...haha...ha... [Trailing off wondering how I could have missed the sudden appearance of acne, age spots, and leprosy in the mirror this morning.]
Teacher: Hmmm. You had such nice skin... [Walking away shaking her head.]
Me: ... [Planning an immediate trip to the mall to buy super-coverage foundation and concealer. Or maybe just a paper bag with two eye-holes cut out.]
4:30 p.m. - Time to walk home. Of course I never sweat on the walk home.
4:37 - 11:00 p.m. - My nights usually consist of fixing dinner then watching T.V., watching movies, and/or reading. I eat the same thing almost every night: spinach pasta with olive oil. Probably not great to eat pasta every night, but at least it's not rice! My fellow teachers are all amazed that I don't cook rice for myself. They offer to come over and cook it for me if I'm unable to do it myself, but I assure them that I survive just fine without it. I don't think they believe me. Tonight is a new episode of "Pretty Little Liars" on ETC, the one station that airs American TV shows. True, the shows are all aimed at 14-year-old girls, but luckily I'm easily entertained and have the emotional maturity of a 14-year-old girl. Other shows include "Gossip Girl," "America's Next Top Model," "Vampire Diaries," and "One Tree Hill." Oh, and "The Insider" and "Extra," so I'm up-to-date on my celebrity gossip. (Will and Jada Pinkett Smith separated?! I'm crushed!) I think Peace Corps should include that in its recruiting materials.
So another day is done! Because tomorrow's Saturday I'm planning to sleep until 7:30 (which is really late here), but the stray cats I've been feeding usually start demanding their breakfast by 6:30, so I'm not hopeful.
Tuesday, May 10, 2011
Night of the Living Crickets
Since moving into my own apartment in February I've been enjoying a relatively pest-free living environment. True, I've had to deal with living amongst greater numbers of mosquitoes, but what's a little Dengue Fever risk compared to being roomies with mega-spiders, cockroaches, ants, or rats?! My days of avoiding mega-spiders and cockroaches appeared to be over. Did this make me a little smug at my good fortune? Did I get a little complacent? Did nature decide it was time to remind me where I'm living?
The evening started off normally enough. Lie on my bed, watch an episode of Vampire Diaries. Lie on my bed, watch a movie on my computer. Lie on my bed, play a game of hearts. Get off my bed to boil water for oatmeal. Lie on my bed, eat my oatmeal. Switch beds (yes, I have two twin beds, one of which I use for a "couch"). Lie on my "couch," play Angry Birds. Lie on my "couch," watch an episode of Glee. Switch beds. Lie on my bed...anyway, you get the idea. Typical night in Sual. But for some reason tonight I stayed up later than I normally do. (I guess it could have something to do with that four-hour nap I took from 12:30 to 4:30 this afternoon....) So the scene is this: It's 11:00 pm. The night has now progressed to a riveting game of computer solitaire. As I'm lying on my bed I spot something in my peripheral vision jump onto the table. I've heard that a person's reflexes slow as one gets older, but I can proudly say that I was off my bed, across my room, and crouched in a defensive position (i.e., cowering against the wall) in under a second. After I ascertain that nothing followed me, I slowly make my way to the table and see a HUGE cricket-like insect. Big, black, and quite menacing as it sits there rubbing its legs together. That's right, folks, I've encountered my first Filipino mega-cricket. Truthfully, I have no idea if it's really a cricket. I'm a lawyer/occasional teacher, not a...uh...one of those people who studies bugs. Zoologist? Entomologist? Naturalist? Whatever. The point is I have no idea what the thing is. But it resembles a cricket, and crickets are less scary than an unknown Filipino insect that has the ability to jump across the entire room (particularly in its death throes, but we'll get to that later). So as of now it's the Filipino mega-cricket.
Upon moving out on my own I discovered the most valuable, most necessary household item one can possess in the Philippines: a giant can of Raid. Normally I just use it to eradicate mosquitoes, but I figure it'll probably kill anything if I use enough of it (including me, but we'll get to that later, too). So just as I get my can of Raid the mega-cricket launches off the table onto the floor and skitters under my cabinet. Could it sense its own impending doom? Well, I sprayed about half the can of Raid under that cabinet, and if a hippo would've been in the room I'm pretty sure it'd be dead right now too. Do I feel bad about killing the mega-cricket? Yes. Despite all my stories of killing and maiming various insects and arachnids, I really take no enjoyment in it. If I could've escorted the mega-cricket outside, I would've done it. But the risk of his jumping on me was too great. So in my typical passive-aggressive confrontational style, I Raid-ed the bugger to death.
Well, as with all my Filipino creature encounters, I tried to put this one out of my head as quickly as possible. So what happened? Fifteen minutes later ANOTHER mega-cricket appears, this time on the wall above my bed. Seriously? Seriously?!? And this one was bigger than the last. There seems to be a theme developing here: I kill one pest and within a few minutes a larger, meaner one appears above my bed. Taunting me. So I get my can of Raid and spray as if my life depended on it (which it may have, you can't prove it didn't!). I realize that the cloud of Raid hanging in the air is probably approaching toxic levels for humans, but if I'm going down at least the mega-cricket is going with me. My can of Raid now exhausted, I watch the mega-cricket on the wall. He's still hanging on, but he's frantically rubbing his legs together. He seems disoriented (c'mon, at this point I'm disoriented). He seems to be losing his grip on the wall. And then WHOOSH...he launches off the wall right at my head. I hit the floor. He lands on the rug and starts doing little hops back and forth. Hop...hop...hop...and then stillness. I get my broom to sweep him outside and HOPPPP! Once again I hit the floor. I'll say this for the Filipino mega-cricket - he doesn't need to fear extinction from a nuclear war. Anyway, he's stopped moving again. But this time I give him ten minutes to fully die and then sweep him outside. Whew. Definitely sleeping with my mosquito net tonight, I don't care how hot it is.
I know you're thinking, "Britt, I thought your blog was getting serious? You were teaching us Tagalog! I thought you were done relating your near-death insect experiences?" No, friends, this blog is back in all its un-intellectual glory. My atrophied brain cannot create repeated thought-provoking posts. And you know you love hearing about my battles with Filipino wildlife. If for no other reason than to sit back and say to yourself, "Man, I'm glad I live in America where over-urbanization has driven most species of animals and insects to extinction. Ain't America great!" Ah, how I miss it.
The evening started off normally enough. Lie on my bed, watch an episode of Vampire Diaries. Lie on my bed, watch a movie on my computer. Lie on my bed, play a game of hearts. Get off my bed to boil water for oatmeal. Lie on my bed, eat my oatmeal. Switch beds (yes, I have two twin beds, one of which I use for a "couch"). Lie on my "couch," play Angry Birds. Lie on my "couch," watch an episode of Glee. Switch beds. Lie on my bed...anyway, you get the idea. Typical night in Sual. But for some reason tonight I stayed up later than I normally do. (I guess it could have something to do with that four-hour nap I took from 12:30 to 4:30 this afternoon....) So the scene is this: It's 11:00 pm. The night has now progressed to a riveting game of computer solitaire. As I'm lying on my bed I spot something in my peripheral vision jump onto the table. I've heard that a person's reflexes slow as one gets older, but I can proudly say that I was off my bed, across my room, and crouched in a defensive position (i.e., cowering against the wall) in under a second. After I ascertain that nothing followed me, I slowly make my way to the table and see a HUGE cricket-like insect. Big, black, and quite menacing as it sits there rubbing its legs together. That's right, folks, I've encountered my first Filipino mega-cricket. Truthfully, I have no idea if it's really a cricket. I'm a lawyer/occasional teacher, not a...uh...one of those people who studies bugs. Zoologist? Entomologist? Naturalist? Whatever. The point is I have no idea what the thing is. But it resembles a cricket, and crickets are less scary than an unknown Filipino insect that has the ability to jump across the entire room (particularly in its death throes, but we'll get to that later). So as of now it's the Filipino mega-cricket.
Upon moving out on my own I discovered the most valuable, most necessary household item one can possess in the Philippines: a giant can of Raid. Normally I just use it to eradicate mosquitoes, but I figure it'll probably kill anything if I use enough of it (including me, but we'll get to that later, too). So just as I get my can of Raid the mega-cricket launches off the table onto the floor and skitters under my cabinet. Could it sense its own impending doom? Well, I sprayed about half the can of Raid under that cabinet, and if a hippo would've been in the room I'm pretty sure it'd be dead right now too. Do I feel bad about killing the mega-cricket? Yes. Despite all my stories of killing and maiming various insects and arachnids, I really take no enjoyment in it. If I could've escorted the mega-cricket outside, I would've done it. But the risk of his jumping on me was too great. So in my typical passive-aggressive confrontational style, I Raid-ed the bugger to death.
Well, as with all my Filipino creature encounters, I tried to put this one out of my head as quickly as possible. So what happened? Fifteen minutes later ANOTHER mega-cricket appears, this time on the wall above my bed. Seriously? Seriously?!? And this one was bigger than the last. There seems to be a theme developing here: I kill one pest and within a few minutes a larger, meaner one appears above my bed. Taunting me. So I get my can of Raid and spray as if my life depended on it (which it may have, you can't prove it didn't!). I realize that the cloud of Raid hanging in the air is probably approaching toxic levels for humans, but if I'm going down at least the mega-cricket is going with me. My can of Raid now exhausted, I watch the mega-cricket on the wall. He's still hanging on, but he's frantically rubbing his legs together. He seems disoriented (c'mon, at this point I'm disoriented). He seems to be losing his grip on the wall. And then WHOOSH...he launches off the wall right at my head. I hit the floor. He lands on the rug and starts doing little hops back and forth. Hop...hop...hop...and then stillness. I get my broom to sweep him outside and HOPPPP! Once again I hit the floor. I'll say this for the Filipino mega-cricket - he doesn't need to fear extinction from a nuclear war. Anyway, he's stopped moving again. But this time I give him ten minutes to fully die and then sweep him outside. Whew. Definitely sleeping with my mosquito net tonight, I don't care how hot it is.
I know you're thinking, "Britt, I thought your blog was getting serious? You were teaching us Tagalog! I thought you were done relating your near-death insect experiences?" No, friends, this blog is back in all its un-intellectual glory. My atrophied brain cannot create repeated thought-provoking posts. And you know you love hearing about my battles with Filipino wildlife. If for no other reason than to sit back and say to yourself, "Man, I'm glad I live in America where over-urbanization has driven most species of animals and insects to extinction. Ain't America great!" Ah, how I miss it.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)