twentythree y.o. geographer, barista, yoga practitioner. University College London. born and bred in the lil' island of Singapore. constantly searching for answers. extremely flawed, especially when it comes to imposing standards on others, expecting too much, not knowing when to close her mouth (to shut the fuck up or to stop eating). too crazy for her own good and has to be taken with a massive handful of salt. adores backpacking, hitch-hiking, hill-walking, red wine, whiskey, cocktails, fine food and good conversations.
REMINDER:
"open your heart. someone will come. someone will come for you. but you'd have to open your heart first."
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| Monday, January 04, 2016
◔ 9:25 PM // ✎ 0 comment(s) | ❝ Teachers and growing up ❞ |
I was thinking about how untidy I am as a person. Most of the things on the coffee and dining tables are mine, all my drawers and cabinets and basically my entire room is packed to the brim with all my belongings (mainly clothing. And shoes. And bags.)
It reminded me of how, when I was 8(ish?) I received a comment from my then teacher, Ms Dorothy Thiam (god knows how I remembered her name), that I needed to be more organized. I vaguely remember asking - what does 'organized' mean? What does it constitute exactly?
Then, I began to really question how these teachers choose to describe, or even characterize a student. What did I do exactly for her to beseech me to be more organized? Was it when I opened my file and worksheets started pouring out, on maybe an occasion or two? Was it when I forgot to do my homework? I've got no recollection of either happening, but still, can't count on my horrible memory.
What gave the teacher the right to characterize a student at such a young age? I was never liked by teachers. I believe this was fundamentally because I enjoyed challenging their authority, which was a problem in Secondary School (friends would probably recall me "rubbing shoulders" with the likes of B. Lim and Jesse Lim). This was stifled, discouraged, and punished in secondary school - which did nothing more than perpetuate the cycle of my active rebellion - while I knew that I could ultimately have my way so long as I continue to generate results.
Maybe it was because I was not the top student in Primary School that teachers felt compelled to mark my report card - something still tucked in a forgotten drawer at home - to label me, an eight-year-old child, as "disorganized" (I am aware of the problems of dichotomizing "organization", but this was probably how a younger, less aware Fiona, would have thought). This may have been done with the sincere intentions to highlight certain areas of improvement, to encourage change - but I do not recall making any adjustments whatsoever. Regardless, I do genuinely hope that maybe, the younger Fiona was actually a lot less than organized, and it was not an inflection of my above-average results that would not have looked good for a student from the top class.
And today, I would, if unashamedly, declare, that I do not think that I lack organization. Yes, I may have things everywhere, but everything has its own rightful place. My cupboard may be too full of clothes, but they are divided according to categories, then sorted according to season, and placed in a particular, systematic scheme of colors; I never work without a schedule - I do not like doing things as and when I desire (while Oisin is the polar opposite); I disdain the lack of punctuality - the number of times I have sent pissed off "I'm leaving in 10 minutes" to my friends probably exemplifies this...
I do concede that this may be an extension of the sense of injustice I felt in my Secondary School days for being an arts student, a still existent sentiment that teachers, with callous words, have the ability, even if inadvertently and unintentionally, to brand students. These marks become burdens for them to carry.
These wounds may eventually heal, but the scars will remains.
But, I digress.Labels: hindsight, random, thoughts
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