3resilience

Haven't been writing as much as I would have liked, because work compels me to put aside non-essential activities. It's the end of the term, and it's the season of mark-submissions, and thirty-odd comprehension scripts left to mark is a pretty insistent argument. But I'm happy to report that I'm on track and pushing any harder would just be inefficient.

Been rushing through a lot of material these last few days, trying to squeeze as much out of the Reflective Writing module as possible. Ran through Winterson's Oranges Are Not the Only Fruit in a double period, and quickly changed gears to do a period on travel literature, covering Theroux, Sarah Turnbull (Almost French) and Iyer. And next week, will bring in Amélie to demonstrate biographical writing in a larger framework of narration. The supreme problem is, as always, time. I don't have time to do justice to all these works, to give them anything beyond the most cursory of glances. And some of the ideas I'm trying to put across to them must seem like leaps of faith to the kids, because I don't have the time to logically develop arguments out to a conclusion (this effect being amplified by the fact that I've already done the thinking beforehand, and am wont to assume that everyone else will get it straightaway too). I think there is a case in favour of cutting down the scope so that there is more depth - but then, I fear running out of things to say more than not having enough time to say what I want.

I hope, though, that this at least whets their appetite to read. And the best-case scenario would be that they'll start writing voluntarily, and start writing literary works, at that, rather than the usual functional writing that is unavoidable for normal life.

Ms. Ong points out the tendency that I have to over-teach. Coming up with material to bring into class is not so much of a problem for me - the issue is how to discern the usefulness and effectiveness of the methods that I'm trying out. I want them to see certain things, certain patterns in the text, but the tendency is for me to get lost in the self-indulgence, so I am just running through the ideas because the ideas sound nice, without the due regard that I should be giving to whether or not they are getting it. Language is communication - but I find myself too enraptured with the process of expression to give enough attention to whether or not they are able to properly and accurately perceive what I am trying to communicate.

Perhaps it is approaching the time when I should ask for a review, an after-action report, as it were. Perhaps it's time to find out just how much these lessons have helped. But that calls for a certain level of confidence in my own abilities in the classroom that I haven't found yet. Open-mindedness and the willingness to accept the opinions of others is, quite clearly, a function of how confident you are in the set of convictions that you are sitting on.

*

YJ left two days ago for Melbourne, in a flurry of activity. He hadn't realised that his flight had been brought forward by half an hour. And so, ten minutes before departure time, with the screens blinking "Gate Closing" with deceptive serenity, we rushed to the departure gate, snapped a few hurried photos, did the hug-and-handshake line, and then he was through, getting his passport stamped and being swept away by the earnest tides of the transit area.

This marks the start of this year's departure season. This circle of friends will start thinning out again, as one by one we take our turns at the departure gates. And though it would be nice if my own turn were not so far away still, I find that I don't begrudge people leaving first, in the same way that I was jealous of people leaving two years ago. It really makes a difference when you know that you have a turn at this, and then every departure between now and then is a preview of what your own one could look like. The only thing, of course, is to keep anticipation from turning into impatience and weariness.

*

Random moments come back to me. Walking back towards the tower block from the JC canteen, I am caught up in the way the old tower stands out against the brilliant blue sky, with clouds garnishing the vista and a great old tree making a fascinating tesselation in front of the building. It strikes me again, this parallel, this miraculous chance to come back, to return to this place and to see other people who are going through what I had gone through.