Work has been piling up this week, as the machine of academia grinds back up to full speed. Have had to create lessons practically from scratch, because I find myself coming to the end of the resource file - with six weeks of school left to fill. Fortunately, though, I don't seem to be in as much of a vacuum as my poor college-side colleagues, who are mired in a GP department that, from their descriptions, contains nothing of value besides cartoonish caricatures for personalities. Well, they have that entertainment value; I, on the other hand, find myself inventing lesson plans and worksheets and assignments as I go along, with nought but a single worksheet from the resource file to guide me.
You can imagine how hard it is to extrapolate that flimsy sheet into something meaningful. And this, I reckon, is a side that students rarely see of their teachers. Definitely I always thought that teachers always came to class fully prepared and armed with materials, and could even be prepared in spite of themselves. Behind the blackboard, I envisioned reams upon reams of knowledge and training that would spontaneously give rise to lessons without any significant human intervention. If only my kids knew that I was coming up with this stuff as I go along; that, in fact, the things that I say only seem like reliable principles, if not gospel-like truth, because of the credibility I derive (rather fallaciously, I must add) from my role as their teacher. All is questionable, it is clear; but what use is it to reveal that questionability to them? They don't need a post-modern or existentialist crisis of faith, not at this juncture. They could, on the other hand, use some guidance. And all that I have to bank on to provide that guidance is a few extra years of experience. Which, even as I write this, strikes me as a ridiculously flimsy foundation on which to build a world-view and linguistic proficiency.
But happily this term's topic for my Sec 2s isn't wholly alien. Coming up with materials for a unit on persuasive writing, I find myself in a position that I never dreamed possible: I am drawing on what I learned during Project Work in JC1, when we did an examination on the persuasive elements in perfume advertising. Was searching through my old records yesterday, and found, to my consternation and amusement, that I had deleted my PW files. Paper, PowerPoint, research, results - all gone. At that point in time it seemed like a good idea - get rid of a blight against my academic principles (has mankind ever invented something as perfidious as the subject known as Project Work?), and free up some disk space to boot. Well - shows what I know, doesn't it?
Anyway - I find myself looking up old memorable adverts for case studies. Remember the "Mr. Bond" Visa advert? The one with Mr. Brosnan flying through (yes, through) Bangkok on a tuktuk? And the onetime ubiquitous Richard Geere "My brother is going on a journey" one. And the latest ones, including the Jackie Chan Olympic campaign and the M1 "Sin-gaa-poor? Is it a suburb?" one, which is a new classic! Additionally, also considering the rather brilliant (even if hopelessly fallacious) Chevron "Human Energy" ad. And was also looking at the 2012 Olympic City candidate ads - and I am forced to change my previous assessment, after more detailed examination, and conclude that the London ad is actually more substantial (and in that sense more useful in promoting that city) than the Paris one.
The Sec 3 class is on the verge of diving into an exposition unit using George's The Air-Conditioned Nation as a case study. Spent a lot of last week inventing material on how to write an essay, creating whole new structures and diagrams out of thin air. I daresay it all looks really professional, for something that I pulled out of nothingness on the insistence of necessity. Repackage it, and it'll pass off as a bestseller on the self-help shelves; goes to show how useful those authors really are. Tomorrow, will have to start on substantial analysis on the book itself, paying special attention, of course, to the argumentative techniques used in the book. After a few weeks on political philosophy, it's good to return to familiar territory. Rather than debating with our heads in the clouds, it's time to get back to the nitty-gritty of linguistics and style and technique.
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And I'll tell you what makes all this effort worth it: it's when you give an assignment and receive works of art in return. Okay, maybe not works of art, but definitely works of pride and real effort. Set my Sec 2s a news-writing assignment last week, and they've produced (so far) pieces that are remarkably advanced and stylish linguistically. They may not be publishable (yet), but the way that they use linguistic devices and turn a phrase reveals a certain sophistication that is deeply heartening. It's already impressive to see well-formatted news-articles printed in full colour (one even had a self-created newspaper logo emblazoned on the pages, and another came in a handsome folder) that are so nice that I feel bad graffiti-ing them with my red ink. And when I read a good phrase, it deepens the delight and respect for their abilities, because it shows that their aesthetic sense and abilities go beyond the surface and even affect how they manipulate language.
Is this normal? I hope it is. Will it continue? I hope it does. Reports from elsewhere in the level, rumours during meetings and along corridors, and reflections from college-side colleagues indicate that mediocrity is the order of the day. Perhaps there is something to be said for the point that creativity dislikes any form of framework, even the minimal framework needed to produce a meaningful assessment system, and that structure suppresses invention. But I would rather hope that this is just what they have always been capable of, and that the unimpressive results that others speak of are not contagious and are in fact batch-specific. I would not presume to venture the extent of my role in this astonishing (to me) productivity. I hope that they are doing this in spite of me. Because that means that they'll be able to continue doing it even after I'm gone. And that, I think, is what everyone really wants at heart.
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After I'm gone...
Corresponded with URA over applying for university housing and meal plans, and spent the evening looking through pictures of Columbia's hostels and dining halls instead of doing the marking that I need to do. I reckon I'll regret this tomorrow. But applying for accommodation and meal plans is thrilling! Looking at the pictures, examining the options, trying to anticipate what I will want out of an experience that I have absolutely no bearing on - that is exhilarating. It's like trying to find your location in a country that lacks a zero mile. You know the choice is important, that it will affect all that comes afterwards, but at the moment every choice seems the same to you. And so it is hard to commit to any direction. And the process drags on deliciously.
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Incidentally, too, while in a Starbucks marking with Joel today, what should I hear but the soundtrack from Fellini's 8 ½ playing on the in-store PA system? It was magical, hearing the cascading lilting strings and the trumpet, reawakening images of a child in white suit, cape and hat leading a band of clowns around a ring set under a great scaffold holding up a face spaceship. It's still my favourite movie ever. And coming into contact with it unexpectedly today added to my already considerable happiness and contentment with the world in general. Yep, we come across days like this now and again, and when they happen you have to enjoy every last morsel of it, savour it all as much as you can before it slips away resolutely into the dark realms of sleep and memory.
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