Six Letters, Six Students- A Farewell

Last week, I decided to leave my school early. The decision was not an easy one but I am certain it was the right one. In the coming weeks, I'll try and write more about the thoughts and developments which prompted me to leave four weeks before the year ended. For now, I'll say that personal reasons and dissatisfaction with work, combined with  being accepted into a US based teacher certification program (which starts in March), convinced me that the best thing for my life at present was to go back Stateside. I'll be in Kansas City for the next seven or eight months to work through the program and do my student teaching. Afterwards, I hope to teach the history or the social sciences at an international school somewhere in the world.

 Although I'm certain that my decision to leave a little early was the right one, it was still hard to say goodbye to my students. Despite the hassle and difficulties that often arise in the classroom, I feel a strong love and attachment to the little six and seven year olds who also have filled the past two years with joy.

 It was a privilege to share their lives for a time. And there are six I want to write to here and now. 

 

-To Bio, the hardest working and most well behaved first grader.

I can't tell you how much your presence in my most difficult class made my darkest days so much brighter. You were in a class filled with so many apathetic students and yet you remained so attentive and so eager to participate in everything. I don't know how many adults in a similar situation would continue to be so steadfast. I hope you never lose that drive, that determination, that desire to be good despite what everyone around you is doing. On the other hand, I hope your greatest strength doesn't also become a weakness. I hope that your desire to respect authority doesn't stunt your creativity but allows it to grow. No matter what though, know you'll always be my superhero. 

-To Suveer, the most helpful boy ever.

Thank you for your endless eagerness. Thank you for your unfailing smile. Thank you for always waiting at the door to my office with your book in hand to show me where your class was at that day. Thank you for always being eager to lend a hand and help out whether it was by turning on the projector, testing out my markers, translating instructions or choosing a book.

-To Tua-O, the environmentally conscious genius.

 Tua-O, I know I haven't always been on good terms with you. I'm sorry that you found my after-school classes boring. Please know I never meant to make you upset. The truth is you were right on many occasions when you argued with me about leaving early. You, already fluent, able to tell me about wind turbines and explain the concept of evaporation in your second language, never belonged there in those after-school programs. You should be in an international school, not taking lessons with kids who are still learning how to put short sentences together about animals. However, you do have much to learn especially when it comes to being with others. If you can be as wise as you are brilliant, I truly believe you will do anything.  

 -To AA, the worst troublemaker.

 You were, like so many of the boys I met these past two years, difficult. But most distressing to me was how you could be so mean spirited and cruel. It was your pension for inflicting pain that convinced that children were not truly innocent. Each time I saw you in class you tested my resolve. You challenged me at every turn and you showed no respect to anyone including me. Some would call you a problem child. I called you, though never to your face, an asshole. Yes, it may seem harsh or cruel to talk about a seven year old boy in that way. But that is what you were. Please know though, that calling you out for this does not mean I am apathetic or cold towards you. Quite the opposite. I would still die for you as I would for any of the obedient students who sat still in their chairs. I've seen your energy in the classroom. I've seen your determination with certain activities. You have a charisma even at your young age. If you could harness that energy and determination you could be so much. Perhaps, no one in your life has told you this yet. Perhaps, I failed as a teacher to open your eyes to this. I hope you meet someone down the line who will.
 

-To Len, the jolly little dough-ball.

 You were always so warm and cheerful in the classroom. You started out wayward and distracted. Now, you focus so much more and do almost every assignment. I know you don't know this but this is a triumph for me. Whenever a student finds the will to participate it makes us teachers at the front all the more relieved. It alleviates some of the doubts, the weariness, the apathy that always hangs around our office desks in those moments of silence where we say 'What the hell am I accomplishing here?' For that little morsel of relief and ratification, I thank you.  

-And finally to Nana, the girl from another world.

 The first student I ever bonded with. I know I haven't seen you too much since last year. Know though that I've never forgotten your name when I've spied you on the playground between class periods. I've seen how you've shot up since first grade and how you stroke the leaves and massage the petals of the flowers outside your new building. Know that I will never forget you. You taught me much in that year we spent in the classroom together. I could tell straight away that you were different, lost in your own world and oblivious to the chaos of your thirty seven peers. Some would say you were learning disabled. I myself did. In hindsight I don't believe that was accurate. You were actually enabled in ways most of us aren't. The fact that I could somehow infiltrate your universe and become a part of it, is something that makes me feel proud. I will treasure the times you  wandered in the office and stay by my desk, standing still long enough for me to pull out flashcards and be astonished at how you seemed to absorb just about everything I had said in class despite having never looked me in the eye. I know it's not easy being so removed from everyone. I hope you can find others among your peers to share your majesty with. I hope someone can give a name to your wonderful state and provide you and those who love you with the right information. I hope they cultivate you as the rose you are, not the orchid they want you to be.   

Remember Charlie and Don't Forget Ahmed- Thoughts on Charlie Hebdo

Writing about the Charlie Hebdo attack and the violence that took place in its aftermath is difficult for me. Last night, after I finished eating with my parents, all I could do in my small apartment was think about what happened in France. I spent several hours in my apartment alternating between scanning social media for reactions and watching Al Jazeera's coverage of the standoff with the shooters. 

Yet as mulled over whether to discuss the nature of Islam or the marginalization of European Muslims there was one face and name that kept popping up in my mind. 

The man in this photo is Ahmed Merabet. He was one of two police officers killed by the Kouachi brothers in their attack on Charlie Hebdo's main office which also resulted in the deaths of ten other innocent people. According to the Guardian  and a number of other media outlets, Ahmed was assigned to the area where the building was located. On foot, he went to the scene of the shooting and confronted the attackers in the street as they were fleeing the scene. He was shot during the ensuing engagement and was then executed with a bullet to the head as he lay wounded on the pavement. The scene was captured on amateur video. 

Still shot from the video.

I think there are a few reasons why Ahmed's story in relation to the tragedy of the Hebdo attack has stuck with me. First, he shared much in common with the men who killed him. Like them he was Muslim, like them he was of North African descent, like them he was raised in France and was a member of that country's often marginalized minority community of immigrants and immigrant descendants. Yet on that day when the masked militants and the uniformed officer met each other in the streets of Paris, their ensuing battle represented how despite sharing such similar backgrounds their lives had followed radically different paths. 

With so much media coverage of the attack focusing on free-speech, the nature of Islam as a religion of violence or peace, and the struggle to find an appropriate response to extremism, I think it's important that Ahmed's life and the lives of the many, many Muslims like him are not muffled by calls of outrage, finger pointing and name calling. 

I don't deny that Islam as a faith as a number of issues and problems. I've studied them academically. As someone who has read the Qur'an and the Sunnah, studied Islamic law and the works of Muslim scholars, I know firsthand about the verses, commentaries, fatwas that drive extremist elements in Muslim communities. Extremism is real, repressive practices inspired by religious teachings are real. 

However, in this post this is not what I would like to focus on, even though these are incredibly important topics.

What I would like to focus on is this. There are many Muslims like Ahmed Merabet who follow paths in their own communities that are different from violent Salafis and Jihadis. There are many Muslim voices denouncing religious violence in their communities (Malala Yousafzai for one). There are Muslim organizations who donate generously to charities that benefit many people. And then there are many, many others who simply want to live lives in peace and dignity and who won't decapitate you with a scimitar for sharing a different opinion, or a different faith.

I firmly believe this not just because of what I have read or watched but also because of what I have lived through.

I've spent a lot of time in countries with large Muslim populations. I studied in Egypt for four months in 2009 and traveled for a month through Turkey, Syria, Jordan, Israel and the West Bank. 

Between 2010 and 2012 (two and half years) I lived in Cairo. I worked in an Egyptian graphic design company alongside Egyptian Muslims and Christians. I witnessed the Arab Spring, the first open elections in that country's history, and the rise of Islamists like the Muslim Brotherhood. 

In my time in the Middle East, I got to know Muslims. I ate with Muslims, drank coffee with Muslims, smoked shisha with Muslims (too many times), fasted with Muslims during Ramadan and occasionally had a beer or two with them. 

Sure, it wasn't all sunshine and exotic joyful dances to Bedouin music in the desert. I saw widespread poverty.  Through female friends I learned of the pain caused by widespread sexual harassment of women. I saw the negative and all consuming power that firebrand imams (preachers) can have over an uneducated and illiterate congregation. I heard tearful stories of persecuted Christians who felt that their grievances were easily dismissed by their Muslim colleagues and peers.  Too many times, Muslim friends I knew and loved would share dark and sinister opinions about Jews and Atheists that would make me cringe. 

And yet, and yet for me to say that these negative aspects are what solely defined the people I know there would be slander. 

Yes they share the same God as ISIL, read the same Qur'an Osama Bin Laden did, read some of the same Hadiths that the Kouachi Brothers read, and no doubt listen to a few very similar sermons delivered at Friday noon prayers in their local mosques or prayer halls. But they are not Bin Laden or the Kouachi Brothers. 

They are Tamer, the aspiring screen writer, Scorsese fan and aspiring author who I shared fantasy and sci-fi story ideas with. 

They are Mohamed, the graphic designer at my company, who despite belonging to the ultraconservative Salafi movement, had no qualms about putting women in bikinis on the covers of our magazines and joking with me (a kafr) over shisha. 

They are Ingy, the aspiring English translator and kindergarten teaching assistant who fell in love with the game Dutch Blitz. 

They are Fatimah, the college student who introduced me to Arab literary giants like Naguib Mahfouz and Alaa al Aswany. 

They are Nada, the sweet veiled woman designer at my company who became one of my closest friends.

They are Bassem, the cycling scrawny artist who loved discussing the merits of his country's Revolution with me. 

They are Ismail, one of the most generous people I've ever met in my entire life. A man from a small and highly conservative oasis in the desert who opened the doors of his house to many of his Western friends allowing me to visit his beautiful hometown.  

They are Ghalis,  The company courier and Islamist who sometimes argued with me over politics but told me that I was 'the best American' he had ever encountered.

They are Mo, a dear but troubled friend who would discuss life and love with me over a few beers at my apartment despite believing that alcohol should be illegal.  

They are the woman in a black face veil who, when my parents were visiting me, warned me about a potentially volatile protest on a day when they were supposed to leave. 

They are doormen at the hotel my mother and father stayed at during the Revolution who courageously guarded them throughout the night of looting. 

They are the cab driver, who on a particularly rough night generously comforted me like an uncle when I inextricably broke into tears over a personal issue. 

I could list many more but twelve his enough. Twelve individuals to match the number of victims killed at Charlie Hebdo, including Ahmed Merabet.

I don't ask that you take these names as atonement for the attack. I don't ask you not to analyze or criticize the teachings of Islam. I don't ask you to believe that all 1.6 billion Muslims on this planet are perfect people. All I ask is that when you think of Charlie Hebdo you don't forget Ahmed or any of the other millions of Muslims across the world like the ones I've listed who live their lives, and are not above helping, befriending and loving one of the non-believers that a pair of brothers would have shot dead. 
  

Some friends.

Voices in the Black Tunnel- Battles with Depression

A year has come. Yet I don't feel to delighted at the prospect of facing three hundred and sixty five more days. 2015 doesn't fill me with hope. I know have plenty to look forward to. I've only got two full months left until the school-year ends in Thailand and I complete a second year at PRC. I will be studying for an advanced teaching certificate in March. Most likely I'll be student teaching at the school I graduated from. When that's over, I'll be flying back to the US for my younger sister's wedding. I've got new story and book ideas I want to invest in. I've worked on building these universes over this Christmas break. To top it all off, my parents came and celebrated the holidays with me.



I have much to be thankful for, much to look forward to. And yet for the past three days I've felt sadder, lonelier and more depressed than I have in a long time. Somehow negativity and cynicism keeps managing to snuff out the lights that end of the dark tunnel I find myself stumbling through. I know what's happening to me. I've been here many times before. Yet somehow that doesn't make it easier this time.



I've struggled with depression for most of my life. And while it's gotten easier for me to deal with my self-hatred there are some times when I wonder if I'll ever be fulfilled. There are some days when I wonder if the voices are right. What if I have wasted my life? What if I have failed as a writer? What if no one can ever truly love me? What if I am a terrible teacher, brother, son, friend? What if I'm too stupid, abnormal, unattractive, unmotivated to do any of the things I want to? Would it be better if I died now?



In the center of this darkness, weakness doubt and loathing are all I feel. I am paralyzed by despair. As irrational as it might seem, I believe whole heartedly during these times that I am the only one on earth who has ever wrestled with the shadow. I try not to compare myself to others but I can't help it. Everything about me appears so small and pathetic compared to others. The lives of my friends and peers that I glimpse on Facebook look infinitely better than my own. My inferiority complex comes into play. I feel stuck and lost and imagine that no one else I know could possibly feel this. 'Everyone else has their lives figured out,' a voice in the tunnel spits at me, 'what the fuck is wrong with you, worthless cunt!'


Not surprisingly, the onslaught prompts me to think about death. Ending it all sometimes seem preferable to having to endure the voices. After a time, you take what they say to heart. You start to believe you have wasted yourself, that you are worthless, that there's no point in you going on.



For me, I've been fortunate enough to have been able to crawl my way to the end of the tunnel, to eventually find some light or have a dear friend with a lantern find me and pull me out. I've been fortunate to learn how to use cognitive techniques to find new voices to combat the dark ones. Yet finding definitive self-worth, learning to focus on myself and not others, and understanding that I am okay now, as I am, are still tough lessons to learn.




I will never rid myself of depression. I harbor no illusions that I will be completely free of my issues somewhere down the line. But each time I pass through the darkness and come out I feel a bit more prepared to face the next one. And that is something I can be proud of. Coming through the other side is something I can always look forward to.

December the 25th- Thoughts on an Ordinary Day and the Meaning We Give It

It's December 25^th and I'm in a cafe in Chiang Mai. I've just had a chocolate brownie and a warm mocha. I'm seized by a desire to write something about my Christmas in this year 2014. However, I'm not sure what to write about. The truth is my Christmas hasn't been that exciting nor is it likely to be. My parents are flying in tonight but won't arrive until late at night. In essence, this means my day of Yuletide celebration won't be until tomorrow and that's fine. I'm excited to see my folks again.

 Nevertheless, it makes writing about December the 25^th more challenging. My day will most likely consist of me listening to a few favorite Christmas songs, watching a couple holiday specials via the net and scrounging up a bite to eat from my favorite restaurants. However, I won't be going to any church services, attending any parties, doing any white-elephant gift exchanges or drinking an excessive amount of spiked Christmas punch, grog or egg-nog.

 So what, I wonder, can I write about? Can I go on some long rant about the spirit of the holiday? Giving, good-will and all that jazz. That would be fine I suppose. Except I feel as if I'd only be preaching to the choir. You know and I know that Christmas should be about being a kinder better person even for a short time.

 Could I write about past 25ths that have filled me with joy and cheer? Again, not a bad idea. I've enjoyed many different kinds of Christmases throughout my life. I could reminisce about the Cairo Christmas party that ended with a silly string war or I could wax nostalgically about going to hilltribe Christmas services in Thailand as a kid. I could talk about walking down the streets of downtown Kansas City decked out with all the lights. Or maybe I could talk about the quiet Christmas I had in Cambodia last year when I opted to stay in my hotel and watch horror movies.

 Well, not very original either I tell myself. What about all the holiday activities at your school? Very cute and sentimental. There was the second grade girl who gave me a package of cookies. That's pretty cute. There was the pure joy my students showed when they watched the Mr Bean Christmas Episode.

 Yet once again I don't feel like I can really dive into this topic either. I realize this has a lot to do with the atmosphere in the cafe I'm in. All around me, I see tourists, westerners and others, surfing the net grabbing coffee before they begin the next stage of their Southeast Asian tours. And then there's the view outside. The road packed with cars, buses and songtaos full of people going about their daily routines. I'm suddenly struck by the fact that here in Thailand, I only see snippets of Christmas and mostly in restaurants catering to Western tourists. New Years is the much bigger holiday and St Nick takes a backseat to it.

 It then occurs to me that for many people all over the world, the 25^th of December passes as most of their days too. Maybe you're a practicing Muslim or adamant Atheist. Maybe you're a refugee in Central African Republic or a villager in a Buddhist village in Laos.

 Though it may seem strange, I feel comforted by this; the fact that like me many people will have a largely ordinary day, doing largely ordinary things.

 In the end, December the 25^th is a date on a calendar, a date which ancient Christians assigned as the birth-date of Jesus even though they had no way to know if he was actually born then. On this day, like any other the sun rises and it sets, people will inhale and exhale, eat and expunge what they've eaten. The day itself is rather arbitrary. It's the meaning we as people assign to it that really counts. It's the community we as people choose to recognize appreciate and love that matters. Like happiness, Christmas is a choice. We make December the 25^th Christmas with thought and action. We choose to recognize and immerse ourselves in it if we want.

 So no matter when you choose to be joyful: December 25^th, (26^th in my case) January 7^th if your Orthodox, or on any day at all, I wish you well and hope you feel nothing but love and joy for as long as you're here on our little planet.

 Much Love! More Life! Merry Christmas!
 

10 Things You Might Not Know About Christmas

1- No One Really Knows When Jesus Was Born

Well, not entirely true. Many scholars estimate that he was likely born some time between 7 and 2 BCE. However, the exact day and month are pretty much impossible to determine for certain. December 25th was chosen by ancient Western Christians because it coincided with pre-existing pagan celebrations of the winter solstice. In many Eastern Churches, the date of January 7th is chosen as the day for celebrating Jesus' birth.

2- St Nicholas' and His Anonymous Giving

St Nicholas, one of the historic influences for Santa Claus, was a bishop who lived in Asia Minor (modern day Turkey). He was a Greek bishop who attended Roman Emperor Constantine's famous Council of Nicaea which helped establish Christian tradition and doctrine. Various legends and tales surround him. Some of the most well known fables recount how he would give anonymously to people in need, dropping purses of gold or money through open windows. Some tales describe him dropping money into stockings hung up to dry or placing coins into shoes left outside people's homes. He did this out of fear of being seen in public and accused of being prideful.

4- In the Middle Ages Christmas Was a Big Kegger

In Medieval Europe, Christmas was not really the family friendly holiday many of us know today. It bore more of a resemblance to today's Madi Gra or St Patrick's Day in the US. According to Medieval accounts, much of the holiday was spent indulging in activities usually maligned for most of the year by the Church. This included drinking obscene amounts of  ale, gambling, dancing and having promiscuous relations. It was during this age that the tradition of Christmas caroling popped up though the caroling troops included female dancers who would add to the frivolity and 'misrule'.

5- Protestant Radicals Banned Christmas in England

In the mid 1600s civil war broke out in England between the King Charles I and the English parliament. Eventually, Parliament won the war and brought radical Protestants, called Puritans, to power. Along with having the King executed and persecuting Catholics, England's Puritan leadership decided to ban Christmas believing it to be a corrupt Catholic tradition that promoted debauchery. This caused several riots to break out in English cities and Christmas was eventually restored after the return of the British monarchy. 

6- Christmas Was a Maligned Holiday in post-Revolutionary War America

Across the Atlantic in New England, Puritan migrants (aka Pilgrims) maintained a ban on Christmas between 1659 and 1681. Other colonies celebrated the holiday more openly but following the American Revolution in 1776 Christmas fell out of favor as it was considered a backward English custom. For many years after independence the holiday was not an official day off in many states, with the US Congress meeting as usual on December 25th.

7- Where the Christmas Tree Came From

Much like Jesus' date of birth, we don't have a precise answer for the origin of the Christmas tree. Throughout central Europe many pre-Christian winter solstice festivals used trees and evergreens prior to the arrival of Christianity. One story, recounts that during the conversion of German peoples to Christianity St Boniface cut down the sacred Oak tree of the god Odin. He replaced it with a triangular fir tree. According to this tale, the shape of the fir tree with it's three corners represented the trinity. Whatever the ultimate origins, the Christmas tree was first popularized in German countries in the 1600s. It was then spread to other parts of the Western world thanks to German immigrants and marriages between members of German nobility and other high-class people in Europe in the 1800s.

8- No Red Christmas in the Soviet Union

When the Communists rose to power in Russia in 1918, one of their greatest desires was to distance themselves from the old Imperial Russia. This included stamping out the celebration of Christmas and other Christian holidays as part of the state's Atheist creed. One group, The League of Militant Godlessness, created an anti-religious holiday on the 31^st of December as a replacement and a new custom of having children spitting of crucifixes on Christmas Day took shape in Moscow.  However, certain Christmas traditions were, after 1935, incorporated into New Year Celebrations. Spruces, topped with a red  Communist star and decorated with Soviet themed ornaments (airplanes, rockets and cosmonauts) became part of the secular holiday.

9- 'White Christmas' 'Let it Snow' 'Silver Bells' and Other Christmas Songs Written by Jews

Along with the three previously mentioned classics we can add 'Santa Baby' 'Chestnuts Roasting on an Open Fire' and 'Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer' to the list of Holiday jingles composed by Jewish American songwriters in the early 20th century. So why did they write so many songs for a traditionally Christian holiday? There are a few reasons. First, anti-Semitism was not as common in the American music industry as it was in the rest of American society. That meant Jews had an easier time getting a foot in the door. Second, by the 1920s and 30s Christmas in the US was already becoming a more secular national holiday. Jewish songwriters such as Irving Berlin felt that they could write non-religious themed songs. This helped make the holiday more inclusive for all Americans, especially non-Christians.

10- The Economics of Christmas

Christmas is the peak spending season in most Western countries. Alternatively, Christmas Day itself is often the least economically productive day of the year as most people stay home. In America, the US Census Bureau estimates that in 2011, sales in December accounted for 14.3% of  all sales for department stores throughout the year. Additionally, between January and September of 2012, the US imported $1.03 billion worth of Christmas ornaments from China. China is also the world's leading producer of all Christmas related products. According to Chinese state-run news agency Xinhua, over 60% of the world's Christmas trinkets that were produced last year originated from a Chinese city called Yiwu. Located in Zhejiang province, it has been given the nickname 'Christmas Village'. 

Sean's Fabulous Faves- Favorite Unlikely Leader (Claudius)

The fourth man to rule as Emperor of the Roman Empire, Claudius was perhaps one of the most unlikely leaders at first glance. Born into the Julio-Claudio dynasty (who were direct blood relatives of Julius Caesar) Claudius showed various physical ailments throughout his life. He would uncontrollably drool, stammer, and slur his speech, especially when excited. Various historians have attributed his symptoms to diseases like cerebral palsy or tourrette syndrome.


Since his condition was noticed during his childhood, Claudius was shunned by his mother Antonia who openly called him a monster. Out of shame, Antonia passed her afflicted son on to his grandmother Livia, who treated him more gently. Nevertheless, Claudius was regarded by many as mentally challenged.


As he grew into adulthood, Claudius learned to use his condition to his advantage. Since his symptoms led to many doubting his intelligence, he was not considered a serious contender in the politics of the Imperial court. Playing the part of a fool allowed Claudius to survive two very bloody purges of Rome's political leaders during the reigns of the emperors Tiberius and Caligula.


Unable to hold public office for many years, Claudius devoted himself to his studies and wrote several history books that survive to this day. He also studied philosophy.


In 41 AD, after being made co-counsel by his tyrannical and depraved nephew Caligula, Claudius would suddenly be catapulted from the shadows into the spotlight.


That year, the Praetorian Guard (the Emperor's elite force of bodyguards) assassinated the deeply unpopular Caligula along with his wife and young daughter. Claudius, fearful that his time had finally come, hid in the palace as the Guard searched the grounds. Eventually, he was discovered behind a curtain but to his shock the guards hailed him as the new Emperor before spiriting him away to their headquarters. Aligning himself with the Praetorians, who wanted to handpick Caligula's successor, Claudius was able to use their muscle to convince the Senate to confirm him as Emperor.

Shrewd and clever, despite having never held any public office of note before hand, Claudius secured his position quickly. He managed to avoid becoming a puppet for the Praetorians and used bribery to secure the loyalty of Rome's generals and their armies. Typical of politics in his day, he also executed and murdered many conspirators throughout his reign.



The facade of simple mindedness was quickly torn away for most people, as Claudius launched several aggressive military campaigns to expand Rome's borders. He added Britain, all of contemporary Palestine and several areas of modern Europe to the Empire. He also made a strong effort to improve the Empire's infrastructure and repealed many of Caligula's more unpopular laws, including lifting special food taxes on the poor.



Eventually, Claudius' reign would come to an end. After thirteen years in power he died from old age or possibly, poisoned by his own wife Agrippina. The truth about his passing may never be known. What is certain though, is that Claudius exceeded the expectations of his doubters as Emperor. He proved a competent administrator and military leader and successfully survived many political intrigues to run an effective government.

What a Foreign Teacher Can Give

I hadn't had a truly shitty day of teaching in a while. As a foreigner at a school in Thailand, that's something. Last week though, my roughest class was just too much. The rowdy boys would not stop pestering me as I tried to test their friends individually. I had to spend the bulk of my time trying to keep them in the classroom so that they didn't run around the hallway. Yet this effort was, like so many others, in vain. I had to give up. There were simply too many kids running a muck at the same time. I had to continue my testing and let the rowdy boys out, so that the other students, the majority working in their books, could finish in some semblance of order.

Needless to say, the experience ruined my day. After a year and a half teaching in Thailand, I've mostly learned to accept how limited my options can be here. I thought I was well beyond the point of letting the antics of the students bother me personally. Usually I can shake it off. But on that day, for whatever reason or reasons, it was simply too much. I felt rotten from the moment I left that room until the moment I fell asleep listening to a Louis CK stand-up in my apartment.



And there was a thought that kept running through my head: “They're really not worth it.” these disrespectful boys who inhabit every classroom in Thailand. “They're just not worth it.”



The next day proved much better. All my periods went well and the rowdy boys in my worst class were more submissive and for the most part did what was asked of them. The following weeks have also been better as I've tried some new organizational techniques I saw in another teacher's classroom.


But I know there will be other days much like the cluster-fuck that was Thursday fifth period on the twentieth of November. I feel better and I believe that I will finish this year on a good note. Nevertheless, the problems I described continue to make my workdays far from pleasant at times.


From an outside perspective someone might think that perhaps I wasn't hard enough with these boys or that somehow my techniques just don't work. It's a logical point of view and there's some truth to it. I will be the first to admit that I am far from the best or most experienced teacher. However, even veteran English teachers in Thailand I've met here have told me stories that are just as bad if not worse as the one above. And teachers who are far more experienced here than I will readily admit that there are just some class days where your students will be unable or unwilling to do anything asked of them.


The truth is, if you are a foreign teacher in Thailand your day is plagued consistently by a number of issues which can make your relationship with your students difficult.


I've put two of the most important factors below.


First, (and particularly acute at my level) are the long hours students spend at school. My first graders spend between eight and nine hours a day at school. While they aren't spending every single minute in a classroom, they do spend a lot of time there and eventually their energy and attention span runs out.



Second, if this were China or Korea, where students were deeply pressured by their teachers and families to memorize facts and perform well on examinations, this type of system might work in at least forcing students to know lots of fact. But here, and especially at the school I am at, students are not held accountable for their actions of lack of action. The culture of Sabai (letting things go) is a very strong philosophy in many walks of life here. Many students regularly do not turn assignments in on time and if they do they are often incomplete. Many go through the entire school system without knowing more than a few words of English or a few math equations. Even if a student fails all of his final examinations (And there are many final exams even for first graders) he or she will still get passed on to the next grade. The students pick up on this at an early age, which I believe is one of the reasons why classroom management is so difficult in this country. Even if we yell, threaten them with failure or to call their parents, the students know that no matter what they will still move on to the next level. Once more, if a teacher applies stricter measures for students it can lead to that teacher having complaints hurled against them by parents and administrators.



This sort of environment is a grueling one to work in for both Thai and Farang (Foreign) teachers. It's why so many of us coast or take a slack approach. I've done the same with certain classes throughout the two years I've been here, including the one I mentioned earlier.



With that said though, “They're really not worth it.” is not the right conclusion to draw. We Foreign English teachers will probably never be able to achieve the unrealistic aims of our administrators to make our kids English fluent geniuses. That's impossible with thirty eight to forty students, some with severe learning disabilities some with prodigious brains all thrown together in the same room. But what we can do is give them at least a few good experiences with the English language and a positive encounter with someone from another culture and country. As someone who has spent a great deal of his life living outside the country of his birth, I can tell you that one of the best learning experiences a person can ever have is by knowing someone who has a different culture. Knowing someone from another place expands the heart and opens the mind. It allows individuals, including children, to touch a world beyond their own and can help them realize that the world their strange Farang teacher, neighbor or travelling companion comes from is one that is not all that different from their own.



When I play a learning game with my students that they love, when I give them a high five, when I intervene to stand up for a boy or girl being bullied, when I dry their tears, when I help a bully understand a difficult worksheet, when I let them give me a hug or when I answer some questions they have about sloths, the Giza Pyramids, the Loch Ness Monster or about the distant country I come from I'm creaking open new doors for them, doors that might lead them to new possibilities somewhere down the line. More importantly though, I'm allowing them to see someone different from them in a positive light.



As foreign English teachers in Thailand, as foreign teachers anywhere, I believe this is the greatest we can give our students. If they learn some English along the way that's fantastic too. But if nothing else, we can take some comfort that some might say a year or two or many down the road, that they knew a Farang, a Farang named Teacher Sean and he was good to us.