In today's art classroom

As an art trainer, I get numerous opportunities to visit various kindergartens, primary and secondary schools. I teach visual arts, and I provide my children with learning experiences – primarily to explore, to experiment, to create, to destroy, to reflect and conclude. It is a fun job, but a little part of me dies every single time. Why?

“I don’t know how to do. I scared wrong”. Or “I don’t want to do, later my hands dirty”.

For the 22 years in my life, I have never been to the toilet as often as some of these kids have, in one lesson. I am not kidding. I have spent more time responding (more like rejecting) to requests for them to go to the toilet to wash their hands, than actually creating something in class.

The disgust on their face when a little bit of paint gets onto their fingers. The frustration they feel when things get stuck to their sticky fingers while gluing their artwork. Worst, when they make an irreversible mistake on their work. The devastating look on their face makes me wonder at times, if they see me as the devil who is out to ruin their lives. However, I do get my fair share of blames from ‘The blame game’ – “teacher I told you I cannot do it, you ask me to try. See what happens. Now it is ruined”.

True enough, I did ask them to try, but what I expected in the end of a failed attempt was for them to figure a way out, or experiment to see if another method works, but they give up. They simply give up.

It puzzles me to know that these beautiful intellectual beings are afraid to try something new, or try something different. They are just… Afraid.

It irks me even more to know that the only texture they are willing to touch or lay their finger on, is the screen of their phone or Ipad.What a waste.

Don’t get me wrong. Not every child is like that, and I did not say that it is wrong to be a fastest fingers first. You can be a genius with technology, but your ziggity zag fingers that got your through Temple Run, will not get you through a Visual Arts lesson, especially when you’re supposed to create with your hands - on paper, on batik, with wires, clay, paint, etc.

I am not the ‘cleanest dish in the sink’ either; I am not the finest example in the early childhood or education industry, so I will not cite famous quotations from great philosophers on what is good or bad for kids. However, what I do know is that if I were to ever take care of kids, or be blessed with kids of my own, I will make sure that these kids get to feel what it is like to have gooey, sticky, messy, muddy, or to what others deem as “gross” things on their hands, feet, body, and heck even their faces.

There will be days where they will scavenge for their little toy soldiers that are trapped in huge ice blocks, and there will be days were they will pretend to have crime scenes and chalk silhouettes outside. They will have coloured bomb baths, after wriggling their feet in mud puddles, or after running across oobleck. They will read books about plants, and they might even pick up gardening after that. They’ll meet insects that help their plants, and they’ll keep pet caterpillars and butterflies. They’ll have puppet shows on rainy days with their felt and paper mache-made puppets, or they could play with shadows and lights when there is a storm.

They will explore, experiment, present, create and destroy. Most importantly, they will have fun.

Technology? Oh they will get to go on the web. That is, when they are fine tuning their ‘blueprints’ so that we can make cardboard go-karts to race round the park.

Now who’s with me?

My full story

This is a story of a girl, who cried a river and drowned the whole world.

With the mentality of a fresh graduate, I was adamant about setting sail into the seven seas, exploring and paving way through the tortuous journey that awaited me. In simpler terms, as a fresh graduate, I HAD to enroll myself into a university, because where would I be if not studying? Thus, the countless nights churning back-breaking essays began. It was both thrilling and exhausting as ideas after ideas started pouring in in the middle of the night. Possessed by the perfectionist in me, I ran drafts after drafts just so that the essays sounded perfect in my head. I was never satisfied, but when the datelines were up, I had no choice but to let go. Then came the nerve-wrecking waiting game for the replies to begin rolling in.

“What a waste” they said, when I rejected the NIE offer.

“You're making a mistake” they said when I rejected the NUS offer.

“You're going to regret this” they said when I rejected the SgIS offer.

“This isn't a game” they said when I rejected the Manchester offer.

Unbeknownst to anyone, I accepted an offer but decided to take a gap year instead.

“I need to find out who I am, and if this is what I really want” I promised myself.

When I first announced my gap year decision, it was a huge sigh of relief to everyone, because let's face it, education is not cheap and working equates to an increase in digits in the bank account. Taking the gap year was surprisingly the best decision that I have ever made in my life, and I most definitely feel that I have developed both professionally and personally. Of course, there was the drastic change of getting dreadlocks but it beats the smurf blue hair before that!

The one year came and left really quickly. It might be because I was mostly working in jobs that required strenuous effort (no I was not in a wrestling team). A high-functioning environment like a school sure leaves one deadbeat at the end of the day, every day. That was not the point though. The point was that it was now time to decide what would lie ahead in my life. Truth to be told, I never thought twice about it. Education was the way to go. The best bit was that I was holding an offer to my favorite program, in my favorite university. What could be better than that?!

Fast forward to a month before starting the school term, and it hit me all of a sudden; education sure is expensive. So how exactly am I supposed to fund my $20,000 (yearly) school fees and $1,600 (a month!) accommodation, let alone everything else, all by myself?

If you know me well enough, you would know that I am a risk taker, and trust me, taking a risk in this case meant flying over with all that I had and figure things out when I'm there. That was actually the plan, but I would not be typing this now if I did follow through with it. So what stopped me? Everything else.

Loan delay. Visa delay. School User ID error. Debt summon. Laptop breaking into pieces (literally). Spoilt hard disk reader. One after the other. Devastation after devastation. Night after night. It was so bad to the extent that I lost touch with the world for a while. I was so consumed with overcoming these problems that my mind was basically, filled with them. Every waking minute was spent thinking and going through the mental process of tackling each and every problem. Night turned to day and day turned to night. I lost sleep, appetite and almost my sanity. In a sadistic way, I was having a good mind-boggling time solving my puzzles, but deep-down, it felt as if I was being shredded into pieces.

I was not going to win this game.

With the problems sliding in one after the other, and snowballing into a huge mass of destruction, one might assume that I am the female epitome of "bad luck Brian". There were many occasions where I too believed in that thought, and trust me... It did not feel good at all.

Fortunately, whenever I was this close to breaking down and giving up, a miracle happened. To be honest, there was more than one miracle, even right up to the day where I decided 'enough was enough'. It sucked to know that everything only became alright on the day that I gave up. I was bummed, and am still bummed over it. Why couldn't everything go smoothly BEFORE that? Is it that hard for me to want something better in my life? Is my life really such a joke?!

I remembered breaking down on many nights, and on one night in particular, I told my mum "I feel like a failure". I "fought" hard for a year, "fought" hard for my dream and just when I was about to reach the finishing line, I had no choice but to pull out of the race. You guys have no idea how close I was to tasting the finishing line. Unfortunately, I was not victorious (yes it is from Command&Conquer).

While I brood over the spilled milk, I am convincing myself that there are better things out there that is awaiting me. I have always believed that “good things come to those who wait”. I did struggle and “fight” for what was mine, but I figured that if I were to be spending the rest of my undergraduate years “fighting” in every other way, then it would not be worth my time and effort because my studies would be neglected (see how I'm rechanneling my thoughts in order to convince myself to feel differently? It's a skill I picked up while reading on Cognitive Behaviour Therapy, in Kinokuniya last week. Hahaha!)

To many, this is probably karma getting back at me because “beggars can't be choosers”. I should have gone with the first few options. Things would have been so much more easier. However, that is not how I plan to live my life. I am stubborn and I do not want an easy way out. Life would be a meaningless adventure if I was spoon-fed. I also believe that I can get what I want. It is just a matter of time. Time? Two years. That's my goal. 

On another note... To those who know how emotionally unstable I am, this writing is a reassurance to you that I am coping. There were times when I thought that life would be so much easier if I was born with a silver spoon in my mouth, but let's face reality. I am not born with one, and I'm sure I'm not going to turn into a millionaire any time soon. That aside, who is to blame for this mess? Well... The blame is on me, and no one else. It was my decision, my call, my response. I am not going to play the blame game. At times, we are so used to playing the blame game that it ends up being the name game every time something screws up. "It's her fault, if only she..." or "It's his fault. He could have..."  Not this time. This one's all mine.

Till then.

If you're still breathing, you're the lucky one. 'Cause most of us are heaving through corrupted lungs~

Have you ever felt 'barely there'? Not in terms of education, career or success, but as a person. As your friends are out partying, falling in love, building memories, doing silly things, and even making dreams come true, you start becoming 'barely there'. It might be because they're moving forward in life, or it might be because you're no longer 'cool' enough for them. Occasionally, one or two of them do check in on you, but soon enough the interest dies down and again, you become dispensable. How exactly do you determine your value and impact on someone else when the world has taught us how to skillfully lie through our teeth? This has nothing to do with jealousy, but it most definitely is one of the reasons why I'm dead set on leaving.

Role Model

According to the dictionary, a role model is “a person who serves as a model in a particular behavioral or social role for another person to emulate” (The American Heritage Stedman's Medical Dictionary, n.d.). To many, role models are usually people who are much older and experienced, probably veterans in their field. However, my role model is far from old. In fact, she has not even completed her high school studies.

Shanti is a 16 year old Hindi girl who has eyes the shade of hazelnut. She also has lavish dark brown locks that cascade down one side of her shoulder, in the form of a braid. I first met Shanti in Lucknow, India last year, when I led a team of youths on an overseas Youth Expedition Project (YEP). She was one of the oldest girls in the children’s home that we visited, and she was always seen scurrying around the place; be it cleaning after a younger one, or preparing our next meal.

Despite her busy schedule, I was lucky enough to have a chat with her on the last night that we were in Lucknow. I was told that every child in this home had a ‘story’ and somehow I was drawn towards wanting to know more about her. Needless did I know, I was about to take a ride on the emotional roller coaster, a ride that I would never forget. As we sat under the moonlight, Shanti began unraveling the past that not many know of.

Shanti was 4 years old when she lost her mother, brother and sister because of a flood, leaving her brother, father and herself behind. Her mother was the village head and the family depended on her income, but because of the incident, her father who was once a well-known educator, turned to the streets to beg and feed Shanti and her brother. As time passed, Shanti s father was overwhelmed with the responsibilities, and in his bit to escape the pressure, he went away to seek a better life, leaving 7 year old Shanti and her brother behind. That was when their lives spiraled for the worst. Without a roof above their heads, Shanti and her brother had to live on the railway station, and resorted to begging and stealing in order to survive. At times, sleeping the cold and hunger off was the only solution they had. One could never fathom the thought of living in such an extreme condition, but in reality, this is the life of a ‘railway kid’ in India.

Fortunately, her brother heard about the children’s home that Shanti is currently living in, and decided to send her over. Shanti finally had a roof over her head and could get her basic needs met, but the day that she arrived at the home, was also the last day she would hear from her brother. I paused to look at Shanti  and even though there was a tinge of sadness in her eyes as she gave a recount of her experience, she looked back at me with a wide smile on her face.

Despite all that has happened, this year marks the tenth year that Shanti has been living in this home and she is still optimistic and forward-driven. With a positive mindset, Shanti is making plans to become a doctor after completing her studies. Believing firmly in ‘paying it forward’, Shanti even plans to set up a hospital upon graduation in order to provide free health care to “her people”. Her determination never ceases to amaze me.

The reason why Shanti is my role model is because of her confidence, determination and efforts to strive, and pull away from poverty while helping those in need. It is humbling and amazing to know that a 16 year old can place others before herself. With plans to commit her time, money and love, Shanti expects nothing in return except to achieve the desired outcome; to provide free healthcare so that “her people” can be healthy and happy.

A child once told me that when he grows up, he wants to be Superman. To me, when I grow up, I want to be just like Shanti.

*p/s: The real name of the person isn't used for the sake of confidentiality. And no, I'm not going to reveal the location nor the name of the home as well. I gave you my word and I'm keeping it, Shanti*.

Serenity

Sitting here under the void deck as I wait for my final class to begin might seem like an absolute waste of time, when I should really be focusing on completing my overdued essays, or using the time to recuperate and reenergize my body. However, I am loving every bit of it, just sitting here for that solid forty-five minutes or so.

From the serenity of the homely neighborhood, to the occasional cackle from the crows on a nearby tree, to the crisp of a wrapper dancing with the wind, to the feeling of freedom as my opulent locks of hair interacts so mildly with the wind and leaps forth to wherever it takes it.

Just like my hair, I feel the freedom, but as I heave my shoulders and inhale deeply, I am struck with the realization that similarly to how my hair is stuck to my scalp, I too am stuck in the abyss of time and space...