Rainy, cool, just plain wet and slightly muggy. That’s exactly how outside’s natural and emotional state looked and felt like as my alarm, which I had mistakenly set to the tune of a song I used to like, sounded. That’s also exactly how I felt when I woke up. I drudged through my small apartment to prepare myself for the day, which I already knew was going to be shorter than most. I dressed myself, had a swig of water for breakfast, and out the door I went. Crossing the street had always been an interesting game of human frogger and I usually did it alone. However, this time I had a companion to cross with me. I didn’t know her and she didn’t know me, but I could tell that we both laughed a bit on the inside about both the fact that we’d never even seen each other before and also about the fact that we probably both did this every single day. This ripple in our respective timelines and the silent, somehow hilarious moment our eyes shared perked up our day.
After surviving the daily street crossing, I made my way to the also dull, yet slightly off-yellow school building. I walked through the courtyard with untested lesson materials in hand. As I opened the door I could literally feel collective childhoods screaming. Their vocalizations were positive ones; ones full of hope. These students were always running around before and in between classes. They, unlike the majority of their unknown Korea peers, were more often than not allowed to be just what they were; kids.
I made my way into the teacher’s lounge, which I only wish to equivocate upon as a bee hive. It's a place to bring tidbits of sweet pedagogical practice to share in the creation of honey for education's sake. However, this is more of a byproduct of our days' labor and our focus was pretty much always allowed to remain on pollinating the expanding minds of tomorrow out there in the fields of diverse wildflowers. This is not so much about us, it is so much more about them. Without much waiting, the first lesson came along and so did one of my co-teachers, as well. We made our way to the classroom. We made our way to see what the bright minds of tomorrow were thinking about and had to say.
Guided by an initial starting point and divided into teams, our students began asking themselves questions and began openly discussing the topic for the day: What is art? With such a deep, yet Grand Canyon-wide starting point, their minds were allowed to flutter. They always managed to amaze me. In saying this I do intend to mean all of them. In saying this I mean for the good and the bad, though the former generally prevailed.
After pausing in a state of compromise after only the slightest resistance (from my will to allow them to carry on and their lack of will to stop philosophizing), we moved along to the next piece of the lesson's puzzle. We looked at a painting and described it superficially at first. Once this was complete, I stepped in and provided them some background information to the powerful, inspiring woman known to most simply as Frida. With that background information, their minds began to dissect the painting. Their minds began to work on the meaning of certain aspects within the painting. I could feel their minds actively engaged and at work. When their eyes open, mine are, in turn, also allowed to open a bit wider.
I distinctly remember two moments within the discussion surrounding “The Tree of Hope.” The first moment came when two students openly disagreed about their feelings towards the work. One felt comfort in the darkness within the righthand side of the painting, which is brightened by both the moon and Frida’s bright red dress. The other found refuge in the warmer colored half of the painting through the hospital bed, the representation of the healing process, and the sun. They acknowledged the nature of opinions and respectively respected the other student. They appeared unto me wise beyond their years.
The second distinct moment came when I asked the class if anyone knew the meaning of “Árbol de la esperanza, mantente firme,” which is displayed on the flag Frida bears. I knew there were two exchange students in the room. They were both from Melilla, Spain; a Spanish city off the coast of mainland Africa. I saw a few Austrian-born hands go up and I gave pause, reflecting back to the excitement of my young self when I realized I knew an answer to a question as a high school exchange student in Germany roughly seven years prior. I could see the answer in their shy eyes and finally saw both of their hands reach up for their turn. I asked them if they knew in English or in German. One was comfortable replying “Baum der Hoffnung, beleib stark” and the other responded “Tree of Hope, remain strong.”
Once the lesson was out, I had to tell them that they brought up some points I had not previously considered. My co-teacher gave them an assignment to explore another artist’s work. I hastily wrote the name down and the students laughed at me, because I also wanted to do their homework. I let them know that I have learned a lot since becoming a teacher, because that is one of the duties I have and want to fulfill. I also let them know that I learn from them as well. They need to hear that, because it’s true.
As a teaching assistant in Austria, I sometimes taught eight straight lessons and sometimes my day seemingly ended as soon as it began. The first lesson was out, it was 8:55 A.M., and I was done for the day. I made my way through the corridor of my three conjoined schools and opened my ears to the many sounds. I observed using as many senses as I could.
First, I saw a three small heads peaking out of three different rooms. As soon as the three little sets of eyes saw me, they popped back into the room with a cry of “Lehrer kommt!" (a teacher is coming). As I passed, I glanced in to see what the little monkeys were up to. Nothing but the usual to see there. Healthy snacks out to feed their formative brains, games being played on cellphones, and music certainly filled the room with its presence.
As I moved along I saw friends chatting away, heard and said a few hellos here and there, and knew to myself that everyone around me was enjoying their day. Yes, this is even possible at 8:57 in the morning.
As I moved through the final corridor and was on my way out, I could hear a piano playing. It was a rendition of a song from “Le Fabuleux Destin d’Amelie Poulain” (Amélie). The French title seems more suitable here. A few notes were missed here and there, I noticed that some parts were being repeated as I slowed to enable myself to listen longer, and everything still all felt right to me. After all, I was in a school full of kids being kids, who are constantly learning from their mistakes with the help of teachers. This is what we do and through an average day, one single lesson in my life, I hope that you can see why we do it.
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