I was going to write about how job experience is only really, truly valuable if one has a lot of it on a specific path. Those of us who 'dabble' down different paths inevitably find themselves back on the center stone of contemplation...while those who chose a path and stuck to it end up at levels unreachable otherwise.
But, the swine flu is taking place. That sounded mundane as hell. Here are some notable quotes:
"World Health Organization....said the flu was being spread by human-to-human transmission..."
"Containment is not an option," remarked Dr. Keiji Fukudu, the WHO's flu expert.
152 people in Mexico are suspected dead as a result of this influenza, with nearly two thousand more Mexicans under observation as likely infected.
There have been confirmed cases of infected people in New Zealand, Israel, USA (50 confirmed cases), UK, and suspected cases in many other countries. Right now, the WHO classifies this swine flue as phase 4, capable of human-human transmission (a serious step in of itself) and community level outbreaks. At least in Mexico, it is already very serious.
My girlfriend, reading an online paper the other day, remarked she thought this was going to be very big. So far, while we aren't going to choose pork anytime soon (whether or not this helps), panic hasn't hit. But there's something there, a small sense of dread lurking. If another situation like in Mexico occurs in another country we will be in phase 5...with phase 6 the full blown pandemic everyone is afraid of.
Tomorrow we're going to buy masks. Stocks have fallen due to the outbreak, travel to the Americas has been "discouraged" by the EU, and talks of quarantining possible infected in Asia have arose but restricting travel has been declared all but useless by international health officials.
A vaccine would take five months or longer, so it seems like now the best we can do is be careful, stay away from pig farms, cover our mouths when we sneeze, and read the news. And pray (some of us). And buy masks. There are already cases of recovery (one Israeli male who traveled to Mexico and back, for example).
Wish everyone good health and chicken.
-----
CNN reports on how different countries are dealing with the influenza situation (including what appears like a swipe at the Philippines): http://edition.cnn.com/2009/HEALTH/04/28/swine.flu.international/index.html
An interesting blog post from an "MD based in Europe", not impressed by the reporting: http://lukas.zinnagl.com/2009/04/medical-thoughts-on-swine-flu/
The title of the CNN report is, interesting, the most "fear-inducing" as it reads "World Battle's Swine Flue as Death Toll Rises". Scary stuff!
Girlfriend and roommate are still on high alert, judging from excited voices in adjacent room. Then again, they might be talking about boys. They are speaking in Dutch which I still don't understand after 2 years.
Ik hou von yao.
----------
Yoinks. Just realized King is coming to visit from Hong Kong. King is a sharp, career oriented, handsome young Singaporean with ultra thin wrists. I liked him a lot before he said this to one of my female friends while at a night club:
"You look nice tonight. Not your usual slutty self."
After he said that I liked him more. You had to be there. Otherwise...it sounds...offensive. Crap.
Anyways, Hong Kong and China were at the center of the SARS epidemic back in 2003. Many lessons have been learned, perhaps most of all communication. Right now China is quarantining patients who check in with fever systems; Hong Kong is a step ahead with infrared scanners checking everyone who comes into the island's international airport for signs of fever. One official remarked that "washing hands and wearing masks" made a far larger positive impact than the full body suits health officials initially wore during SARS. Unless you believe Zinnaglism. But at least, wash your hands with soap.
If King calls on Friday saying he feels under the weather and won't be able to party, we'll be two steps ahead of him- we won't pick up. The girls were talking about ordering noodles.
New York Times swine flue story title reads "With Swine Flue Cases Rising, Borders are Tightened", mom makes joke online about having chicken...or fish. Fear factor falling...falling.
Maybe we can hang out on Friday...with masks?
------------
Asking folks the same question: "Are the people [in your country] afraid of the swine influenza?"
Chicago: "I think more so in the border states. CA, TX, etc.
but the midwest doesn't seem to be too troubled.
Once u start messing with the food supply though. Americans are gonna be pissed and scared big time."
D.C.: " im not. i havent heard too much we are having a measles outbreak here now too"
REALLY?
"Ya,like there was this woman who had it cruising around alexandria shopping malls and they had to notify everyone who shopped there that day that they might have come into contact
and shit"
Shanghai:"no, we are not afraid of swine flu la"
Hong Kong: "im a bit sick, flu like symptons, maybe i'll feel better after i see u and lucy"
FUCK?
UK:"no, not many cases on this small island"
Wenzhou:"yea...i'm kinda catching a cold."
Seems that things are not so bad. Let's show concern, but not panic, yah?
Tuesday, April 28, 2009
Tuesday, April 7, 2009
the kids
I was hit, deep in a spiral of guilt and self-pity.
Looking at the outside world with no love, and finding enough to detest in every friend I'd ever met in the papery reel of memory whirring in my brain, I was hit.
Hit with the virtue. Hit by the children.
My brother, I forget the false name I gave him in my blogs so I'll just go with Scales...he opened me up to his world.
The malaise I had found myself under for the past months was a combination of outward forces drawing out my own inner weakness. The fear of failure is probably the single biggest of my life. It strangles me, sometimes, when I lay in bed. I fear looking back at my life with regret when I'm older, and I grow anxious at the though of others judging me negatively to the point of paranoia. I endlessly capitulate to that worry, and when I inevitably do I enter a vapid state of near inconsolable despair. A former lover called it me getting into my moods.
During this period, I felt I was doing dull boring work (actually true) and that I was destined, due to poor choices made, to not be able to find any kind of interesting career in the future. This last point is a guilty terror felt by privileged, middle class young people everywhere. That the hard work put in by our parents, often the first generation to get into college and then to continue to tertiary or higher degrees, will be unable to be repaid. That we will take our silver spoons and lick them clean and whine when there's no more because we never learned to do anything for ourselves. We enviously cast glances at our peers who took the spoon and ran to the finish with zeal and cadence to institutions like Harvard, Yale, Oxford and Cambridge. We especially feel small when we look at those, who like our parents before us, did more with less and clawed their way to heights in a way we can't fully comprehend. That guilty conscience: not living up to expectations.
This tangent might seem to be a beam of toxic green light firing away from my intended subject, but it's coming back.
I still said to myself sometimes, At least I'm not teaching English for a living.
English teachers. Teaching English. The terms are weighed on a unique scale in China. In my view this is true. The scale consists of perceptions and values, and measures the worth of the job. Teachers in the USA are largely viewed as under appreciated, underpaid, and infinitely crucial to society and the future of the country and world. It is a hard job, and a stressful one. Not everyone is cut out for it. Patience, authority, social skills, understanding, knowledge, humility, and experience and education are the facets of teaching required to be effective. Teachers should get more pay, and praise, for the new generation they are bringing along. That is the perception in America towards the teachers of America.
In Shanghai, I quickly learned that if someone asked you what you did, a good response is NOT "I'm a teacher". Why? I asked. Because to teach English you just need to have graduated from college, be from America (or the UK, or Canada, etc.) and it helps if you're white. Some large schools require certification, but if you apply online you can get it through a short training course at the school. In short, if you can speak English and went to college, you can make good money in China. Many people (both Chinese and foreigner) dismiss the English teacher as a job requiring little skill. "I guess I could always teach a little English on the side, you know for money, you know, while I look for a real job," is a fairly common thing to say and hear here. My roommate Rocksteady once told an asker, I work for a company called Berlitz. Berlitz is a very well known language institution, and he was an English teacher for them. It goes to show that even those good teachers working for good places feel the need to add a little something, to defend their position. The "Yes I am, however..." is something many of us feel necessary.
I have a lot of respect of teachers, having taught a class and tutored before myself a little. It isn't easy to control children, and it isn't easy to motivate adults and young people. The rewards can be quite stunning, but more on that later. I have respect for teachers, but definitely found myself under that shroud of not wanting to "resort"to becoming an English teacher. The most tangible reason wasn't the taboo of course, it rarely is when you're being paid more money, but rather the lack of career path afterward. In a country where English teachers are ALWAYS in demand, and the salary is quite high, you might wonder why teaching English doesn't get more respect in a city where money is the cat's meow. If you can afford to get a table at Guandi (I'm showing myself to be a hasbeen on the club scene, right here and now) or Richy (still oscillating with the most delectable nectars of Sino...ok I'm showing myself to be a sleaze) then who cares where the money comes from? Probably because unless you're really going to be G.T.x and be a teacher for life and rise through the ranks of administrations or evolve into a professor, you're only doing it part time. And everyone seems to know it, just as you do.
So in my combination of arrogance and despair, I pushed that world my bro was a part of into the recesses of the basement. Satisfied to spend the light droning on and on, and in the night battle pathetically with perceived demons from my past I feared were haunting and judging my current state-hovering over my bed with wicked malice. When in fact...they weren't thinking about me at all. You prolly think this song is about you...
And so I went to Scales's school where he teaches science and English among other things. It was well out of the city, from the advertisements and the products. From the shopping. He introduced me to his coworkers and showed me the new building of the school. Most importantly, all around me where the students, the children. Their ice cream faces (I'm partial, as anyone knows...to Asian kids...ain't gonna change because they just ruin me with their cuteness) and jokes at my expense were delightful. Scales alternated between keeping them in order and playing with them. Though I sensed that if they formed up into a mob they could easily overtake him, the key thing I saw was a connection with his kids.
What did I do? I ran up prices on accessories to everything in an online store and answered emails on why those accessories were breaking or not arriving and figuring out how to make people buy more of the accessories and market our image as a brand that had accessories to everything...that wouldn't break. That and teaching others how to do my job so I could go to more meetings. That's what I did.
My bro? He's about to sign his 4th teaching contract. A fourth year working with the cutest, most ice-creamy faced kids you've ever seen. Kids with bright smiles and futures who have a lot of love for him- and he for them.
And when I look back at days spent at summer camp as a counselor...when I taught Michael long division one of those summers and the unmatched joy it brought both of us...I realize that he is doing something I happily did, and saw myself doing and up until today had looked upon with the ugly, grey filmed over eye of the vulture.
Children melt away hardness of the heart, and sweeten the bitterest taste of defeat until it gives way to things that matter more. The ones who make us remember we were all children, and so were they-the demons of our past big and small. Their innocence forces a smile from the miserable, and stays the hand and harsh words of the angry. In each and every one of them, from the shy one reticent to enter the ball game, to the loud one yelling in your face the words of a juvenile playground song, carries a seed of benevolence as pure and delicate as layers of sugar paper softly folded together. To nurture that benevolence in them is a precious gift.
Looking at the outside world with no love, and finding enough to detest in every friend I'd ever met in the papery reel of memory whirring in my brain, I was hit.
Hit with the virtue. Hit by the children.
My brother, I forget the false name I gave him in my blogs so I'll just go with Scales...he opened me up to his world.
The malaise I had found myself under for the past months was a combination of outward forces drawing out my own inner weakness. The fear of failure is probably the single biggest of my life. It strangles me, sometimes, when I lay in bed. I fear looking back at my life with regret when I'm older, and I grow anxious at the though of others judging me negatively to the point of paranoia. I endlessly capitulate to that worry, and when I inevitably do I enter a vapid state of near inconsolable despair. A former lover called it me getting into my moods.
During this period, I felt I was doing dull boring work (actually true) and that I was destined, due to poor choices made, to not be able to find any kind of interesting career in the future. This last point is a guilty terror felt by privileged, middle class young people everywhere. That the hard work put in by our parents, often the first generation to get into college and then to continue to tertiary or higher degrees, will be unable to be repaid. That we will take our silver spoons and lick them clean and whine when there's no more because we never learned to do anything for ourselves. We enviously cast glances at our peers who took the spoon and ran to the finish with zeal and cadence to institutions like Harvard, Yale, Oxford and Cambridge. We especially feel small when we look at those, who like our parents before us, did more with less and clawed their way to heights in a way we can't fully comprehend. That guilty conscience: not living up to expectations.
This tangent might seem to be a beam of toxic green light firing away from my intended subject, but it's coming back.
I still said to myself sometimes, At least I'm not teaching English for a living.
English teachers. Teaching English. The terms are weighed on a unique scale in China. In my view this is true. The scale consists of perceptions and values, and measures the worth of the job. Teachers in the USA are largely viewed as under appreciated, underpaid, and infinitely crucial to society and the future of the country and world. It is a hard job, and a stressful one. Not everyone is cut out for it. Patience, authority, social skills, understanding, knowledge, humility, and experience and education are the facets of teaching required to be effective. Teachers should get more pay, and praise, for the new generation they are bringing along. That is the perception in America towards the teachers of America.
In Shanghai, I quickly learned that if someone asked you what you did, a good response is NOT "I'm a teacher". Why? I asked. Because to teach English you just need to have graduated from college, be from America (or the UK, or Canada, etc.) and it helps if you're white. Some large schools require certification, but if you apply online you can get it through a short training course at the school. In short, if you can speak English and went to college, you can make good money in China. Many people (both Chinese and foreigner) dismiss the English teacher as a job requiring little skill. "I guess I could always teach a little English on the side, you know for money, you know, while I look for a real job," is a fairly common thing to say and hear here. My roommate Rocksteady once told an asker, I work for a company called Berlitz. Berlitz is a very well known language institution, and he was an English teacher for them. It goes to show that even those good teachers working for good places feel the need to add a little something, to defend their position. The "Yes I am, however..." is something many of us feel necessary.
I have a lot of respect of teachers, having taught a class and tutored before myself a little. It isn't easy to control children, and it isn't easy to motivate adults and young people. The rewards can be quite stunning, but more on that later. I have respect for teachers, but definitely found myself under that shroud of not wanting to "resort"to becoming an English teacher. The most tangible reason wasn't the taboo of course, it rarely is when you're being paid more money, but rather the lack of career path afterward. In a country where English teachers are ALWAYS in demand, and the salary is quite high, you might wonder why teaching English doesn't get more respect in a city where money is the cat's meow. If you can afford to get a table at Guandi (I'm showing myself to be a hasbeen on the club scene, right here and now) or Richy (still oscillating with the most delectable nectars of Sino...ok I'm showing myself to be a sleaze) then who cares where the money comes from? Probably because unless you're really going to be G.T.x and be a teacher for life and rise through the ranks of administrations or evolve into a professor, you're only doing it part time. And everyone seems to know it, just as you do.
So in my combination of arrogance and despair, I pushed that world my bro was a part of into the recesses of the basement. Satisfied to spend the light droning on and on, and in the night battle pathetically with perceived demons from my past I feared were haunting and judging my current state-hovering over my bed with wicked malice. When in fact...they weren't thinking about me at all. You prolly think this song is about you...
And so I went to Scales's school where he teaches science and English among other things. It was well out of the city, from the advertisements and the products. From the shopping. He introduced me to his coworkers and showed me the new building of the school. Most importantly, all around me where the students, the children. Their ice cream faces (I'm partial, as anyone knows...to Asian kids...ain't gonna change because they just ruin me with their cuteness) and jokes at my expense were delightful. Scales alternated between keeping them in order and playing with them. Though I sensed that if they formed up into a mob they could easily overtake him, the key thing I saw was a connection with his kids.
What did I do? I ran up prices on accessories to everything in an online store and answered emails on why those accessories were breaking or not arriving and figuring out how to make people buy more of the accessories and market our image as a brand that had accessories to everything...that wouldn't break. That and teaching others how to do my job so I could go to more meetings. That's what I did.
My bro? He's about to sign his 4th teaching contract. A fourth year working with the cutest, most ice-creamy faced kids you've ever seen. Kids with bright smiles and futures who have a lot of love for him- and he for them.
And when I look back at days spent at summer camp as a counselor...when I taught Michael long division one of those summers and the unmatched joy it brought both of us...I realize that he is doing something I happily did, and saw myself doing and up until today had looked upon with the ugly, grey filmed over eye of the vulture.
Children melt away hardness of the heart, and sweeten the bitterest taste of defeat until it gives way to things that matter more. The ones who make us remember we were all children, and so were they-the demons of our past big and small. Their innocence forces a smile from the miserable, and stays the hand and harsh words of the angry. In each and every one of them, from the shy one reticent to enter the ball game, to the loud one yelling in your face the words of a juvenile playground song, carries a seed of benevolence as pure and delicate as layers of sugar paper softly folded together. To nurture that benevolence in them is a precious gift.
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