c’est la vie

Tomorrow they go, and as they go

these words rest upon my conscience.

———————————————-

  The teacher who walks in the shadow of the temple, among

his followers, gives not of his wisdom but rather of his faith

and his lovingness.

   If he is indeed wise he does not bid you enter the house of his

wisdom, but rather leads you to the threshold of your own mind.

   The astronomer may speak to you of his understanding of

space, but he cannot give you his understanding.

   The musician may sing to you of the rhythm which is in all

space, but he cannot give you the ear which arrests the

rhythm, nor the voice that echoes it.

   And he who is versed in science and numbers can tell of

the regions of weight and measure, but he cannot conduct you

thither.

   For the vision of one man lends not its wings to another man.

                                                       on teaching 

   Kahlil Gibran, The Prophet                                          

Tomorrow they go, tomorrow they look

forward to.

And as they go, these words I wish to impress

upon them, but for now, here they rest…

————————————————-

But let there be no scales to weigh your unknown treasure;

     And seek not the depths of your knowledge with staff or

sounding line.

For self is a sea boundless and measureless.

   Say not, ‘I have found the truth,’ but rather, ‘I have found a

truth.’

   Say not, ‘I have found the path of the soul.’ Say rather, ‘I have

met the soul walking on my path.’

   For the soul walks upon all paths.

   The soul walks not upon a line, neither does it grow like

a reed.

   The soul unfolds itself, like a lotus of countless petals.

                                                            on self knowledge                              

                                                                       Kahlil Gibran, The Prophet

Read this from ‘New Man’; look how beer has seeped into the English Language.

Rule of Thumb - Primitive (read: unfortunate) brewers before the days of thermometers stuck their thumbs into the brew to test how hot it was so they know when it was time to add the yeast.

Mind your Ps and Qs - Beer was (and still is) measured in pints and quarters and barkeepers would keep track of how many ps and qs customers have had so they could control their intake and purse.

This is a real gem, mostly because it’s a word that has evolved so far from its actual meaning:

Honeymoon - It was a practice in ancient Babylon that, in the first month of marriage, the father-in-law was obliged to give his son-in-law as much honey beer as requested.

One for the Road - This was a term believed to be invented for the drink that convicts were entitled to before they were went to hang or get their heads lopped off. Decent folks, these executioners. It’s use, nowadays is, rather literally, for the last drink one has at the pub. But I don’t think many Singaporeans can propose this that often now…

Scot Free - A ‘Scot’ was the slate used to mark the bills one accrued at the pub. So when you got off Scot Free, it means you don’t hafta pay. 

Just today I screened the movie adaptation of ‘Tuesdays with Morrie’ to my bunch of wonderful students whom I’ve had the pleasant task (I say this without any trace of sarcasm or cynicism which I am known to use liberally) of guiding through during their two lightning-quick years of JC life.

It wasn’t without any sense of trepidation that I screened it. I had gone through several movies of the same ilk - with much pleasure of course - before I decided. It isn’t a Dead Poets Society that would carry them out of college sounding their barbaric yawp, quoting the masters. It wasn’t as gritty as Stand By Me or Stand and Deliver (starting to see a pattern?). It was real, I thought, and somehow, showing something real - not reality TV real - made me hesitate.

The lessons taught, in the movie, to Mitch and whoever has watched it and attempted to derive lessons from it, aren’t even going to be very much relevant to them until several years (estd at 10) later. But then again, aren’t the lessons I teach in class not entirely applicable to them at this time of their lives?

It wasn’t inspirational, in the way a struggling public school teacher who struggled to bring students to success is inspirational - saying the right things, teaching ‘unconventional’ students the unconventional way. Or the way Keating inspired a love for the word, and a fervor in the boys to carve out their own way despite what others say, seizing every day for all its worth.

Instead, it’s about a dying man’s lessons to one of his favourite students. "You learn to live when you learn how to die"; one of Morrie’s numerous aphorisms. Not exactly the most suitable or cheerful way to send my students off.

See that’s what the movie is for… a final lesson for them before they step out of the doors I’m so used to seeing them walk through. A lesson which I can’t teach by myself, because it’s also a lesson I’m still learning myself. A lesson about how to live life. Why teach this lesson? Simply because it isn’t taught the way I think it should be taught. I could be wrong, but I could be right.

Mine won’t be the last classroom they go into, and my lessons certainly won’t be the most memorable - as close to two hundred students can testify. Who knows, they may step into classrooms in future to teach in front of a bunch of invincible youths… And that’s where the trepidation comes from. Was it the right time? Am I the right person? Is it the right method?

Nonetheless, one cannot expect when one will learn life’s important lessons. Unlike movies, things don’t always happen on cue. And hence, anticipating protests but deciding to go with my gut feel (something I depend on most of the time when it comes to this tricky business of teaching) I screened it. Lo and behold, a couple of them wanted to leave the theatrette to finish their work. My heart sank, and an indignant rebuke rose to the tip of my tongue. But I resisted. That wasn’t the way to teach lessons like these. They aren’t ready, they are scared in a way; of work undone, of angry tutors (and you have my word that this particular tutor was indeed the equivalent of Genghis Khan, albeit a much-loved one.) of exams. Incidentally, one of Morrie’s lessons is about fear - maybe in a slightly less philosophical mood he would have spoken about fear of homework and tutors. So I let them go… but to their credit, they came back.

I don’t know how this lesson went, or will go. But it’s one of the lessons I’ve felt most contented with. Once again, I may have learnt more than taught. And what was the final thing that clinched it? A Literature teacher’s weakness for poetic concidences - my civics periods are on Tuesdays.