Fortune Favors the (Thoughtfully) Bold

Three years (and one week) ago, I embarked on what I thought would be the greatest adventure of my life: I moved to Hawai‘i.

I am a cheesy human who likes celebrating small anniversaries like that, so it’s ironic that, each year, I have been off-island on May 1st (and always for a TFA trip!). I always end up celebrating my move to the island by being forced to leave it.


And maybe that’s a good thing. Sitting here, in my parents’ place in Kona (one of the many changes over the past 3 years), I’ve been rereading my blog from that time in my life. Doing a time-warp is always fun, but I was struck not just by the sense of adventure I had, but also how frenetic I now remembered that time was.

Moving to Hawai‘i was, in fact, the biggest, most adventurous risk I had have ever taken. I don’t have close family here, I didn’t have any close friends out here. I was jumping into a job that dealt with organizing things, laughably my worst skill on earth. I was making ridiculous decisions with little thought to the outcome. Continue reading

Yo No Sé Que Hablar — I Don’t Know What To Say

The man sitting behind me at the restaurant last month was speaking Spanish.

So was the park worker the other day, which was a surprise.

There was the couple wearing “Great Aloha Run” shirts, asking each other about rain, parece que va a llover. Their accents were wonderfully soft, elongated, melodic and tripping. Dominican, I think, like my friend Carolina’s.

When I lived in LA, hearing Spanish was a given. It was everywhere– on buses, at the bank, on signs and on my radio in the car. Even though I lacked fluency when I moved there, it was omnipresent.

Now, living in a state with under 10% of a Latino population (a huge increase from before), hearing Spanish is a rare treat, something that immediately makes my ears perk up. I remember each time like a small gem, holding it close as a reminder of home.


I love living in Hawai‘i– I really do. People see me and know I’m part Filipina, which almost never happened before. It’s an exciting rush– “yes! You see this part of me! You get me!”

Like I’m sure lots of mixed kids deal with, though, I always have a hard time trying to navigate both cultures. I love living here and being seen as Filipina, but now I miss part of my Latina culture. I miss speaking Spanish with people. I miss hearing mariachi on the radio when I would scroll through channels. I spent all of McFarland U.S.A crying. Not just crying, really, but sobbing. From the quince scene on, I was a mess. The hand-painted signs selling aguas de fruta and the casual mix of Spanglish made my heart ache for something that I still don’t know how to fill. Continue reading

I Am Tired: Marathons and Sprints in Conversations Around Race

So, earlier this week, I wrote this piece about asking to know versus asking to win.

There was a whole middle section that I just… cut out. The topic didn’t just stem from being involved in debates, but, to be honest, very specific kinds of discussions around race and privilege.

Namely, that sometimes I feel that folks (especially folks with gender/race privilege) will come into a conversation about tough topics on my page with all kinds of questions. Something about some of the questions felt off, which is when I realized: they weren’t asking because they wanted to know, they were asking because they want to win. They want to push buttons or have a debate, and perhaps prove that all my rambling about privilege and power is invalid.

I shouldn’t be surprised. Learning that you might be wrong, or that you are complicit in something bad feels gross (I certainly have my share of privilege that I and others have have to check often). Feeling guilty can make people get defensive and makes them want to win, to prove that they are clever/smarter/not bad.

My issue with that, though, is that if you are the one with power already and asking all the questions, you already have the leg up in this “fair fight” of a discussion. Those who lack that privilege and power bear the burden of being oppressed on the regular. They are often tired of explaining to themselves and to others about their culture, their life, and sometimes even why their voice matters. That shit is tiring. 


Now, it is way more tiring for folks other than myself– I have quite a bit of privilege in my sexuality, SES, etc. So, please know that I know that (and check myself for the below too) as I say the following:

When someone comes demanding I (again, because we have to do it all the time) explain thoughts about race/privilege/power to them, that is not a fair fight or an equal debate.  That’s them racing me for a 5k section of what is the marathon of my life. I am coming into this with a ton of emotional baggage and frustration– most folks from minority groups have it– that makes these “fascinating discussions” some folks want to have sometimes feel like another frustrating bump on what is an already tiring course.

Then, at the end of the discussion it is very possible that, if whoever asked do not live that oppression, they will be able to let that conversation go. They get to finish the race, and go on with life thinking that this was an interesting intellectual detour for them.

People living that struggle will have to relive that conversation– with others and internally– over and over again with new people, each time asking themselves if they were “too harsh,” “too real,” or upset someone’s feelings. Those who come from outside dominant culture, who “constantly [juggle] the power asymmetry of the two worlds, two cultures, and two languages” don’t get to finish the race.

So yeah, we might have a lot of strong, passionate thoughts about it— we think about it a lot and some of us are kind of tired

Then, all of a sudden, if we dare show that, it’s “why are you so mad?” and “I’m trying to talk about this with you!” and “You’re coming at this with so much anger, it’s unfair/unsavory/unprofessional.” In doing so, they show that the opinion and voice of whoever they asked don’t matter to them as much as their own need to “win” and feel good about themselves. Is it maybe possible that we’re angry with good reason? 


I almost didn’t write this post because I was preemptively tired from the explaining that might come from it. I’ve had white male acquaintances tell me that it feels like I hate white people, or that my arguments make all their #notallwhitepeople feels come up. And… I get that. I clearly don’t hate all white people, and I’ve had my own privilege checked on things and it feels gross (name about sexuality, which you’ll see I’m not mentioning as much mostly because I know I have NO idea the oppression that comes that struggle, so I won’t try and speak to it).

But man, like John Stewart said, if you’re tired of hearing about privilege and oppression, imagine how tiring it is to live in that oppression. All. The. Time.

I’m generally happy to talk about these things with folks who want to have an actual discussion. I am not always right, and if you actually want to listen to what I have to say, I am more than happy to do it right back. I have no issue getting pushed or talking about these things, but I do have an issue consistently having to defend my lived experience, and the lived experiences of folks who have felt similar or worse struggles.

So, I’m not really interested in sprinting to try and “win” with folks who are not interested in making each other stronger. I hope, maybe, that they’ll just want to run with me instead.

Conversations with Me and My Monster

This weekend, I had a panic attack.

Now, panic attacks aren’t new to me. I’ve had them in my life– while running, in the classroom, just in life in general. It happens. I remember once, when I was seven, a bout of panic and anxiety left me motionless and sad on the couch. My mom asked me what was wrong, and the only way I could describe it was, “I can’t stop thinking about all the sad things that I think about.” She sighed, and said it would pass. It did. It always does.

I guess, in some weird way, I am still susceptible to the “I’m fine I’m fine I’m fine” trap. It’s been many moons (months, maybe?) since my last panic attack. I credit this to a lot of self-care, being more upfront with people in my life, a job I love, and just generally being happier with my life. While, it’s true, panic and anxiety do not have a direct correlation, I know that I am generally less likely to have panic attacks if I manage my anxiety.

So, after months of finally feeling stable, the notion that an attack was brewing wasn’t even something I actively ignored, it was just an honest misunderstanding between my body and I. The post about being grumpy? That probably had something to do with it. I had felt moody and gross, but assumed it was hormones, or the winter doldrums or post holiday blues.

So, I tried to take care of it in all the ways I normally would. I ran, exercised, I napped. I did my best to take care of myself. I drank more wine than I may care to admit. Rationally, I was sailing smooth, and I was doing everything right.


green_baby_monster_by_misstemprament-d52z3lnThe problem with Panic, though, is that it’s not interested in what’s rational. Panic doesn’t care about all the days it’s been that you felt fine.

I often think of Panic as the angry monster that sits waiting in my brain. It’s frustrating and irrational and needy, like a big dumb bully. And what Panic wants is for you to explode. It wants to feast on all that delicious anxiety and flight-or-fight chemicals it knows your brain will produce, if only you let it. Panic doesn’t want you to sail smooth. Panic wants to enjoy your (perhaps inevitable) explosion. Sometimes, you beat Panic, and you get it to settle down. Sometimes… not so much. Continue reading

Stargazing (A Brainstorm on Watching Children Grow Up)

A group of

A group of students looking out on a Waimea meadow.

Ok. ok. I am writing. This is a purely life-update-y get-stuff-on-paper post. I’m a little more than delayed. With Monday being Martin Luther King Jr. Day, then I got a horrible cold from students while on a speech tournament… things just got lost.

I also got to be a part of an amazing #educolor twitter chat today, which you can read more about here.

SO… things are good. No really. My friend Shuhei asked what was new with me and… I don’t have much to report. Things are good! Chaperoning the speech team was a blast! Things are generally nice and quiet.

OH!


So, my students, their speech coach, and I went Stargazing while we were in Kohala. It was absolutely gorgeous. I’m not a particular outdoorsy person (while I love hiking, I’ve never been camping), so I have very little context what it was like to be in rural anywhere, much less Hawai‘i.

It was… breathtaking. Even remembering it, I am nearly speechless. It was like looking up in a star-dome at a museum, but knowing that it’s completely real, having everything twinkle and fill the sky with a vividness never imagined is surreal. I looked up at what felt like millions of stars, and the students and I were quiet. They self-implemented a five minute silence rule, but they were quiet and contemplative for at least ten.

After, I was standing in the freezing cold with Bill, their coach and a 27-year teaching veteran. We watched the kids laugh and joke and talk about stars. They had just a complete joy in each other. In the brief time they had known me, they had made me feel like I was part of their family, like they genuinely liked me being around.

Bill looked at me and said, “This? This is why I’m still doing it.”

I looked at their backs while they were quietly looking at the stars, and completely understood what he meant. It’s easy, when looking up into the great oblivion, to perhaps feel lost. To think about what we’ve lost and where we stand in that loss, or what we are seeking and what are place in the world is. It’s beautiful, yes, but also perhaps a little terrifying. What happens now? What will this be in five years? Ten?

I looked at my kids looking at the stars and I just… knew. This was right. This was lasting. I was filled with such a sense of peace and contentment. I loved getting to just be around, watch them learn stuff, learn stuff with them and from them, talk story and just enjoy seeing them grow up.

I think beyond the whole idea of feeling good about ~sharing knowledge~ with kids, we forget to see one of the most basic and grace-filled things we have as educators: we get to see children become adults. We are witness to and take part in the actual creation of human minds. We get to watch them change and form and reform and fail and find so much beauty and life. We get to see them discover. We get to see them empowered. Hopefully, we get to help them do it.

Things, as they stand now, are right where they need to be in this moment. I am 27 and consistently on the precipice of something new and everything is in flux always. Except that it’s not. The instability itself, the moment we were in right then and even now are what stays. The stars I saw that night may grow or die out or change position in location from where I stand, but that’s okay. Things will move, but those stars were right where they needed to be for my students and I to just love them and spend some time finding joy in each other.

We are the same. Things may will change, but all we can ask is to find the peace and contentment to see how we are affecting this moment. Right now– and likely for a while– I am a teacher. I am a guide. I am (hopefully) a friend. Right now, I am finding joy with kiddos, and it’s exactly where I need to be.

The Simplicity of Country (and an Update)

Oomph! I’m getting to this post about an hour late. Major bummer. I’m hoping to write more this week– I have some posts I have in mind, but I want to keep this short and sweet since I have much work to do.

I am currently listening to this: 

Fun, possibly unknown fact about me: I have a secret love for Bluegrass, Americana, Folk, and Country music. I had a bff from the corps from Dallas who loved country (hey Stu, if you read this). I also briefly dated a jazz saxophonist from Tennessee. While the relationship lasted barely a month and the residual feelings and heart-broken poetry for a year or so after that, the affinity for all things from the Appalachian mountains remains strong.

I was listening to this song while running home today, and realized how beautiful the simplicity of this song is. Unlike the (often pretentious) indie music that populated much of my college days, there is an element of narrative that I really love in this music. It’s not asking you to parse through three layers of metaphor to understand it, it merely says: here is my heart, here is how it feels, here are those feelings to music.

Now, as an English teacher (and former English major), I love metaphor. I love parsing through layers of metaphor. Sometimes, though, I think it’s good to push as a writer for some emotional honesty. It might be “on the nose,” yes, but sometimes that truth is the most beautiful thing you can give.


On the teaching front, today was my first day back in the classroom after break, and I think it went well! My 7th graders are going to be reading Ominvore’s Dilemma, and so we started talking about food deserts. I have a lot of resources to use, so that should work. Clint Smith, a teacher, fellow TFA alumnus, and of course poet whose work I love, has a great poem on food deserts, so we’ll be watching that tomorrow.

My 9th graders are going to be reading The Count of Monte Cristo, and I found a great teaching resource to set it up as a mock trial. The kids seemed SUPER hyped, and when I @mentioned the teacher on twitter, she offered her help! Yay!

Over the weekend, my amazing guy and I decided to adventure to commemorate my last day of break. He is the bee’s knees and that’s all I have to say about him.

Screen Shot 2015-01-05 at 7.11.14 PM Screen Shot 2015-01-05 at 7.11.37 PM


Anyway, that’s what I got right now. Posts I am thinking about:

  • Why I Stopped Timing My Runs
  • On Spartan Bodies and Fitness
  • Running Through Pain and Letting Go of Fear