Interim

There's a certain relief I feel since I’ve given up trying to capture the teaching experience in a blog. Or a conversation for that matter. I mean I appreciate the gesture but really ... how do I respond to, "So how's teaching going?" It’s so much bigger than I am, that right now I'm just scrambling for any kind of footing.

It seems every morning, I still wake up giddy in the honeymoon period of my job. I pull out of the driveway thinking I’ve figured out this teaching thing but second guess myself the whole drive home. Some days at the end of class, my kids throw me nods and fist-pounds on their way out. Other days, they step over my dignity and out the door, as I exhale in defeat. But no matter what, I go to sleep every night full and used. It’s the release that comes only when you're doing exactly what you were born to do. When you're living at your workplace, without wanting to be anywhere else. Spending yourself completely and feeling that it's all worth it. I can deal with the days I suck as a teacher because I’m right where I’m supposed to be.

It’s kind of like a first love all over again. When you have no experience, you're just happy to be there. It’s not better or worse than anything. It just is. Being in survival mode is simply about finishing. And when I do, THEN I’ll tell you how teaching is. In the meantime, this poem(0:58) says more about the first time than I’m able to say right now.

|x|

A funny thing happened at the library, as I’m helping my 10 year old sister pick out her weekly book. She looks up from the stack of Juvenile Fiction novels I picked out and says in frustration, “Oppa, I just want to read a book with a good ending. I don’t care if it’s funny, happy, or sad, I just want it to be good.” And with that that, she confirmed my long-held suspicion that she, too, has my germ. A disorder I can only classify as "emotional appetite". My mom calls it passion. My friends call it annoying. We all have it to a certain degree. It’s what keeps us up at night and out on weekends.

Like this. My mom and I recently waged the 2nd Korean War. It was our first shouting match in what seems like years, so it drew out all kinds of deeply-rooted baggage. But in hindsight, I didn’t hate it. To be perfectly honest, I kind of enjoyed it. The tears, gestures, and shouting. Throughout the work week, it’s just nice to feel alive.

Cause my sister and I are sort of addicted to stimulation. And we'll take it at any cost. Watch this video(1:52)of Kanye and you’ll know what I’m talking about. He doesn't mind the pain. Maybe, he even prefers it. And he doesn't mind disasters. Just look at his life. At the end of the day, I want to be a high-risk/high-reward guy. Hit or miss. Whether my students like me or not, I just want to get a rise out of them. get their minds churning.

For now, I'm just focusing on the Absolute Value. Remember in Algebra, where if two lines flank an integer you ignore the sign and the answer becomes its distance from zero? For better or worse, I'm just trying to go big. These days, Erin follows me to the Adult Section of the library, looking for Absolute Value.

Downplay

Lately, I get off on the blogs I don't write. Kinda like a secret between me and God. Besides, I wouldn't know where to start anyway.

Goals.

So I’m at a bar during the closing minute of the US World Cup elimination game and some drunk white dude yells, “LET'S GO! You have 1 minute left for the next four years!” And he’s damn right. More than the actual sport it’s the timing that mounts pressure for these things. Over time, we develop a relationship with the World Cup and each one begins to mean more. I see this when I watch Korea matches with my Dad. It's like they’re old friends. So he watches. Silently. For him, it’s not so much the games but all the years in between.

Just think of how much happens in 4 years. But also how fast they can fly by. High school was 4 years long. College was 4 years short. Pluto was 4 years ago. A NY Superbowl is 4 years ahead. 4 years will forever be the age gap between me and my older sister. At the last World Cup, I was 18. In the next one, I’ll be 26. Maybe these are the things my Dad thinks about. Measuring stretches of his life with a 4 year ruler. Thumbing through flashes of himself from each Cup, like bookmarks in the story of his life.

Exclusive Ben Ha Interview

I've always done this thing where I will interview myself or give a lecture to an imaginary class. I've been doing it a lot more since I'm back home to prepare for upcoming job interviews. I recently asked myself this question in the shower.

Ben: Why don't you ever wear sunglasses?
Me: Because I don't need any help looking like an asshole.

Ha.

Unemployed Me: Yea, i just really want a job.
Employed Friend: It's overrated.
Unemployed Me: yea...

I'm emo. deal w/ it

Dear College,

It’s weird looking back. Our time together flew by but I also don’t remember life before you. Yea I had a little thing with Highschool but I was young. It didn’t really count. You were my first love, really. You exposed me to so many things. You made me laugh hysterically, cry frantically, and other times you paralyzed me with numbness. But it all felt right. and I started becoming myself. You let me feel cool... and honestly that’s all anyone ever really wants.

But more than our parties, it was your silence that kept me up at night. You were always just kind of there, letting me make my mistakes. I guess that’s what makes you so different. The freedom. You were the first person in 18 years to wake me up. To help me see my flaws and finally do something. To realize all my chances and seize them. So I thank you for that.

It’s been hard since you left and I don’t fully understand it yet. I could never put into words all we went through so I’m glad I don’t have to. You know what u did. Honestly, I might never quite get over you, but for the first time in my life I don’t want to. You’re the best I’ll ever have and I don’t want anyone to outdo you.

I won't claim I’ve changed because I still make the same mistakes but I leave you with something I didn’t leave Highschool with… thanks. Thanks for the friends, the debt, and the facebook pictures. Thanks for the best 4 fucking years of my life.

XOXO
Ben

Inertia

Don’t you love when a gripping novel begins to build momentum and accelerates into “downhill reading”? You know, the part where you start becoming attached to characters, lost in the setting, and invested in the plot. The book practically reads itself. I find the best authors to lace tension in a “calm before the storm” where I know something is going to happen but have no idea what it is. And then it strikes—literary climax—for which everything before was foreplay; it becomes clear that all dialogue, narration, and details serve the purpose of shedding context and raising the shock value of this one moment.

But after any good book is the unsettling return from the fictional world to reality. Like the nausea felt even hours after a boat ride, the inertia of the story’s forward progress leaves a lingering sensation of motion. Likewise, at the end of any movie, meal, or relationship, I wake up hungover and restless with withdrawal. And as college comes to a close, I’m anticipating the sobering crash from the high of the undergrad experience in Manhattan. For me, college has always been like a glitch in a videogame, where I enjoy the independence of an adult but the luxuries of a child. After four years of our prime in this super-charged city, I imagine the jarring adjustment to rigid worklife will inevitably leave me coasting on autopilot.

So is that it? Is everything here on out just a slow parachute descent from the glory days of campus? Guided only by the corny metaphors of my mind, perhaps the only way to stay fresh, despite changing lifestyles, is to just maintain the impulsive, idealistic, self-indulgent, stupid, and perhaps drunk qualities of 21. My periods of greatest growth have been results of risky decisions where I made myself really vulnerable to failure. In the way a strong break jumpstarts a billiards game with optimal angles… or a lengthy first word opens up a Scrabble board for the highest scores. At the end of the day we all need something, for better or for worse, to really rattle and stretch us outside of our comfort zones. Be it a job or your spouse, it should touch a raw nerve. Get your blood boiling. By pursuing girls out of my league, taking classes beyond my intellect, or even just lifting weights that are too heavy, I can avoid droughts of complacency and keep my pace.

Megaman

It should be said that the infrequency of my posts is not a reflection of my commitment to this blog but rather speaks to my writing philosophy and perhaps my upbringing. Modeling the classroom management of my 7th graders after my mom’s discipline techniques, I am learning the importance of the Economy of words. Growing up, my mom would always let my mistakes accumulate and reprimand her unsuspecting son once a year; these were incomparably the scariest moments of my life and I cried on my knees begging forgiveness each time. To establish credibility, my mom uses the times she doesn’t speak to reinforce the times that she does.

It seems that all new teachers return with bruised egos, deflated passion, and hoarse voices; they quickly learn the futility of yelling over their unruly students. By raising my voice, I am really just saying that they can talk to their friends and still hear my directions. By constantly nagging for quiet, students grow jaded and eventually tune me out. BUT by picking my battles, I can prevent power inflation and wield the same influence my mom holds over me. It is critical for teachers, parents, and leaders to show a rationale behind their decisions instead of abusing authority.

I find that this universal concept applies to nearly all facets of life. As a guitar player, the hardest thing about performing acoustic is building climax and varying volume without the luxury of amplification. Given the limited projection of a single guitar, the way to lift dynamic in a performance is to show tasteful discretion. Instead of trying to play the chorus louder, muting the verse lets the chorus jump out in comparison. Rather than yelling over students, I condition them to strain their ears to my whisper. By harnessing the momentum of a song or a class, I can use its lows to build its highs.

Among my favorite authors, J.D. Salinger is noted for being reclusive and having a limited written collection. Followers feel cheated and blame complacency, but I question how many masterpieces one person can truly craft. My answer would be one per lifetime. Salinger’s lifestyle purifies and consolidates the message of his work. He only wrote one true novel because he packed his entire being into Catcher in the Rye (the rest being novellas or short stories).

Finally, I force myself to blog sparingly so I can fully digest various stimuli and develop my thoughts completely. I subscribe to a high “thought to word ratio” for writing efficiency, saying the most I can in the fewest words. Do you guys remember that old-school Megaman videogame where you could fire bullets from his forearm? The most interesting thing was that you could charge your shot to make it more powerful at the sacrifice of holding it longer. At the end of the day, I want to be able to say that this is how I lived as a writer, teacher, and friend. To take fewer shots but to make them count.

Krumping

I’m reaching a very unique point in my life where small talk at parties has shifted from “what’s your major?” to “what do you do?”. With graduation comes the end of the collegiate grace period where we can no longer dabble in various disciplines to “find ourselves” but must now commit to a career path and establish our position. As seniors, on the steps of the real world with our childhood behind us, we toe the starting line in the race to become successful.

This semester, I watch friends push physical and mental limits to attain interviews for unpaid internships(institutionalized slavery) on the off chance that they might be offered jobs that they are overqualified for. In the morning, I pass my roommates in the bathroom waking dutifully for work and returning exhausted from their underpaid jobs. Those who were irresponsible, aimless juniors just a year before, now exude a swagger of maturity and control. There’s something beautiful that happens when you start making your own money. Adjusting your life to a budget. Working for a boss who sees you as an investment and not a person. My mom still has trouble believing that her unpunctual son, now wakes up at 7am everyday for work, wearing shoes that don’t show his toes. A large part of this growth that I’ve witnessed all around my class comes from an immense pressure, applied both internally as well as from family/society, to ultimately become something. College students flounder and panic as they approach deadlines to declare majors and pursue careers. All while uncertain if it is what they even want to do. How can we possibly decide? How does one go about making the most pivotal decision of his life. As a current victim of this process, I’ve come to a coping mechanism and perhaps an overall solution that is simply:

To be realistic. practical. To understand that your major, career choice, first interview, first rejection, second rejection, third rejection, starting occupation… don’t dictate the course of your professional life but are merely starting points. At the risk of sounding harsh and judgmental, I find that we over-romanticize our futures with lofty dreams of constant happiness. Many can’t decide what they want to do because they reject a slew of great possibilities that dont meet the requirements of their perfect job. this simply doesn’t exist. Ideally, we would all come home from our jobs as hip-hop dancers thinking “I love krumping and it’s the only time I feel truly alive”… but Step Up was just a movie. College and job hunting have helped me swallow the reality that we can’t all have glamorous jobs that feel just right.

For me, I love writing and children so being an English teacher was a natural compromise. I was telling a friend recently how I feel that I'm settling because journalism would be my ideal career. and that’s okay. It really is. I’m coming to grips with the fact that we can’t all have glorified lives and Wikipedia entries under our names. So instead of contemplating the first step, I’m finding it important to simply seize opportunities of whatever cards I am dealt and roll with the punches.