is, I would have the opportunity to achieve the goals I set for myself based on the things I know and the skills I have. This would give me the chance to grow, sharpen my knowledge and abilities, and then celebrate whatever small victories that may result from the work I do. Yet, just because they're simple goals doesn't mean I don't have to work hard. It, in fact, forced me to work harder, to ensure that I could achieve the targets I set for myself.This brings me to the goals I set for myself when I decided to try my hand at teaching. These are small, inconsequential things. I told myself that what I wanted to be able to do was advise a student on his/her thesis, be able to use the title "professor," and be told, "thank you for being our teacher. we had fun in your class, we learned so much, and these lessons we will bring with us always." That's all I ever dream of. I have no illusions of grandeur, no ambitions to become some officer or hold an administrative position. All I want to do is teach, write, and be appreciated. It's not too much to ask, but it's a bitch to achieve.
Thinking back, I realize how much I had fumbled, and how raw my methods were, in my earliest classes. There were times I was careless, or just plain tired. I recall how nervous I was upon entering every class, not sure if I was teaching these kids the right things. So I had to read, and re-read. I had to stay up 'til the wee hours of the morning, distilling information into visual presentations and planting them in activities for the students to extract. I had to find a balance between home life and work life, with the latter easily taking over my time for my family. It would have been easier to give up. Then again, I was never one to do things the easy way.
So I persisted. I lost sleep. I sacrificed family time. I am several months overdue on the books I borrowed from the college library. I've wept over the exhaustion, and stressed over the quality of my work. Most of all I obsessed over my students: was I getting through to them? Were they learning what they were supposed to learn? Did I equip them sufficiently?
You will wonder forever. Only time will tell if you taught the right things, or more importantly, taught things right.
And then one day last week, as I was packing up for the day, I realized that I had just signed the ninth bound thesis from my group of advisees. I was addressed as "Professor Data Canlas," and most of all, this: a video from my television production students, enumerating the things they liked most about their class, ending with a resounding "we love you/thank you." And then on Monday, I got a handmade card with notes from everyone, thanking me for giving them the one of the best semesters in their college life so far.
What's a girl to do? Do I now cross off the goals on my list? Do I move on to the next chapter? Where to? Do I draw up a new list of goals for the same task? Or do I look for a new task/job altogether? Or do I stay and watch them grow, only to say goodbye all over again. (Oh why do I always seem to relive this torture? 5 and Up haunts me forever. As long as there are kids who are worth losing sleep over, I suppose the ghosts of Uppies&Uppers-days past will always be around.)
So WHAT IS a girl to do? I guess, for now, nothing. All I can do is allow the moment to envelope me, and succumb to the truth that, in one semester, 17 kids just made my dreams come true.
