Finding Your Big-Girl Pants: Part 1

Orientation Week.

Affectionately and unofficially known as the best week of your undergraduate experience, “O-Week” is typically synonymous with summer camp for frosh. Well grad students, I have news for you. Graduate school orientation is less faculty-team-building, and more pub nights with the few others in your program. Now, as someone who does not drink beer this tends to be a tad awkward since it becomes more obvious and is a general topic of conversation revisited when everyone orders another round of drinks except you. Anyways.

Walking around campus to the constant cheering and never-ending energy remains an exciting way to relive the O-Week experience without actually reliving it. At the same time, it also makes you feel old, despite my direct transition from undergrad to graduate school making me only one year older than the average oldest undergraduate student. And, as you might expect, with feeling old in a new city comes the old-people activities. Like laundry. And ironing. And cooking… Things that you might have learned as an 18 year old student living in residence, or as a 19 year old student living off-campus. Nevertheless, here I am in my twenties and sending snapchats of myself ironing to my friends to validate the fact that I now have my big-girl pants on.

And while my inventive set-up of a kitchen counter with a bed sheet tucked into the cupboard a-la-makeshift-ironing-board is all kinds of luxurious laundry tools, I can’t even take credit for the idea (thanks Mom!). However, I started to realize today, there were so many ways I could approach this Orientation Week:

1. Ambitiously, I wrote down all the general graduate student activities into my planner, alongside the program-specific activities, including the times and locations. I could go to all of these activities, which would result in 5 hours of sleep per night and a burnt-out Felicia by Sunday night.
2. I could ignore all of the activities, sit in my apartment, and watch Friends like it’s still the summer it feels like outside (cue 30 degree weather. Celsius, incase anyone thought that was sarcasm).
3. Sweat on my bike and rush to roughly 50% of the activities – rushing, since I still have not completely mastered time management while biking, and biking, since walking is overrated. Spend the remaining 50% of my time learning how to hand-signal at stop signs and traffic lights properly so as to avoid as much tippage as possible while on a moving bicycle with a full backpack.
4. Repeat Option #3, but also use the remaining 50% to complete big-girl activities. Cue: Mom’s voice telling me to iron that one shirt with wrinkles that I know I’ll wear soon.

Clearly, based on my anecdote about make-shift ironing boards I chose #4, but you must know that I fully considered all four of those options. Dear Reader, I washed my floors, too. Housekeeping is a skill I fully enjoy at the moment, because I can fully, one hundred percent justify that it is important to establish good housekeeping habits before getting into the depths of an MA. Right? Maybe. But hey, feeling like a big girl, singing that Pull-Ups song, “Mommy, wow! I’m a big kid now!” while dancing with the wet-wipe Swiffer is a productive use of my time. Those five readings for the first class next week can wait. Besides, when it comes time to do them, I’ll already have my big-girl pants on. (I hope.)

“They’re people too.”

During one of my reading weeks in undergrad, I visited a friend who was going to school in Vancouver. I expected to come back and tell everyone I wanted to move to the West coast, since it seems like a widely accepted fact that once you go to B.C., you never want to leave. (I mean, in some ways it’s very true – just walk to the edge of the water and look at the mountains on your right and the ocean on your left. It’s simply beautiful.) What I did not expect was to come back and think about how I walked past those on the street begging for money with no home to go to and no job to support themselves.

Homelessness can be a sensitive subject – a passionate cause for some, an ignored but accepted part of society to others. Either way the topic raises potential for heated debates and I will admit I am hesitant to write this blog post, especially since I do not actively engage in the politics of or current conversations about these issues.

When you grow up in a relatively big city, it becomes a habit to walk past the homeless and beggars without sparing a second glance. In Vancouver, I responded to the greetings the same way I always have: by carrying on. My friend reprimanded me, and said “Why do you just ignore them? They’re people too.”

“They’re people too.” They’re people too.

When I was travelling in Shanghai this past summer, I self-toured the city alone. I passed an elderly homeless couple begging for money on a busy street corner, and I noticed every person passed by without a second glance. The elderly man was wrapped in a sleeping bag, with a knit hat. He appeared to be sleeping. He eerily resembled the likeness of my own grandpa, and I felt a knot in my stomach unlike the cold-hearted response I had trained myself to possess. I pulled a small amount of yuan from my purse, and handed it to the elderly lady, who kept up an on-going plea to passers-by that sounded almost chant-like. As soon as I had given her the money, I was immediately verbally harassed by a group of women standing nearby. Not understanding a single word of Chinese, except for my numbers one to ten, I stared, startled, and tried to communicate that I could not understand what they were saying. Though their tone of voices seemed to soften towards me when they realized I only spoke English, I got the sense that one woman was trying to tell me I should not have given money to the elderly couple. An argument broke out between the elderly woman and this woman from the group, which escalated to the two shouting curses (I’m guessing, since they were repeating words and throwing their arms in the air).

Weren’t the elderly couple people too? 

While trying to adjust to the new city of “Queenstown,” I walked around the main downtown area and passed a number of homeless people. Of them, one called out to me and said, “Good evening, miss.” Under the cloak of my sunglasses, I kept my eyes straight and walked by without any acknowledgement, but inside I shrunk, tried to ignore the feeling and I couldn’t deny that I felt disappointed in myself. (Think, Gus from Cinderella trying to take all his cheese cubes and fit into the tiny mouse hole unsuccessfully.) I could hide my eyes with sunglasses, but I couldn’t hide from myself.

“They’re people too.” 

In a situation where I felt relatively safe on the sidewalk in broad daylight and I knew the language and culture of the city, why didn’t I reply? Maybe I was concerned for my safety, since you read stories in the news where “things happen,” and as a single woman in a new city, not inviting conversation with anyone, be it on the street or in a store, is another habit I have developed. But where is the line between being polite and inviting conversation? Surely a smile and a nod, or a reciprocated, “Good evening,” is not an invitation, right? Part of me wants to say, “Of course not,” but another part of me, likely in my mother’s warning voice, says, “You never know.”

There is no easy answer for this type of situation from my limited experience, and although some may easily respond with no hesitation, while others see it as “no big deal,” it’s the kind of thing I feel as though I am constantly debating. Being alone in a new city has given me another perspective, but no matter the situation, I can’t forget that “they’re people too.“

A Letter to Fellow Future-Teachers, inspired by IDEAS.TED.COM’s “Teachers open up about the (mostly lousy) economics of their dream job”

As someone who constantly believes in and supports the incredibly crucial role teachers have in society, as well as being someone who has dreamt of many different career paths but always considers teaching to be the final and most fitting destination, this TED article sparked some thoughts about an issue I am not afraid to argue (I mean, although since I am not a teacher, I feel less qualified than if you were to talk to me in a few years… I hope?)… Respect and understanding for teachers. If you read the article, which is a compilation of interviews from teachers in public school systems around the world, you will quickly see a pattern: the love of learning and a lack of recognition, understanding and respect for teaching as a profession. However curated the selection of these interviews may be, the lack of financial compensation and respect from the general public are small summaries of a larger issue I have witnessed during my few years volunteering as a teacher’s assistant in both elementary and high school classrooms. It is not appalling or shocking; it is disappointing. (Making the privileged but accepted assumption that) most of the people who are making these judgements have been in school and therefore have had teachers, I must consider that many opinions could have been formed on the experience of “bad teachers” or teachers who seemed not to care about their students, or perhaps students who did not have positive school experiences… Which leads me to the next topic about which I also have strong opinions. 

As a recent undergraduate graduate, my fellow classmates from high school and university are all headed in different paths: teacher’s college, the working world, more undergraduate courses, professional programs, college, graduate school, the list goes on. What most surprised me were the Facebook posts of those who I did not expect to teach who were headed to teacher’s college this fall. (This, however, is merely my reaction to students whom I did not know well, and so, I cannot trust my fleeting high school memories of these now future-teachers.) At first, I was quick to assume someone wanted to attend teacher’s college, simply because he or she did not, for instance, get into medical school. I shuddered at the idea that teacher’s college suddenly became his or her fallback option and not a dream career path, until I kicked myself and realized that one of my greatest mentors, and also a brilliant teacher I have seen in action in the classroom, also never considered teaching as a career until the opportunity presented itself. 

The topic of respecting and recognizing the importance of the teaching profession has the potential to raise so many issues: global, political, economical, social… But since I am no expert in any of these areas, I would rather leave that to someone who did not just learn what “fiscal year” means in the last… fiscal year…

Instead, I want to end my blog post on something a little unconventional (I mean, as conventional as you can get with a total of two blog posts, and three after this one). I have come across articles and blog posts and Facebook posts, and tweets addressed to students, parents, fellow teachers, members of the community… But this one I want to address to future -teachers: 

Dear future-teachers, be it in the near future, far future, or currently on the supply list or short-term contracts: 

Respect and recognition for teachers is a battle that has come forefront to the news in light of the provincial lack of contracts and job security. This TED article enlightens readers to the battle for respect and recognition on a global level, that reaches beyond our local schools. Teaching may have been your final destination since you were young, or it may have been a new option because of the way the big man upstairs worked things out, but either way a B.Ed is in your future. While students and parents tend to find creative ways to show their gratitude to their teachers, or communities support teachers during picket lines or other ways, I do believe that showing support as a future-teacher is by respecting the profession you have chosen. I picture this, in an ideal world, as teachers teaching because they love to learn and they love to teach, and teachers who choose not to teach because they feel called to commit their time elsewhere. I do not mean for this to sound “preachy,” ignorant, or have negative connotations. But as a student, it is downright disappointing to see teachers bashed in the media (although I am starting to see a lot more support lately). If teachers want respect and recognition from future generations, then maybe future-teachers should respect their profession first.

Sincerely, 

A fellow student and future-teacher.  

The Queenstown Chronicles Hits the Town: Round 1

Attention folks, The Queenstown Chronicles have officially moved into town… I mean, at least for a few days. At this point, however, I think a few days is all I can handle. Warning: Tonight’s blog post may be the kind dripping and oozing in fresh, melted mozzarella disguised as a casual pasta sauce. 

We always watch movies that, at some point, usually use the saying, “There are ___ types of people in the world…” to describe how the protagonist fits into none of the categories mentioned. Prediction? Said protagonist is an anomaly to some type of rule. As much as some of us want to feel like we fit in and belong to somewhere or something, we also love to be one. An anomaly, I mean (don’t deny it). Where, you might ask, does this rambling anomaly talk come into play?

Well I’m going to start with that categorizing habit, just like in movies.

Category 1: The Unemotional Poker Face, also known as the Ice Queen

I like to think of myself as being an unemotional person at most times. I practice keeping emotions in check and keeping up my poker face, which, contradictory to the “unemotional” part of my category title, actually involves emotions. This nonchalant, casual attitude is the updated version of the teenager’s “I don’t care about the world.” A young adult “Ice Queen” does, in fact, care about the world, but has been burned too many times to commit to showing too many emotions. Emotions are felt at an intensity level of 50%, and anything beyond that is immediately pushed away. It’s the classic too-many-emotions-leave-dangerous-room-for-a-hurt-heart situation. But like, hey, we’re almost taken seriously as adults now, aside from that post-grad #yolo phase, involving Starbucks on a whim and shopping sprees when you meant to pay off student debt (or so I’ve heard).

On the flip side, having the ability to keep emotions in check has also paid off. It adds a level of rational thinking to an otherwise emotionally-charged situation. It opens up the possibility to distance yourself, or perhaps reconsider impulsive decisions. Am I trying to defend the infamous “Ice Queen” status? Maybe. Or maybe I’m trying to rationalize it.

Do you fit into this category? I know I sometimes feel as though I do.

Category 2: The Family’s Babied Baby, also known as the Youngest Child

There are couple kinds of “Youngest Child” children, two of which include, one, the child who is forgotten, and two, the child who is spoiled. I’m referring to the latter, with no hint of a complaint and every bit of gratitude. Although spoiled may be an exaggeration, or a harsh word, I mean to use the word in an endearing way. Being spoiled as the baby of a family means you feel as though you never fully grow up, or feel some kind of guilt when you try to, or in some ways, you never want to. Being spoiled involves being sheltered and constantly protected from the terrors of the world, as much as possible.

As a product of the “Family’s Babied Baby” situation, being spoiled also means that your parents stocked up your first apartment pantry with enough non-perishable food to support all of the residents in your apartment building in the event of a zombie apocalypse. It means six different kinds of tomato sauce, two different kinds of Greek yogurt, small bottles of all the authentic Chinese cooking essentials, and most importantly, Costco-sized bags of ground meat, chicken breasts, and deboned chicken thighs, (all in labelled, dated, individually-portioned Ziploc bags, and double bagged to protect against freezer burn, of course).

Do you fit into this category? I will not insult your intelligence and bother writing if I believe I do.

So, let’s go back to the common movie phrase and how the protagonist does not fit into any of the categories. However, rather than believing I do not fit into any category and thinking of myself as an anomaly, I consider myself to fit into both Category 1 and Category 2. As much as I want to think of myself as an anomaly to the “little-girl-feels-alone-in-a-new-city” pattern, I realized today that I am not. I had this grand idea, based on my fortunate and recent experiences of travelling alone, that I would be able to handle being left alone in a new city. The idea involved:

1. Excitement, once my family headed home, since my fridge and cupboards were fully stocked,
2. Curiosity, to explore a new city by myself, as I thoroughly enjoyed doing while travelling alone,
3. Some kind of confident, explorer-feeling, like travelling.

Fitting into both categories makes me realize that I am not any different than the movie protagonist who fits in no category. Movie protagonists are designed to be relatable on multiple levels to many different kinds of people. Vague statement, I know. But if you think about it, relating to the uncategorized movie protagonist really does induce a sense of belonging. At least, in a new city with no friends, no family, and no school community (since it’s August and I’m an early-bird, but not in the morning-person understanding of the phrase), I belong to some kind of vast, global community of young adults (rather than the fresh, young, average 18-year old first year student) experiencing the realization we are not quite as independent and fearless as we thought.

Initiation of The Queenstown Chronicles

So, I tried to start this off with some kind of “Hello!” but it seemed awfully cheery and somewhat redundant. So, I’ll just jump right in.

I’m Felicia. If you read my extremely elusively-titled page, “Sorry, who’s blog is this?” you will find a 190 word description of me, a disclaimer of sorts, and why I decided to start this blog.

Now, I’m starting to feel the need to explain this “Sorry, who’s blog is this?” page, since I tried to avoid too many parenthetical asides also known as commentary to my own soliloquies. I mean, I’m not trying to sound like Hamlet or anything.

1. “bacon-loving” is more than me simply telling you I love bacon more than all other foods. Bacon is a God-sent gift – like manna in the Bible (no, I’m not kidding). Bacon is a great example of “good things in moderation” a principle by which I was raised to stand. You see, to love bacon does not mean one wants to eat bacon at every meal; that would mean to give yourself a heart attack. Don’t do that. Bacon-loving means you appreciate and savour the thing that you truly enjoy. Bacon cheers me up. Bacon is very pretty (like, aesthetically speaking the different shades of pink, red, and off-white don’t clash and also don’t give off a Valentine’s Day vibe. So props to you, bacon). Bacon tastes good. Bacon is also salty and fatty and unhealthy. But that is A-OK; there are positives and negatives to all things we love, because nothing and no one is perfect.
2. See that bacon metaphor? I think I just explained “chonic metaphor-user.”
3. “tell-it-like-it-is” is quite self-explanatory. I hope I don’t insult your intelligence with #4, but I’m direct and assertive about things (I mean, most of the time).
4. “perilous” Note: sarcasm… I hope.
5. “MA in English Language and Literature”: If you haven’t picked up on my word vomit, my over-analytic tendencies or my excessive explanation of a metaphor by now, then I’m not sure if you have been paying attention. Excuses: I make connections in everything I see, do, read and think. I also assume my word count should hit 2500-3500, you know, the standard undergraduate paper word count minimum. I think it’s an English student thing.
6. “new city” stands for a new location for my physical presence, as well as the terrifying thought of living alone for the first time in my life. I’m making the ignorant assumption that most people experience this (and by this, I mean doing their own laundry, obviously) somewhere around the age of 18, but I am reluctantly crawling to this milestone in my 20’s.
7. “mediocre and exaggerated”; “equal parts practical sarcasm and wishful thinking”: Okay, so these contradicting statements pretty much describe me (or so I think). I also assume that the statements are self-explanatory (plus, I have almost surpassed the word count of a standard proposal and clearly this blog post is too long for a “Hello, this is my first post” kind of post). Oh, well. I am nothing if not thorough (positive thinking).

QED.