Month: July 2020

Chapter 1: How I became an ESL teacher (Part 2)

I know what you are thinking. Was I a good student? Take a good guess. I studied from dust to dawn. I took as many extra classes as my money said yes. I rode a bicycle to school. If you were me, you would have quit school, not because it was too far for a small boy to journey, but because I was riding an old secondhand female bicycle. If this does not discourage or shame you enough, it was shiningly red. I was bullied for that. However, this taught me a great lesson in life. “If you are poor and weak, people we laugh at what you have and who you are.” Just to be sure that we are on the same page, that was not the reason I became a teacher. 

You can already tell how good a student I was. I rarely spent my money on gamblings, not a single cent until I discovered JXII by Sabay. Oh boy! I was hooked, and so were many other kids. That was when I changed school. I was in high school and still the youngest in class. The reason I was always the youngest was that I skipped second grade. I had been good until I got in secondary, something had changed. I felt more relaxed and took things easy. My studies started to lean to negative, but no one knew because nobody really paid attention. Yes, old folks should start paying attention to their kids’ studies. NOT the grades, but the study performance. 

I played online games, and I started to do more sport. My favorite was volleyball. I would rather miss a test, but not my volleyball matches. I learned how to gamble slowly. We bet small money, not because we wanted to, but because we only had that much. Even though I had been playing games and sport, I was good at neither of them. I don’t inherit this sporty talent from my dad. He once was watching me playing in front of our house and shook his head like he was stung by a wasp. I immediately knew how ashamed and hurtful he was standing there witnessing how terrible I was at the sport he was good at. 

All that nonsense out of the way, I was an innocent teenager. I could just break a window and be pitiful so that no one was going to blame me. I was good at it, but that is not what I am proud of. The only thing I am proud of myself is that I went from primary to secondary through high school without a scratch. I never had any problem with anyone. My classmates got into a big fight in front of our class. They were brought to the principal office and some of them were even taken further to the police station except for those whose parents had arrived before the arrival of the police. I was there watching it happen. I saw the whole thing, but I was small and nobody bothered me, nor did they ask anything. Maybe they thought I was not old enough for such a thing. They didn’t want to waste their time.

National exam was approaching in 2010. I was not ready for that big time. Shamelessly, I cheated. Well, everyone did back then. I was not proud of it. To be honest, I could have passed without cheating, but everyone was doing it, so I did it too. Finishing high school was the most exciting thing and the scariest moment at the same time. I had to choose what to study in college. It was a trend to go to university and pursue higher education. It was our dream to be in college; it was the society that made everyone think a college degree was a must-have piece of paper that would eventually help you live a good life. I still cannot tell now, and I am holding two bachelor’s degrees. My message to the parents out there: “Don’t send your kids to college for the degree, NEVER. Send them to college so that they can learn and be wiser in making decisions.” 

Remember when I said nobody really cared much about my studies? Yes, they did after I finished high school. They did not ask how I felt about my studies, maybe they assumed I was doing just fine because I never told, I still haven’t found out yet, instead they, all of them, came to advise me on which university I should go to and which field or subject I should take. It was one of the darkest, hardest moments in my life. I was not even sure about my life, and I had to deal with those people who thought they wanted the best for me. Well, they did, but I don’t think I will EVER do that to my kids or anyone. Deciding for someone because you think it is good for him or her is like taking away his or her lives; Give ‘em back, will you? 

My mother wanted me to be a person who worked in the bank. Yes, she had some friends who worked there and they didn’t seem to look poor. She was convinced that if I became a banker, I would have been rich when I grew older or when I had a family. I still had no idea, neither did my dad. My dad didn’t think about it. He would agree to anything my mother had to say. He was a follower, but more practical than my mom. So these two people were pushing me into it. They even brought me to their friend’s house so that he could explain how I could get into the college and study banking. Well I took it, the advice, and started studying for the entrance exam. 

Nope. That wasn’t it. There was more. My aunt didn’t like the idea that I became a bank employee; you didn’t think I would be the owner, did you? She wanted me to become a doctor. She had always wanted her kids to become one, but none of her kids were good at studying. Her eldest son was a high school dropout. He didn’t like studying that much; he was helping her with family business. Being involved too much with the parents business led him to spend less time with his studies and eventually he lost interest in going to school. To be frank, he didn’t do well even in primary school. Her daughter wasn’t much of a difference from her brother. She didn’t love books and pens, neither did her other two boys. I think it was because the parents didn’t pay attention to their kids’ study. They didn’t spend enough time with their children. Because her kids were not able to become a doctor, she really hoped I could be a doctor some days. She even promised, I don’t care if she could keep it, to help support me while in college. Isn’t my aunty sweet. I love her as much as I love my parents. I was actually living with her at her house when I was little. My parents were busy working. Technically, she was someone who brought me up and fed me when I was hungry. She has been my god-mother, the great one. The list goes on. However, I let her down.

But “how did you become an ESL teacher?” you ask. Wait! Almost there. 

I did; I took the entrance exam at banking college. Unfortunately, I didn’t make it through. I realized that I was as dumb as I had thought. Again, people did not accept it. My family and relatives, especially my mother, thought I did not pass on purpose. For god’s sake. I mean how people looked at me and praised me for what I didn’t really acquire made me hurt even more than failing the exam. I was sad and happy at the same time; I cried and laughed in my sleep every night. To tell you the truth, they all are still thinking that I am a good learner. It is a shame and guilt that I have to bring with me into the grave. 

After failing, things did not end there; I took the entrance exam at Institute of Foreign Languages (IFL) which back then was well-known for its top-notch entrance test. Only students with really good English could attend that school. I was excited; I mean I was good at English, I thought. For the record, I am from Ratanakiri province, the northeast part of Cambodia. There were not many English schools, or should I say English centres, back in my day. I used to go to pagoda to study English with monks. I also used to go to church just to study for free. Those small they-called-schools I had been to closed in a few months after I attended. I actually never finished the legendary English-For-Children book. Fast forwards to when my English started to take off, I attended a missionary school. I studied with a Filipino teacher. I am grateful I met her. Jean was her name. She was kind, sweet but strict. Therefore, when I took the entrance exam at IFL, I was so confident. ‘What could be so difficult about it? Maybe they are just exaggerating about how hard it is to get into it.’ For the second time, I FAILED. 

‘Wait, what?’ Yes, I failed again. My last choice was to attend Royal University of Phnom Penh (RUPP). It was one of the craziest decisions I have made in life. It was a big deal, but I made it sound so easy. Okay, what’s next? Let me study Maths at RUPP. What is so hard about it? I am holding a Bachelor’s degree in science in mathematics from RUPP. Never had a chance to use it, though.

I didn’t give up the IFL thingy. When I was in the first year at the RUPP, I took the entrance exam again. I was more than confident this time because I had been reviewing and practicing the whole year. What is more, I took English classes at Pannasastra University of Cambodia (PUC). I was invincible at that time. This might make you cry, so please have a handkerchief nearby. I MISSED THE EXAM. Yep! I missed it. I thought I read it clearly that I had to take the exam at 9.00 a.m. I got up early in the morning and did things slowly; I took my time. I got to the IFL at 8.30. I thought I was super early until I went to the information board again. I couldn’t believe what I just saw. My heart raced and it beat faster than the clock’s hands on my left hand. I looked at the watch while running towards the building. I got there and was kicked out because I was half an hour late for the exam. Even though I agreed that it was fine for me, the guard just ruined my life. Technically, I did; I was the one who ruined my own life. I couldn’t even cry. Still, as a mama boy, I phoned my mother and told her I had missed it. I thought she would blame me hard like she used to do when I was in high school, but she didn’t. She consulted me and asked me if I hadn’t eaten breakfast. Well played, mom. 

I had to spend another year preparing for the exam again. God, please make it stop! I was a sophomore at RUPP, and I guess I was more mature that time. I was planning things and looked at life more seriously. Finally, I got into IFL on my third attempt. The moment of truth. It was more exciting than when I attended the RUPP class. I worked for it, and the hard work paid off pretty well. You might be laughing at me, but I am telling you, if you think life is easy, you haven’t lived your life a day. Lame!

And the journey to becoming an ESL teacher began. 

Life was full of joy and prosperity. I enjoyed it even though it was not an ideal one. I was doing two degrees at the same time. If you asked me whether you should do two degrees at once, it would be a big fat NO from me. Yes, people have been doing it and they are still doing it, but for what exactly? People seem to care more about what degree(s) they are holding, but they tend to overlook the value and knowledge they get from it. To be frank, I lost interest in my science major. I am still guilty for not quitting it. I was in a dilemma. I was ashamed of quitting; I didn’t know how to tell my parents, so I kept going. However, I spent an excessive amount of time on my English class. I mostly stayed in the Self-access Centre (SAC) at IFL. I knew I would be an ESL teacher in the future, so I aimed for it. 

In my second year at IFL, I volunteered to teach students with little English knowledge at RUPP. For the record, most students in RUPP are from provinces. They study to become teachers; unfortunately, most of them aren’t good at English. I taught them English; I had no idea what I was doing. I was trying to copy what I had observed my other teachers were doing. I have to admit that I am good at imitating. I was parroting my teachers and lecturers with very little skills in teaching whatsoever. 5 months passed, I applied to be a teacher at one small school near my university. I went to an interview for the first time in my life. I was sweating and scared, but hopeful. You can call me stupid, but I accept the offer right away. I was promised $50 per month. As a sophomore, I was proud to earn the money. I didn’t really care much about the number; I only wanted the job. Then came the funny part. On the payday, I was called into the principal office and was handed an envelope. I couldn’t believe it, there was $35 in it. It was strange, so I asked why. She said I hadn’t taught on the weekends, had I? What on earth was she thinking? But why didn’t I quit? You wouldn’t believe this. I worked there for three months teaching only three students. The number of the students dropped consistently each month. The last month I worked there, I only had to teach one student. Yes, just one. It was awkward and boring at the same time. Okay, enough is enough. I quit. 

The adventure didn’t end there. I began my journey at American Intercon Institute (Aii) in the same year. On 13 October 2014, my life changed forever. I had my professional career as an ESL teacher in one of the biggest English language institutions in Phnom Penh. I couldn’t be more proud of myself. My parents told everyone about it. You know, this is what parents do. Aii taught me so many things, professionally and socially. There were the goods and the bads. More on this later. I left Aii to join Australian Centre for Education (ACE) in February 2018. It was another great move I have made so far. It took me years to finally decide to leave Aii, and I realized it was not that hard to move from one place to another. You just need to stop overthinking. Life gives you so many choices; just pick one and move your ass.

_______________________________________ . . .

You have just finished reading the first chapter; how do you feel about it? What are your suggestions? If you like it, drop me an email at meanithnem@gmail.com or leave me a comment down below.

The second chapter is coming up soon. Stay tuned!

Cheers,

Chapter 1: How I became an ESL teacher

Back in the day, I was an obedient kid; I did exactly what my parents told me to. I was quiet and introverted to the point that I didn’t even accept the money as present from my relatives or any other strangers. I dare you do that to me now! My mom still mentions how un-cleaver I was. I never smiled at anyone including my parents. Sometimes they called me mean. I think I have it embedded in my name, Meanith Nopnem, so it does not surprise me much. 

Because of my talk-to-no-one personality, nobody would have thought that I would be a teacher when I grew up, but here I am now. I have been teaching for roughly a decade now. This does not prove anything; I just mentioned it because I can. 

I was a good child and a helpful one. After helping my mother prepare our food vendor behind the school premise, I changed and went to school. I had been doing that for-ever until I attended secondary school. For your information, I was a noodle-soup seller in primary school. Yes, my mother was a teacher, my father was the school principal, but you do not expect us to live off their salaries, do you? Teacher’s salary? You are not kidding, right? Well, you get the point. We had second, third or sometimes forth job to help support our living. I sell bread with milk in my class. I did not like it, though, but my mom made me do it.

To be continued…

Connecting thoughts isn’t easy!

This isn’t clickbait; I just see a lightly different meaning of ‘connecting thoughts’. I mean communicate your and others’ ideas so that we can avoid misunderstanding. It doesn’t sound easy, does it?

Let’s get real, shall we? Communication is the ultimate weapon when things collide. Whenever you want conformation or agreement, do communicate. There are many ways of connecting thoughts; the question is, ‘Are you willing to?’

Ideally, any problems can be resolved if you put enough effort into figuring out the solutions. However, reality doesn’t seem to follow the rules of perfection. There will always be exceptions where communication doesn’t help. The thing is either you or your partner(s) are not willing to compromise. Let’s face it, it isn’t easy as people say, but we should try anyway.

Some people talk but do not communicate. They give unsolicited advices, and take no consideration after being given advices they ask for. This happens more often in daily communication than you may think. People do this without being aware of how it might affect their listeners. We all like to think that we are on the good side; we seem to see a lot of errors in others, yet we fail to reflect on ourselves. We even fail to communication internally within ourselves. Talk to your spirit!

Updating…

I love my son (ខ្ញុំស្រឡាញ់កូនប្រុសខ្ញុំ)

ស្រឡាញ់ (sro-lanh) means ‘love’ in English. It doesn’t matter where you are from, or what language you speak, love represents the same meaning. However, people sometimes tend to misinterpret and take things to the extreme. Conditionally or unconditionally, LOVE should be the least thing that hurts.

On July 16, 2020, something tragic happened to a little 5-year-old girl. Lovely and innocent, a girl was cut from her left to her right cheek, which resulted in more than 100 stitches. If this hasn’t made you get on your feet yet, her right hand also got about 20 or more stitches. She has been in the hospital, crying without understanding what was happening to her. She was in pain and slept in fear. This isn’t about the physical scars she will carry, but the emotional scar that never she will definitely forget, ever.

This incident happened in Phnom Penh, Cambodia, the land of Angkor Wat, the land rich in culture and history. The land of LOVE.

The suspect was a woman who claimed that her little son, aged about 30 months, was injured by the 5-year-old girl two days prior to the tragic event. Her innocent son got 1 stitch on his forehead, which made her exasperated. Frustrated with what had happened, she said she couldn’t sleep and so she went to the market and bought a new knife. You can guess what happened next. She did it to the little 5-year-old girl in revenge. May god forbid! Didn’t she go to far?

Love and hatred go together in life. She loved her son so much that she hated anything that did evil to him. Isn’t that common sense? What would you do?

But wait! If I have to be completely honest, I condemn her for her cruel act. She almost killed a girl because she thought the girl deserve to payback what her son had gotten. For whatever reasons, she shouldn’t have done that. NO! She should never do that at all.

“I love my son.” doesn’t justify what she did to the girl. She is hated by her own race for what she did. She will be in court probably next Monday. Everyone is waiting for her judgement day, and so am I. No matter what she deserves at the end, the little girl will never have a normal life from now.

The love for her son and the hatred towards the girl make her HUMAN, and human is just animal without cognition.

Come again!

“… but why was I not shredding any tears?”

Every night I would sing myself to sleep. I hummed the melody and sang the lyrics in my head. Not a single tiny bit of sound was made. The room was too silent that I could hear the white noise coming out of the lamp. I would stare at one particular spot of my ceiling until my brain formed a picture of things, sometime things that had never existed. I would change the spot the next night so that I would entertain myself with a different picture every night. The house was so quiet after everyone had left. I remember vividly the loud noise my dad used to talk. My mom would sit quietly doing her paperwork. She was still working at her 50s. My older brother was a nerd, but he liked rock music, and he liked it loud. I could hear them songs clearly from room through two walls. I couldn’t imagine how my younger sister could stand living wall to wall with my brother. His favorite was Linking Park’s In The End, and it was also mine.

Everyday was alike; nothing was special about this family until the spread of a pandemic in 2020. They called it Covid-19. I didn’t know what it was; all I knew was the millions of deaths would wide. The disease was not as scary as the economy. It saw a huge plummet that had never seen before, even more intense than the great depression during the 1930s. People were panic and no one was happy, and neither was my family.

We went through the pandemic like champs because non of us went out, nor did we work. We stayed in and did the usual thing we had always did. My brother would stay in his room listening to his loud rocks, my sister would locked herself in her room doing something I had never known, my mom would just sit at her death table doing her work for the fact that she was the only one working during that critical time to support the family, and my dad would be at the backyard smoking and drinking wine and beer. He wanted to smoke and drink as much as he could, but our budget didn’t allow, so he needed to save every drop of his alcohol drink. He only smoked half of the cigarette in the morning and so that he could enjoy the other half in the evening before dinner. Dinner to us was a fancy word. We had not had a proper diner since Covid-19 started. My mom would only allow half of the meal we used to have, so every one only had a small bowl of rice and a piece a fried dry-fish.

So where have they gone? Everyone? I woke up one morning just to find out everyone was gone. I didn’t what had happened the night before, or probably the year before. I felt exhausted and lifeless. It was weird at first, but I got used to it fast. I thought everyone died, or they was fed up with me and moved out without me. I thoughts a lot, but why was I not shredding any tears? I guess I was the who who was fed up with living in such family. I used to hate my family, not any one in particular. I used to think running away from home and never ever coming back, but I never did. So where are they now? What happened to them? I don’t miss them actually; I am just curious. I want to be ready for my time. Was it hurt? I mean when they was killed? If they were killed. or Was it hurt to leave me? If they left me. I haven’t had the answer for 10 years now, so this doesn’t really bother me much.

The boy next door experienced the same thing. He is the only friend I have now. His family suddenly disappeared and he had no clue. He sounded and looked rather stupid when he was telling me what he found out the morning he woke up in bed alone.

Every midnight, he and I would climb to the rooftop and look at the sky. We hope one day they will come again.

I didn’t mean it

… Some time later, I opened my eyes just to find myself in bed staring at the ceiling without any sheet on. I felt the cold air passing through the window, but I couldn’t tell what time it was. I looked at my clock I got for my 26th birthday, and I was wide awake; it was 7.45 in the morning. I had to go to work. I rolled to the left and both of my hands helped me sit up. I shook my head a few time to get a whole of myself. I knew I was about to be late, so I grabbed my phone to make a call. Tears dropped on the screen and I couldn’t help but collapsed. I again found my back against the bed. My left hand was still holding on to my phone tightly.

“Why did it happen? Why couldn’t I be more careful? Why couldn’t I be more sensitive? It was actually my fault, but she was the one who got the punishment.”

The phone rang, and I realized it was 8. I didn’t pick up the phone; I didn’t even care to check who was calling. I was on my own sitting by the edge of the bed thinking about what happened that night. I didn’t mean to hurt her feeling; she knew I didn’t, but she still did it.

Changed, I have

Well, it seems to me that I only hit this blog when I feel down. Why not when I feel motivated? Because plain teaches you more than success. Happiness is just an illusion.

Arguing with a person you love hurts you more than anything, especially when you don’t want to even win over the argument. Trust me, I don’t want to, but the introvert beast inside me is doing so much damage to me than the words I am hearing. I am combating myself from time to time.

It is hypocritical and kinda contradictory that I am bad because I am good; however, when I try my best to be bad, I feel awful. No, no one wants me to be bad; people just want me to someone is right, at least most of the time.

Am I being rejected? Really? Being who I am is not acceptable. I know I can be careless and sometimes I don’t even care about what is around me. And, yes, that bugs others. Paying attention to detail, or every detail, is considered matured, at least in my case. And you know what? I haven’t been doing it.

Yes, I have to change. I will, but this will eventually hurt the people I care about the most. I know when I stop asking for suggestions, I’ll go rogue.

‘I know what I am doing.’

‘I have already planned it out. Don’t you worry.’

‘Right or wrong, it’s my choice. I want to do it.’

‘I think I know how it works. You can shut up now!’

I just can’t imagine saying such things to people I love and care for because I know how it feel to be rejected, and that’s why I have been agreeing to most of the offers. However, I have observed my behavior lately, and I found out that I’ve changed. I have changed in so many degrees, angles and perspectives. I have also changed my personality and my characteristics. I am not saying that all the changes are bad, but I am stating the points.

Well. I have to continue changing myself, for reality is eating me up if I don’t. Yes, do what you don’t like sometimes. It might also helps you discover your new self. And if you asked me why I need to find my new self, I would need to answer that because ‘I know what I’m doing; you can shut up for now.’