Unschooling

 

img source: https://mysunnysideuplife.wordpress.com/homeschooling-fun/

I might be in trouble for sharing about this raw passion but I am starting to become attracted to the idea of unschooling, a subset of homeschooling, which is basically the concept of following the child's interests that eventually lead to science, literature, music, history and all the things that interested people before anyone thought of them as subjects (Stevens, 1994).

 At this point, the idea still sounds a little bit odd for me - but that's because like many other normal human beings I got schooled under a regular education system in my country, plus I spent four years studying how to teach English and Literature to high school students at one of the best universities in the Philippines that specializes in teacher education. During my senior year, it had just been recognized by law as "the Country's National Center for Teacher Education". I was and still am very proud of that. I enjoyed learning about teaching - strategies, philosophies, the whole shebang and was just a decimal point to graduating cum laude. I love teaching with my whole being, however, there is something about the "general idea of schooling" that turned me off. In fact, I remember feeling utterly depressed during my practicum days because I started to develop doubts about the profession I thought I wanted. My experience handling 80 kids in the classroom for a few weeks made me start really questioning classroom disciplinary practices, routines, the need for standardized tests and the seemingly absurd idea of shoving content into the kids' throat. It felt like school was a constant struggle for everyone involved. Despite of this, I applied for a job as a high school teacher at a private school right after I graduated. That was some experience I would never forget. I made some friends there and learned many things but my internal struggles were simmering underneath my performance on the job. Somebody asked if I wanted to eventually teach at a public school (which is usually considered a better route for most teachers in terms of pay) and I said NO. The idea alone was depressing for me. Somebody asked if I could see myself becoming a principal someday and I said NO. I just could not stand the system. I quit my job and worked as a writer the following year. It was not so much about policies and the politics involved as it was about "schooling" in general and the idea of making square pegs fit in a hole, about the imposition of subject matter to kids who will most likely forget half, if not 70 percent of it. I felt like we were wasting a lot of time. But before I proceed, I just want to make it clear that the university where I graduated is a really great school and my professors were excellent. My paradigm shift has more to do with the concept of "schooling" in general as opposed to a specific institution. I also know that even though I feel this way, I also know that as imperfect as it is, the education system has still worked for some people and has produced successful individuals. In addition, I would like to make it clear that I still believe in higher education, that some people should spend many years studying a specific field like medicine and law. I am talking about educating children, toying with a few "what ifs": What if we follow George Barnard Shaw's advice and let kids pursue knowledge rather than let knowledge pursue them? What if we allow children to focus on who they really are and spend more precious time on what they are inclined to and what they are good at? What would our world look like if everyone spent their childhood this way?

        Fast forward about 10 years later and we decided to be a homeschooling family. We have many reasons why we have chosen this path and one of them is the decision to take sole responsibility of what and how our kids will be learning. We want to shape their minds according to what we think they should learn - not what the government thinks they should learn. However, I have had serious doubts about our choice. Even though, more and more families are starting to homeschool, we are still the minority. As soon as school started for all the other kids last September, that was when it hit me: Instead of feeling left behind, I have to embrace this journey and seek out our tribe and make friends with like-minded homeschooling families. I have to relearn strategies, think outside of the box and apply what I learned in college, and customize it to my son's needs, personality and interests. I have to make learning fun and interesting for him.I have to teach as if the world is our classroom and learning is a natural part of life.

        Life has no guarantee and I might have another paradigm shift in a year or two. But at this point, I couldn't agree more with what John Gatto said during his acceptance speech for the New York City Teacher of the Year Award in 1990: "Schools were designed by Horace Mann ... and others to be instruments of the scientific management of a mass population." We want to give our children more than that. Teaching as many as 20 kids at a time seemingly sounds more efficient, while concentrating one's time, skills and effort into just a child or two seems a bit excessive. But are my children worth all of that? I am going to say yes to that.

 

To Pre-born Babies in America,

 

img source: https://christianresearchnetwork.org/2015/09/14/evidence-mounts-for-viability-of-babies-not-considered-legally-human/

I have great news for you. When you come out of your mommy’s belly, the world will revolve around you. Everyone from all walks of life, from every profession will make sure you are safe and sound. At the hospital where you are born, most nurses won’t allow you to co-sleep with your mom because the American Academy of Pediatrics believes that co-sleeping is one of the leading causes of infant deaths. Doctors, nurses and lactation consultants will freak out if you are not latching properly or if you are losing too much weight. Your pediatrician might also scare the heck out of your parents by calling them to come back to the hospital immediately because your bilirubin test result came back abnormally high. The hospital will also make sure you go home in an unexpired car seat facing backward and from then on, all of society will make sure that you are not left alone inside a car, regardless of any circumstances. Grandmas will break car windows for you. The neighbors might call the cops if they find out your mom spanks you at times. When you’re a bit older and in school, all the cars in front and behind your school bus will stop until you are able to safely get off.

 However, I have some bad news for you little one. These same people might not fight for your life while you are still inside Mommy and you will get to enjoy all the benefits I have mentioned if and only if your mother decides to keep you. Yes, if she wants you alive. If she doesn’t want you, you will be called a “fetus” or a “clump of cells”. Otherwise, you will be called a “baby”. If she wants you, she will have a baby shower thrown for her where everyone will celebrate your life and be excited about you. They will talk about what name to give you; spend a lot of time, money and effort designing your nursery; google the best pediatrician in town and decide whether to vaccinate you or not. Your parents might even have a maternity shoot or go to birthing classes, read tons of books about parenting and baby-proof the whole house and even the yard just for you. It’s a million-dollar industry.

 But like I said, you are at the mercy of your mom’s choice. I am sorry that the value of your life depends on whether your mom or dad is ready to have you, or whether they want to give you a chance to live even if the doctors said you wouldn’t make it or whether they want to let you live anyway despite knowing you are going to be different from most people. I am sorry that many “endangered animals” like pandas and polar bears are more protected than you.

            So I have some advice for you little one: Make it through the birth canal – because in America, your successful passage through it will endow your “humanity”. You will be called a “person” if you make it. People will stop calling you mere "clump of cells". Do not be even a day late because in some states like Colorado and New York, your mom’s doctor can take away your life even a day before you begin your journey out into the world. Even if your mom did not plan you, your life and even hers might still turn out amazing. YOU could still turn out amazing. You have so much potential simply because you are human – right from the very start, even while you are still small.

 

Love,

Jill

Are You Really There?

 

img source: https://figtreefreedom.blogspot.com/2012/12/ultrasound-photos.html

I am about 9 weeks pregnant today and aside from the ultrasound photo I took home with me a couple of weeks ago, nothing visual seems to prove that I am really with child. To be honest with you, even though I prayed so hard for this baby, his or her existence in my body does not seem real. He or she does not feel alive. I am looking forward to my next doctor visit when I could finally hear his or her heartbeat for the first time and not just see it beating on the ultrasound monitor. Perhaps by then, I will completely believe that there really is a life trying to grow inside me and I am not just pretending to be tired and hungry all the time. This made me realize why it’s easy to call a human being this small with a different name – because they are so tiny, so dependent, so underdeveloped and so quiet. 

Abundant Life

 

img source: https://www.pinterest.com/pin/557601997596628449/

          I don’t think it needs to be said that the world is full of brokenness, that at some point in our coming of age, we had realized that life is imperfect. However, if you are of the Christian faith, it is possible to live the fullest of life on this side of heaven. It was not lip service when Jesus said in John 10:10 that he came that we might have life and have it to the full or in John 7:38 when he said that whoever believes in him, as Scripture has said, rivers of living water will flow from within them. God also made numerous attempts to describe what life should be like for those who believe in Him through various metaphors and imagery such as an olive tree flourishing in a dry, wasteland (Psalm 52:8) or a tree planted along a riverbank (Psalm 1:3). Of course God, with his initiating nature and sovereignty would always reach out to us but I am convinced that He also does not force – therefore, our experience of God and of life with respect to Him largely depends on the extent to which we allow Him to get involved in our lives. To provide a clear imagery, it is like inviting a guest over for dinner. If our interaction with him ends at the end of the dinner then his impact and influence will also end right there but if we invite him frequently and maybe allow him to stay after dinner to talk some more or to fix a few things at our house, then his influence will be greater and our relationship with Him deeper and better. Now think about this guest being the creator of the universe (Genesis 1), the beginning and the end (Revelation 22:13), the one who created us and knows us from the inside out (Psalm 139), the one who knew us even before we were born (Jeremiah 1:5), the one who has great plans for us (Jeremiah 29:11) and the one who wants to spend eternity with us (John 3:16). I heard it once said that the first sin the human race committed was disbelief in the sufficiency of God, the suspicion that he might be harboring something better for us, other than what He has already provided – and I think this is one of the reasons why sometimes or most of the time, it is hard for us to completely surrender to this kind of God despite His many good promises, even despite of all the great things He has already done in our lives. This suspicion is the reason why most of the time, we want to let Him in – everything is formal and nice, food is great, dinnerware is perfect but we don’t want anything beyond the pleasantries. We don’t want Him to see the dirty clothes in the laundry room; the rotten, disorganized filth in the basement or the closets full of random, hodgepodge of junk that we have chosen to fill our lives, instead. We want just a little bit of God, but not all of Him. For some reason, we are just comfortable where we are – even if despite all the materialism, we are empty, or regardless of the big crowds and the cacophonies of laughter everywhere, we are lonely, hopeless people- that we have to rely on external things to fill us with joy. We are eating crumbs the dogs have left behind instead of sitting at the banquet table.

          But the truth is God is dying to fill our lamps with unlimited oil, to give us peace and joy that go beyond understanding. God is dying to heal our broken hearts, to help us sort through our challenges, to help us understand who we are and why we are here. Sure, there are random things in the world that can make us happy: Christmas (and everything that comes with it), summer fun, family vacations, chocolate, coffee, a gorgeous sunny day -  but those are just glimpses and hints of His glory. They are not meant to fill the God-shaped hole that He alone could fill. God wants to reveal Himself to you. If you will only let Him in – you could even skip the dinner part.

 

Why I am a Christian

 

img source: https://www.nytimes.com/2019/05/25/opinion/the-day-christian-fundamentalism-was-born.html

          Whenever I stop and ask myself why I chose to follow Christ and why I still tell people I am a Christian in spite of the negativity associated with the religion, some benefits about being one immediately come to mind.

First of all, believing in Christ helped me discover my hidden potentials, overcome my fears and do things I thought were impossible. For example, I used to think I wasn’t the marrying type, that I wasn’t pretty enough to be liked by a man. I didn’t even believe I would be happy to be in a relationship with one! Seriously, it was once my prayer item for God to help me open my heart to men, to become vulnerable and stop seeing them merely as competition, a threat or some species not worthy of my trust. It’s a long story but God eventually answered my prayer and gave my heart a huge overhaul. My marriage, like all marriages, has its ups and downs but I am pretty much happy married to a man. I also used to think I would never like doing “homy” things but many times, I find God just telling me to get out of my comfort zone and not be afraid to engage in new experiences – to welcome change, to see new things or see the same things with fresh eyes. In a span of four years after I arrived in America, I have learned to do a handful things I never thought I would learn: sew curtains; paint; drive a car and a tractor at times; take care of animals; build a pig pen gate; plant seeds and watch them grow and actually eat them; cook for my family and for many people at times; bear a child and keep him alive; start a fire and keep it going ;do face painting on children’s faces (while their parents were watching closely) and many other things. I don’t mean to brag. I just want to boast about God who has been my encourager at times when I wasn’t so sure about myself or what I was doing.

          Christianity has also helped me make wiser decisions in life. There was a time in my university life when I made a huge mistake – big enough that I thought about just packing up and going home – even though I only had a few semesters left to graduate, even though it meant losing the chance to finally get a Bachelor’s degree. However, before I could get a plane ticket home, I met with one of my good spiritual mentors. She shared a Bible verse with me that instantly made me decide to keep going and stay. About two years after that, I finally got my degree. One Bible verse that changed the course of my life.

          Being a Christian also affirms my self-worth. I was bought with a price – with nothing less than the very life of God’s Son. I am unconditionally loved and always remembered. Generally, I feel like I don’t have to prove myself, that I am free to succeed and fail, to keep trying, to love and lose, to laugh and weep, to be joyful and grieve, to doubt, to question, to reason and yet be unconditionally loved. I also know that in times of failure and defeat, I can always run to God and He will always accept me.

          With Christ, my life has a deeper, more profound meaning and purpose. Like most people, I go through different trials and phases of depression but because God’s plan for my life is larger than any of those things, I find myself always seeing the rainbow or finally seeing the light at the end of the tunnel. Certain sad and absurd events seem to make sense. Certain horrible memories of the past seem to eventually and softly fade to nothing until they don’t hurt or cause a feeling of shame anymore. Mundane and random day to day events seem bearable, if not exciting because they are all tied to God’s good purpose. In fact, because of the many ways God has led me to go out of my comfort zone or go through a phase of difficulty, I am able to discover certain skills and talents I didn’t know I had or desires and dreams I realized were worth pursuing.

          Lastly, following Christ helps me forgive others – both those from my past and present, to refuse to hold grudges, to give the benefit of the doubt, to simply let go because doing so will not be in vain. God is watching and He is taking note. In fact, I guess that’s one of the most encouraging qualities of Christianity – the fact that someday all loose ends will be tied, all plots will have a resolution and all the dots will be connected because God is taking note.

 

The Princess and the Pauper

Today, I realized I am a princess. This sends me goosebumps because for 20 years I had been living like a clueless pauper. When I was five, I started thinking I belonged to a middle class family. It was also then that I started making distinctions between who is rich and who is poor. I often envied the neighbors for having this and that and I concluded that we were not rich. As a kid, I started believing that maybe life is about possessions, that they are the center and the driving force of every man's endeavor. So whenever I saw a shooting star, I would always whisper, “success and happiness.”

I grew up in a neighborhood where money and career were the common topics of women and even men, in their siesta/gossip time. The ones worthy of praise are those who were poor years ago and have worked their way into working abroad, bringing home dollars and are now having their house remodeled. As a playmate, I had my share of boasting around with friends trying to pretend that my family is rich. One time I brought to school a jar of sand with starfish on it, to support my false claim that we have this really nice house near the beach. When I arrived home from school that day, I never felt poorer. So I said to myself, “I will be rich one day.” With the influence of education and my family, I began believing that climbing up hard in the ladder of academic success is the key to wealth. And so, I tried my best to do well in school. But it was not easy doing so. I had my inferiorities, insecurities and relational issues to begin with. When I was five and in kindergarten, I was one of the objects of bullying in class. My friends, especially, the guys would laugh at me putting my right foot on the chair while sitting down. I didn’t see anything wrong with it but since being bullied was not fun, that habit stopped - but not the bullying. Some guys teased me for my skin color; some, for other things I could not remember anymore, perhaps because there were unpleasant for me. There was one time a boy said my other girl classmate was prettier than me. My five year old heart was crushed. It has been over 20 years but I could still accurately spell out that boy’s name and role-play that event with the exact lines. There were times I could not trust my own test answers and had to ask my classmates what theirs were. There was a time I erased my own answer, having heard my classmate say it was wrong – only to find out later that mine was correct. I had my insecurities to begin with and so I could not be so confident in my skills, in being successful and finally being rich or having the power. So I was not only a pauper. I was the ugly pauper who could not trust in herself. And that made becoming successful seemingly difficult. So I made an attempt to change my mind. But this world is the survival of the fittest, it appeared to me, so I tried again. Many of my classmates devoured studying. Many of them gathered in groups to talk about the lessons and sit in clusters and brainstorm answers to teacher’s questions and cheer together as teacher affirms answer. If I was smart, I would be a member of that circle, I thought to myself. So I had second thoughts about actually being smart. I remember one particular instant when the teacher asked the whole class what the color of the sky was, and everyone said blue, except me who said, orange, sometimes even red, actually a mix of both. The class’s reaction made me feel strange about myself, as if I was the most abnormal person in the world. My teacher didn’t react to the commotion I made and simply said, very good class, yes, the color of the sky is blue. My memory of the sky being red and orange could not have simply deceived me then, but, maybe it was just me. To be smart was not that easy, indeed. And to feel this way as a five year old was way too stressful. So sometimes, I did not care about being smart and simply enjoyed playing with friends. My favorite was playhouse and I usually played the role of mom. I like being mom because I could tell my husband what to do and what he did wrong. I could also scold my children and tell them things I believed I was an expert of. I also liked playing teacher because everyone could just sit there and listen to me. My sister said being a teacher is no good and I could not understand why she thought so. I did not ask her because you are not supposed to ask questions from children who have different opinions from yours. I liked playing Tumbang Preso because it felt glorious to be able to hit cans with slippers and run away with it without getting caught or Piko because I felt accomplished to be able to hop my way back to home base with my eyes closed. I liked biking, but was not very free at doing so because my parents only allowed us to ride our bikes nearby - basically just around our small front yard. 

I was a curious child. I did not care if it meant death to do certain things, be it eating raw red chilli peppers, soap or lizard’s manure, or perhaps inserting beads or flowers in my nose. Driven by my what-ifs one day, I stooped so low at a fish pond – too low I fell into it. Weeds were all over my head and I wondered if I had eaten fish. People were sympathetic but I didn’t tell them that I kinda saw it coming. I was too curious in third grade, I asked how I was made. My parents got the encyclopedia to show me the insides of a man and woman. The pictures kinda helped but some things were not clear. I got the impression though that a man and a woman made me – my dad and mom. I didn’t just spring from a bamboo shoot, according to some Filipino folklore. I was a spoiled brat sometimes and people especially one of my babysitters named – okay I’d rather not say her name, gave me so many names I started to think I was the worst child in the world. I was maldita, taklesa, himantayon (bratty, tactless, judgmental). Those moments were my emergent exposure to human character. Sadly, I thought I was on the bad side. So I wasn’t only the poor, ugly, dumb kid.. I was the poor, ugly, dumb, ill-mannered kid. That could have been enough for me to commit suicide, but life was still fun – what with all the outdoor games and the occasional family gatherings. Our family wasn’t perfect but I felt we were happy.

In grade one, I was in the honor roll. Mmm.. so I was smart after all, but not smart enough to know what honor roll means. I had to ask my mom what my teacher meant with that. In a world where everything is measured by numbers (and I actually do not like numbers), it is hard to believe in yourself sometimes and easy to forget your dreams even if it means studying in a Catholic school. We all go through the same insecurities no matter what school we go to, I guess. Until now, I remember clearly the names of those pretty girls I envied – those who had pretty eyes, white skin, nice hair and nice stuff. I envied them too much, I was confused about how I felt about them. It was an intense and powerful feeling of envy that sublimed itself into a strange attraction. So based on who I easily got attracted to, I got confused about who I was. (to be continued)

This Halloween, I Celebrate My Dad

While people in the States celebrate Halloween with carved pumpkins, costumes and props, most people in the Philippines do so by remembering the saints and the loved ones they have lost. November 1^st and 2^nd would be spent going to the cemetery visiting graves, embellishing them with flowers, lighting candles, sharing a meal or two with family. Some people would stay overnight, play board games, play the guitar and sing to their heart’s content. I will be honest and say that this holiday was merely a tradition for me until I lost my Dad two years ago. I don’t get to visit his grave as often as I want to but at this point, I don’t think I need something tangible for my memories of him to be this alive. That bruise in my heart associated with his death is still pink raw and burns every time I dream of him – twice or three times each week.

This Halloween, I am not celebrating with a Piglet costume or a Tauriel. I am spending it remembering my Dad and honoring his memory – even if it means allowing myself to grieve again. I wish our last few days had been more ceremonial – me and him at the beach saying our last goodbyes; me thanking him for that special walk we had one day when I was in 5^th grade; him pinching my finger one more time; or the whole family having karaoke night or dancing by the beach on New Year’s Eve one last time. However, some things are meant to happen only in the movies and somehow, life is just blunt, even if it’s about something as serious as losing your dad. My brother who is also a seafarer like my dad was, recently shared that one of his co-workers happened to have worked with him before. They spent time talking about him as a co-worker and as a dad and ended the conversation with tears in their eyes.

My consolation besides the idea of heaven is the thought that if my father were still alive, he would be proud of the life skills I have recently developed. It would surely warm his heart to know I could cook now, that I could build a fire and keep it going for hours, that I could singlehandedly build a pig pen gate using power tools and that my son turned out fine even though I spent most of my pregnancy crying because my father was dying.  A friend once told me that sometimes it is not the quantity of time that you spend with someone that matters, but the quality. And that’s how it was with him. He was away 80 % of the time because of work but we made good and rich memories that are worth remembering and celebrating not only every All Souls Day, but every single day. So today, I will remember. I will sing our favorite songs and I will smile and cry at the same time.